{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_44628/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_44628","id":"gutenberg_44628","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44628","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Civilization, Modern -- 19th century","Literature -- History and criticism"],"text":"By James Freeman Clarke, D.D.\n\n\n  TEN GREAT RELIGIONS. Part I. An Essay in Comparative Theology.\n    New _Popular Edition_. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.00.\n\n  TEN GREAT RELIGIONS. Part II. Comparison of all Religions. Crown\n    8vo, gilt top, $2.00.\n\n  COMMON SENSE IN RELIGION. Crown 8vo, $2.00.\n\n  MEMORIAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. Crown 8vo, $2.00.\n\n  EVERY-DAY RELIGION. Crown 8vo, $1.50.\n\n  EVENTS AND EPOCHS IN RELIGIOUS HISTORY. With Maps and\n    Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $2.00.\n\n  THE IDEAS OF THE APOSTLE PAUL. Translated into their Modern\n    Equivalents. Crown 8vo, $1.50.\n\n  SELF-CULTURE: Physical, Intellectual, Moral, and Spiritual. Crown\n    8vo, $1.50.\n\n  NINETEENTH CENTURY QUESTIONS. Crown 8vo, $1.50.\n\n  EXOTICS. Poems translated from the French, German, and Italian,\n    by J. F. C. and L. C. 18mo, $1.00.\n\n\n    HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY,\n    BOSTON AND NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\n    NINETEENTH CENTURY\n    QUESTIONS\n\n    BY\n    JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n    HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY\n    The Riverside Press, Cambridge\n    1897.\n\n\n\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY ELIOT C. CLARKE\n    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED\n\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTE\n\n\nShortly before his death, Dr. Clarke selected the material for this\nbook, and partly prepared it for publication. He wished thus to\npreserve some of his papers which had excited interest when printed in\nperiodicals or read as lectures.\n\nWith slight exceptions, the book is issued just as prepared by the\nauthor.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                          PAGE\n  LITERARY STUDIES.\n    LYRIC AND DRAMATIC ELEMENTS IN LITERATURE AND  ART       3\n    DUALISM IN NATIONAL LIFE                                28\n    DID SHAKESPEARE WRITE BACON'S WORKS?                    38\n    THE EVOLUTION OF A GREAT POEM: GRAY'S ELEGY             60\n\n  RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL.\n    AFFINITIES OF BUDDHISM AND CHRISTIANITY                 71\n    WHY I AM NOT A FREE-RELIGIONIST                         90\n    HAVE ANIMALS SOULS?                                    100\n    APROPOS OF TYNDALL                                     128\n    LAW AND DESIGN IN NATURE                               149\n\n  HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL.\n    THE TWO CARLYLES, OR CARLYLE PAST AND PRESENT          162\n    BUCKLE AND HIS THEORY OF AVERAGES                      196\n    VOLTAIRE                                               235\n    RALPH WALDO EMERSON                                    270\n    HARRIET MARTINEAU                                      284\n    THE RISE AND FALL OF THE SLAVE POWER IN AMERICA        312\n\n\n\n\nLITERARY STUDIES\n\n\n\n\nLYRIC AND DRAMATIC ELEMENTS IN LITERATURE AND ART\n\n\nThe German philosophy has made a distinction between the Subjective\nand the Objective, which has been found so convenient that it has been\nalready naturalized and is almost acclimated in our literature.\n\nThe distinction is this: in all thought there are two factors, the\nthinker himself, and that about which he thinks. All thought, say our\nfriends the Germans, results from these two factors: the subject, or\nthe man thinking; and the object, what the man thinks about. All that\npart of thought which comes from the man himself, the Ego, they call\nsubjective; all that part which comes from the outside world, the\nnon-Ego, they call objective.\n\nI am about to apply this distinction to literature and art; but instead\nof the terms Subjective and Objective, I shall use the words Lyric and\nDramatic.\n\nFor example, when a writer or an artist puts a great deal of himself\ninto his work, I call him a lyric writer or artist. Lyrical, in poetry,\nis the term applied to that species of poetry which directly expresses\nthe individual emotions of the poet. On the other hand, I call an\nartist or poet dramatic when his own personality disappears, and is\nlost in that which he paints or describes. A lyric or subjective writer\ngives us more of himself than of the outside world; a dramatic or\nobjective writer gives us more of the outside world than of himself.\n\nLyric poetry is that which is to be sung; the lyre accompanies song.\nNow, song is mainly personal or subjective. It expresses the singer's\npersonal emotions, feelings, desires; and for these reasons I select\nthis phrase \"lyric\" to express all subjective or personal utterances in\nart.\n\nThe drama, on the other hand, is a photograph of life; of live men\nand women acting themselves out freely and individually. The dramatic\nwriter ought to disappear in his drama; if he does not do so he is not\na dramatic writer, but a lyrist in disguise.\n\nThe dramatic element is the power of losing one's self--opinions,\nfeeling, character--in that which is outside and foreign, and\nreproducing it just as it is. In perfect dramatic expression the\npersonal equation is wholly eliminated. The writer disappears in his\ncharacters; his own hopes and fears, emotions and convictions, do not\ncolor his work.\n\nBut the lyric element works in the opposite way. In song, the singer\nis prominent more than what he sings. He suffuses his subject with\nhis own thoughts and feelings. If he describes nature, he merely gives\nus the feelings it awakens in his own mind. If he attempts to write a\nplay, we see the same actor thinly disguised reappearing in all the\nparts.\n\nNow, there is a curious fact connected with this subject. It is that\ngreat lyric and dramatic authors or artists are apt to appear in duads\nor pairs. Whenever we meet with a highly subjective writer, we are\napt to find him associated with another as eminently objective. This\nhappens so often that one might imagine that each type of thought\nattracts its opposite and tends to draw it out and develop it. It may\nbe that genius, when it acts on disciples who are persons of talent,\ndraws out what is like itself, and makes imitators; when it acts on a\ndisciple who himself possesses genius, it draws out what is opposite\nto itself and develops another original thinker. Genius, like love,\nis attracted by its opposite, or counterpart. Love and genius seek to\nform wholes; they look for what will complete and fulfill themselves.\nWhen, therefore, a great genius has come, fully developed on one side,\nhe exercises an irresistible attraction on the next great genius,\nin whom the opposite side is latent, and is an important factor in\nhis development. Thus, perhaps, we obtain the duads, whose curious\nconcurrence I will now illustrate by a few striking instances.\n\nBeginning our survey with English literature, who are the first two\ngreat poets whose names occur to us? Naturally, Chaucer and Spenser.\nNow, Chaucer is eminently dramatic and objective in his genius; while\nSpenser is distinctly a lyrical and subjective poet.\n\nChaucer tells stories; and story-telling is objective. One of the most\nrenowned collections of stories is the \"Arabian Nights;\" but who knows\nanything about the authors of those entertaining tales? They are merely\npictures of Eastern life, reflected in the minds of some impersonal\nauthors, whose names even are unknown.\n\nHomer is another great story-teller; and Homer is so objective, so\nlittle of a personality, that some modern critics suppose there may\nhave been several Homers.\n\nChaucer is a story-teller also; and in his stories everything belonging\nto his age appears, except Chaucer himself. His writings are full of\npictures of life, sketches of character; in one word, he is a dramatic\nor objective writer. He paints things as they are,--gives us a panorama\nof his period. Knights, squires, yeomen, priests, friars, pass before\nus, as in Tennyson's poem \"The Lady of Shalott.\"\n\nThe mind of an objective story-teller, like Chaucer, is the faithful\nmirror, which impartially reflects all that passes before it, but\ncracks from side to side whenever he lets a personal feeling enter his\nmind, for then the drama suddenly disappears and a lyric of personal\nhope or fear, gladness or sadness, takes its place.\n\nSpenser is eminently a lyric poet. His own genius suffuses his stories\nwith a summer glow of warm, tender, generous sentiment. In his\ndescriptions of nature he does not catalogue details, but suggests\nimpressions, which is the only way of truly describing nature. There\nare some writers who can describe scenery, so that the reader feels as\nif he had seen it himself. The secret of all such description is that\nit does not count or measure, but suggests. It is not quantitative\nbut qualitative analysis. It does not apply a foot rule to nature,\nbut gives the impression made on the mind and heart by the scene. I\nhave never been at Frascati nor in Sicily, but I can hardly persuade\nmyself that I have not seen those places. I have distinct impressions\nof both, simply from reading two of George Sand's stories. I have in\nmy mind a picture of Frascati, with deep ravines, filled with foliage;\nwith climbing, clustering, straggling vines and trees and bushes; with\noverhanging crags, deep masses of shadow below, bright sunshine on\nthe stone pines above. So I have another picture of Sicilian scenery,\nwide and open, with immense depths of blue sky, and long reaches of\nlandscape; ever-present Etna, soaring snow-clad into the still air; an\natmosphere of purity, filling the heart with calm content. It may be\nthat Catania and Frascati are not like this; but I feel as if I had\nseen them, not as if I had heard them described.\n\nIt is thus that Spenser describes nature; by touching some chord of\nfancy in the soul. Notice this picture of a boat on the sea:--\n\n    \"So forth they row\u00ebd; and that Ferryman\n    With his stiff oars did brush the sea so strong\n    That the hoar waters from his frigate ran,\n    And the light bubbles danc\u00ebd all along\n    Whiles the salt brine out of the billows sprang;\n    At last, far off, they many islands spy,\n    On every side, floating the floods among.\"\n\nYou notice that you are in the boat yourself, and everything is told\nas it appears to you there; you see the bending of the \"stiff oars\"\nby your side, and the little bubbles dancing on the water, and the\nislands, not as they _are_, rock-anchored, but as they _seem_ to you,\nfloating on the water. This is subjective description,--putting the\nreader in the place, and letting him see it all from that point of\nview. So Spenser speaks of the \"oars sweeping the watery wilderness;\"\nand of the gusty winds \"filling the sails with fear.\"\n\nPerhaps the highest description ought to include both the lyric and\ndramatic elements. Here is a specimen of sea description, by an almost\nunknown American poet, Fenner, perfect in its way. The poem is called\n\"Gulf Weed:\"--\n\n    \"A weary weed washed to and fro,\n      Drearily drenched in the ocean brine;\n    Soaring high, or sinking low,\n      Lashed along without will of mine;\n    Sport of the spoom of the surging sea,\n      Flung on the foam afar and near;\n    Mark my manifold mystery,\n      Growth and grace in their place appear.\n\n    \"I bear round berries, gray and red,\n      Rootless and rover though I be;\n    My spangled leaves, when nicely spread,\n      Arboresce as a trunkless tree;\n    Corals curious coat me o'er\n      White and hard in apt array;\n    Mid the wild waves' rude uproar\n      Gracefully grow I, night and day.\n\n    \"Hearts there are on the sounding shore,\n      (Something whispers soft to me,)\n    Restless and roaming for evermore,\n      Like this weary weed of the sea;\n    Bear they yet on each beating breast\n      The eternal Type of the wondrous whole,\n    Growth unfolding amidst unrest,\n      Grace informing the silent soul.\"\n\nAll nature becomes alive in the Spenserian description. Take, for\nexample, the wonderful stanza which describes the music of the \"Bower\nof Bliss:\"--\n\n        \"The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade\n        Their notes unto the voice attemper'd sweet;\n        Th' angelical, soft, trembling voices made\n        To the instruments divine respondence meet;\n        The silver-sounding instruments did meet\n        With the bass murmur of the water's fall;\n        The water's fall, with difference discreet,\n        Now loud, now low, unto the winds did call;\n    The gentle warbling winds low answer\u00ebd to all.\"\n\nConsider the splendid portrait of Belph\u0153be:--\n\n        \"In her fair eyes two living lamps did flame,\n        Kindled above at the Heavenly Maker's light;\n        And darted fiery beams out of the same,\n        So passing piercing, and so wondrous bright,\n        They quite bereaved the rash beholder's sight;\n        In them the blinded god his lustful fire\n        To kindle oft essay'd but had no might,\n        For with dread majesty and awful ire\n    She broke his wanton darts and quench\u00ebd base desire.\n\n        \"Her ivory forehead, full of bounty brave,\n        Like a broad tablet did itself dispread,\n        For love his lofty triumphs to engrave,\n        And write the battles of his great godhead;\n        All good and honor might therein be read,\n        For there their dwelling was; and when she spake,\n        Sweet words, like dropping honey she did shed;\n        And, twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake\n    A silver Sound, that heavenly music seemed to make.\"\n\nIf we examine this picture, we see that it is not a photograph, such as\nthe sun makes, but a lover's description of his mistress. He sees her,\nnot as she is, but as she is to _him_. He paints her out of his own\nheart. In her eyes he sees, not only brilliancy and color, but heavenly\nlight; he reads in them an untouched purity of soul. Looking at her\nforehead, he sees, not whiteness and roundness, but goodness and honor.\n\nShakespeare's lovers always describe their mistresses in this way,\nout of their own soul and heart. It is his own feeling that the lover\ngives, seeing perhaps \"Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.\"\n\nAfter Chaucer and Spenser the next great English poets whose names\nnaturally occur to us are Shakespeare and Milton.\n\nNow, Shakespeare was the most objective dramatic writer who ever lived;\nwhile Milton was eminently and wholly a subjective and lyrical writer.\n\nIt is true that Shakespeare was so great that he is one of the very\nfew men of genius in whom appear both of these elements. In his plays\nhe is so objective that he is wholly lost in his characters, and\nhis personality absolutely disappears; in his sonnets he \"unlocks\nhis heart\" and is lyrical and subjective; he there gives us his\ninmost self, and we seem to know him as we know a friend with whom\nwe have lived in intimate relations for years. Still, he will be\nbest remembered by his plays; and into them he put the grandeur and\nuniversality of his genius; so we must necessarily consider him as the\ngreatest dramatic genius of all time. But he belonged to a group of\ndramatic poets of whom he was the greatest: Ben Jonson, Beaumont and\nFletcher, Massinger, Ford, Webster,--any one of whom would make the\nfortune of the stage to-day. It was a great age of dramatic literature,\nand it came very naturally to meet a demand. The play then was what the\nnovel is to-day. As people to-day have no sooner read a new novel than\nthey want another, so, in Shakespeare's time, they had no sooner seen\na new play than they ran to see another. Hence the amazing fertility\nof the dramatic writers. Thomas Heywood wrote the whole or a part\nof two hundred and twenty plays. The manager of one of the theatres\nbought a hundred and six new plays for his stage in six years; and in\nthe next five years a hundred and sixty. The price paid to an author\nfor a play would now be equal to about two or three hundred dollars.\nThe dramatic element, as is natural, abounds in these writings, though\nin some of them the author's genius is plainly lyrical. Such, for\nexample, is Massinger's, who always reminds me of Schiller. Both wrote\nplays, but in both writers the faculty of losing themselves in their\ncharacters is wanting. The nobleness of Schiller appears in all his\nworks, and constitutes a large part of their charm. So in Massinger all\ntends to generosity and elevation. His worst villains are ready to be\nconverted and turn saints at the least provocation. Their wickedness is\nin a condition of unstable equilibrium; it topples over, and goodness\nbecomes supreme in a single moment. Massinger could not create really\nwicked people; their wickedness is like a child's moment of passion\nor willfulness, ending presently in a flood of tears, and a sweet\nreconciliation with his patient mother. But how different was it with\nShakespeare! Consider his Iago. How deeply rooted was his villainy!\nhow it was a part of the very texture of his being! He had conformed to\nit the whole philosophy of his life. His cynical notions appear in the\nfirst scene. Iago _believes_ in meanness, selfishness, everything that\nis base; to him all that seems good is either a pretense or a weakness.\nThe man who does not seek the gratification of his own desires is a\nfool. There is to Iago nothing sweet, pure, fair, or true, in this\nworld or the next. He profanes everything he touches. He sneers at the\nangelic innocence of Desdemona; he sneers at the generous, impulsive\nsoul of Othello. When some one speaks to him of virtue, he says\n\"Virtue? a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies\nare our gardens, to which our wills are gardeners.\" You can plant\nnettles or lettuce as you please. That is to say, there is no reality\nin goodness. The virtue of Desdemona will be gone to-morrow, if she\ntakes the whim. The Moor's faith in goodness is folly; it will cause\nhim to be led by the nose. There is no converting such a man as that;\nor only when, by means of terrible disappointments and anguish, he is\nbrought to see the reality of human goodness and divine providence. And\nthat can hardly happen to him in this world.\n\nIago is a murderer of the soul, Macbeth a murderer of the body.\nThe wickedness of Macbeth is different from that of Iago; that of\nShylock and of Richard Third different again from either. Macbeth\nis a half-brute, a man in a low state of development, with little\nintellect and strong passions. Shylock is a highly intellectual man,\nnot a cynic like Iago, but embittered by ill-treatment, made venomous\nby cruel wrong and perpetual contempt. Oppression has made this wise\nman mad. Richard Third, originally bad, has been turned into a cruel\nmonster by the egotism born of power. He has the contempt for his race\nthat belongs to the aristocrat, who looks on men in humbler places\nas animals of a lower order made for his use or amusement. Now, this\nwonderful power of differentiating characters belongs to the essence\nof the dramatic faculty. Each of these is developed from within, from\na personal centre, and is true to that. Every manifestation of this\ncentral life is correlated to every other. If one of Shakespeare's\ncharacters says but ten words in one scene, and then ten words more in\nanother, we recognize him as the same person. His speech bewrayeth him.\nSo it is in human life. Every man is fatally consistent with himself.\nSo, after we have seen a number of pictures by any one of the great\nmasters, we recognize him again, as soon as we enter a gallery. We know\nhim by a certain style. Inferior artists have a manner; great artists\nhave a style; manner is born of imitation; style of originality. So,\nthere is a special quality in every human being, if he will only allow\nit to unfold. The dramatic faculty recognizes this. Its knowledge\nof man is not a philosophy, nor a mere knowledge of human nature,\nbut a perception of individual character. It first integrates men as\nhuman beings; then differentiates them as individuals. Play-writers,\nnovelists, and artists who do not possess this dramatic genius cannot\ngrow their characters from within, from a personal centre of life;\nbut build them up from without, according to a plan. In description\nof nature, however, Shakespeare is, as he ought to be, subjective and\nlyric; he touches nature with human feelings. Take his description of a\nbrook:--\n\n    \"The current that with gentle murmur glides\n    Thou know'st, being stopp'd impatiently doth rage;\n    But when his fair course is not hindered,\n    He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,\n    Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\n    He overtaketh in his pilgrimage,\n    And so by many winding nooks he strays\n    With willing sport to the wild ocean.\"\n\nThe brook is gentle; then it becomes angry; then it is pacified and\nbegins to sing; then it stops to kiss the sedge; then it is a pilgrim;\nand it walks _willingly_ on to the ocean.\n\nSo in his sonnet:--\n\n    \"Full many a glorious morning have I seen\n    Flatter the mountain top with sovereign eye;\n    Kissing with golden face the meadows green,\n    Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;\n    Anon permit the basest clouds to ride\n    With ugly rack on his celestial face;\n    And from the forlorn world his visage hide,\n    Stealing unseen to west with his disgrace;\n    Even so my sun one early morn did shine,\n    With all triumphant splendor on my brow;\n    But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;\n    The region cloud hath masked him from me now;\n    Yet him, for this, my love no whit disdaineth,\n    Suns of this world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.\"\n\nFrom Shakespeare, the marvel of dramatic genius, turn to Milton, and we\nfind the opposite tendency unfolded.\n\nThe \"Paradise Lost\" is indeed dramatic in form, with different\ncharacters and dialogues, in hell, on earth, and in heaven. But in\nessence it is undramatic. Milton is never for a moment lost in his\ncharacters; his grand and noble soul is always appearing. Every one\nspeaks as Milton would have spoken had Milton been in the same place,\nand looked at things from the same point of view. Sin and Satan, for\nexample, both talk like John Milton. Sin is very conscientious, and\nbefore she will unlock the gate of hell she is obliged to argue herself\ninto a conviction that it is right to do so. Satan, she says, is her\nfather, and children ought to obey their parents; so, since he tells\nher to unlock the gate, she ought to do so. Death reproaches Satan, in\ngood set terms, for his treason against the Almighty; and Satan, as we\nall know, utters the noblest sentiments, and talks as Milton would have\ntalked, had Milton been in Satan's position.[1]\n\nComing down nearer to our own time, we find a duad of great English\npoets, usually associated in our minds,--Byron and Scott.\n\nScott was almost the last of the dramatic poets of England, using the\nword dramatic in its large sense. His plays never amounted to much; but\nhis stories in verse and in prose are essentially dramatic. In neither\ndoes he reveal himself. In all his poetry you scarcely find a reference\nto his personal feelings. In the L'Envoi to the \"Lady of the Lake\"\nthere is a brief allusion of this sort, touching because so unusual,\nand almost the only one I now recall. Addressing the \"Harp of the\nNorth\" he says:--\n\n      \"Much have I owed thy strains through life's long way,\n         Through secret woes the world has never known,\n      When on the weary night dawned wearier day,\n         And bitterer was the grief devoured alone;\n    That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.\"\n\nScott, like Chaucer, brings before us a long succession of characters,\nfrom many classes, countries, and times. Scotch barons and freebooters,\nEnglish kings, soldiers, gentlemen, crusaders, Alpine peasants,\nmedi\u00e6val counts, serfs, Jews, Saxons,--brave, cruel, generous,--all\nsweep past us, in a long succession of pictures; but of Scott himself\nnothing appears except the nobleness and purity of the tone which\npervades all. He is therefore eminently a dramatic or objective writer.\n\nBut Byron is the exact opposite. The mighty exuberance of his genius,\nwhich captivated his age, and the echoes of which thrill down to\nours, in all its vast overflow of passion, imagination, wit,--ever\nsounded but one strain,--himself. His own woes, his own wrongs are\nthe ever-recurring theme. Though he wrote many dramas, he was more\nundramatic than Milton. Every character in every play is merely a\nthinly disguised Byron. It was impossible for him to get away from\nhimself. If Tennyson's lovely line tells the truth when he says,--\n\n    \"Love took up the harp of life and smote on all its chords with\n             might;\n    Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of\n             sight:\"\n\nthen Byron never really loved; for in his poetry the chord of self\nnever passes out of sight.\n\nIn his plays the principal characters are Byron undiluted--as Manfred,\nSardanapalus, Cain, Werner, Arnold. All the secondary characters are\nByron more or less diluted,--Byron and water, may we say? Never, since\nthe world began, has there been a poet so steeped in egotism, so sick\nof self-love as he; and the magnificence of his genius appears in the\nunfailing interest which he can give to this monotonous theme.\n\nBut he was the example of a spirit with which the whole age was filled\nto saturation. Almost all the nineteenth century poets of England are\nsubjective, giving us their own experience, sentiments, reflections,\nphilosophies. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, revolve in this\nenchanted and enchanting circle. Keats and Coleridge seem capable of\nsomething different. So, in the double star, made up of Wordsworth\nand Coleridge, the first is absolutely personal and lyric, the second\nsometimes objective and dramatic. And in that other double star of\nShelley and Keats the same difference may be noted.\n\nA still more striking instance of the combination of these antagonisms\nis to be found in our time, in Robert Browning and his wife. Mrs.\nBrowning is wholly lyric, like a bird which sings its own tender song\nof love and hope and faith till \"that wild music burdens every bough;\"\nand those \"mournful hymns\" hush the night to listening sympathy.\n\nBut in her husband we have a genuine renaissance of the old dramatic\npower of the English bards. Robert Browning is _so_ dramatic that\nhe forgets himself and his readers too, in his characters and their\nsituations. To study the varieties of men and women is his joy; to\nreproduce them unalloyed, his triumph.\n\nOne curious instance of this self-oblivious immersion in the creations\nof his mind occurs to me. In one of his early poems called \"In a\nGondola\"--as it first appeared--two lovers are happily conversing,\nuntil in a moment, we know not why, the tone becomes one of despair,\nand they bid each other an eternal farewell. Why this change of tone\nthere is no explanation. In a later edition he condescends to inform\nus, inserting a note to this effect: \"He is surprised and stabbed.\"\nThis is the opposite extreme to Milton's angels carefully explaining to\neach other that they possess a specific levity which enables them to\ndrop upward.\n\nIf we think of our own poets whose names are usually\nconnected,--Longfellow and Lowell, for instance,--we shall easily see\nwhich is dramatic and which lyric. But the only man of truly dramatic\nfaculty whom we have possessed was one in whom the quality never fully\nripened,--I mean Edgar Allan Poe.\n\nIn foreign literature we may trace the same tendency of men of genius\nto arrange themselves in couplets. Take, for instance, in Italy,\nDante and Petrarch; in France, Voltaire and Rousseau; in Germany,\nGoethe and Schiller. Dante is dramatic, losing himself in his stern\nsubject, his dramatic characters; his awful pictures of gloomy destiny.\nPetrarch is lyrical, personal, singing forever his own sad and sweet\nfate. Again, Voltaire is essentially dramatic,--immersed in things,\nabsorbed in life, a man reveling in all human accident and adventure,\nand aglow with faith in an earthly paradise. The sad Rousseau goes\napart, away from men; standing like Byron, among them, but not of them;\nin a cloud of thoughts that are not their thoughts. And, once more,\nthough Goethe resembles Shakespeare in this, that some of his works\nare subjective, and others objective,--though, in the greatness of his\nmind he reconciles all the usual antagonisms of thought,--yet the fully\ndeveloped Goethe, like the fully developed Shakespeare, disappears\nin his characters and theme. Life to him, in all its forms, was so\nintensely interesting that his own individual and subjective sentiments\nare left out of sight. But Schiller stands opposed to Goethe, as being\na dramatist devoid of dramatic genius, but full of personal power;\nso grand in his nobleness of soul, so majestic in the aspirations of\nhis sentiment, so full of patriotic ardor and devotion to truth and\ngoodness, that he moves all hearts as he walks through his dramas,--the\ngreat poet visible in every scene and every line. As his tried and\nnoble friend says of him in an equally undying strain:--\n\n    \"Burned in his cheek, with ever-deepening fire,\n    The spirit's youth, which never passes by;\n    The courage, which though worlds in hate conspire,\n    Conquers at last their dull hostility;\n    The lofty faith, which ever, mounting higher,\n    Now presses on, now waiteth patiently;\n    By which the good tends ever to its goal--\n    By which day lights at last the generous soul.\"\n\nGoethe's characters and stories covered the widest range: Faust, made\nsick with too much thought, and seeking outward joy as a relief;\nWerther, a self-absorbed sentimentalist; Tasso, an Italian man of\ngenius, a mixture of imagination, aspiration, sensitive self-distrust;\nsusceptible to opinion, sympathetic; Iphigenia, a picture of antique\ncalm, simplicity, purity, classic repose, like that of a statue;\nHermann and Dorothea, a sweet idyl of modern life, in a simple-minded\nGerman village with an opinionated, honest landlord, a talkative\napothecary, a motherly landlady, a sensible and good pastor, and the\ntwo young lovers.\n\nThis law of duality, or reaction of genius on genius, will also be\nfound to apply to artists, philosophers, historians, orators. These\nalso come in pairs, manifesting the same antagonistic qualities.\n\nSome artists are lyric; putting their own souls into every face, every\nfigure, making even a landscape alive with their own mood; adding--\n\n                                  \"A gleam\n    Of lustre known to neither sea nor land\n    But borrowed from the poet-painter's dream.\"\n\nIn every landscape of Claude we find the soul of Claude; in every\nrugged rock-defile of Salvator we read his mood. These artists are\nlyric; but there are also great dramatic painters, who give you, not\nthemselves, but men and women; so real, so differentiated, characters\nso full of the variety and antagonism of nature, that the whole life of\na period springs into being at their touch.\n\nTake for instance two names, which always go together, standing side\nby side at the summit of Italian art,--Michael Angelo and Raphael.\nThough Raphael was a genius of boundless exuberance, and poured on the\nwall and canvas a flood of forms, creating as nature creates, without\npause or self-repetition, yet there is a tone in all which irresistibly\nspeaks of the artist's own soul. He created a world of Raphaels. Grace,\nsweetness, and tenderness went into all his work. Every line has the\nsame characteristic qualities.\n\nTurn to the frescoes by Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. As we\nlook up at those mighty forms--prophets, sibyls, seers, with multitudes\nof subordinate figures--we gradually trace in each prophet, king, or\nbard an individual character. Each one is himself. How fully each face\nand attitude is differentiated by some inward life. How each--David,\nIsaiah, Ezekiel, the Persian and the Libyan sibyl--stands out,\ndistinct, filled with a power or a tenderness all his own. Michael\nAngelo himself is not there, except as a fountain of creative life,\nfrom whose genius all these majestic persons come forth as living\nrealities.\n\nHanging on my walls are the well-known engravings of Guido's Aurora and\nLeonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. One of these is purely lyrical; the\nother as clearly dramatic.\n\nThe Aurora is so exquisitely lovely, the forms so full of grace, the\nmovement of all the figures so rapid yet so firm, that I can never pass\nit without stopping to enjoy its charms. But variety is absent. The\nhours are lovely sisters, as Ovid describes sisters:--\n\n    \"Facies non omnibus una,\n    Nec diversa tamen, qualis decet esse sororum.\"\n\nBut when we turn to the Last Supper, we see the dramatic artist at his\nbest. The subject is such as almost to compel a monotonous treatment,\nbut there is a wonderful variety in the attitudes and grouping. Each\napostle shows by his attitude, gesture, expression, that he is affected\ndifferently from all the others. Even the feet under the table speak.\nStand before the picture; put yourself into the attitude of each\napostle, and you will immediately understand his state of mind.[2]\n\nThe medi\u00e6val religious artists were subjective, sentimental, lyrical.\nIn a scene like the crucifixion, all the characters, whether apostles,\nRoman soldiers, or Jewish Pharisees, hang their heads like bulrushes.\n\nBut see how Rubens, that great dramatic painter, represents the\nscene. The Magdalen, wild with grief, with disheveled hair, has thrown\nherself at the foot of the cross, clasping and kissing the feet of\nJesus. On the other faces are terror, dismay, doubt, unbelief, mockery,\ncuriosity, triumph, despair,--according to each person's character and\nattitude toward the event. Meantime the Roman centurion, seated on his\nsplendid horse, is deliberately and carefully striking his spear into\nthe side of the sufferer. His face expresses only that he has a duty to\nperform and means to fulfill it perfectly.\n\nAs Rubens is greatly dramatic, his pupil and follower, Vandyke, is a\ngreat lyrical artist, whose noble aspiration and generous sentiment\nshows itself in all his work.\n\nThe school of Venice, with Titian and Tintoretto at its head, is\ngrandly dramatic and objective. The school of Florence, with Guido and\nDomenichino at its head, eminently lyrical and subjective.\n\nIf we had time, we might show that the two masters of Greek philosophy,\nPlato and Aristotle, are, the one lyrical, and intensely subjective,\nplatonizing the universe; and the other as evidently objective,\nimmersed in the study of things; rejoicing in their variety, their\nindividuality, their persistence of type.\n\nThe two masters of Greek history, Herodotus and Thucydides, stand\nopposed to each other in the same way. Herodotus is the story-teller,\nthe dramatic raconteur, whose charming tales are as entertaining as the\n\"Arabian Nights.\" Thucydides is the personal historian who puts himself\ninto his story, and determines its meaning and moral according to his\nown theories and convictions.\n\nWe have another example in Livy and Tacitus.\n\nThe two great American orators most frequently mentioned together are\nWebster and Clay. Though you would smile if I were to call either of\nthem a lyric or a dramatic speaker, yet the essential distinction we\nhave been considering may be clearly seen in them. Clay's inspiration\nwas personal, his influence, personal influence. His theme was nothing;\nhis treatment of it everything. But Webster rose or fell with the\nmagnitude and importance of the occasion and argument. When on the\nwrong side, he failed, for his intellect would not work well except in\nthe service of reality and truth. But Clay was perhaps greatest when\narguing against all facts and all reason. Then he summoned all his\npowers,--wit, illustration, analogy, syllogisms, appeals to feeling,\nprejudice, and passion; and so swept along his confused and blinded\naudience to his conclusions.\n\nI think that subjective writers are loved more than dramatic. We admire\nthe one and we love the other. We admire Shakespeare and love Milton;\nwe admire Chaucer and love Spenser; we admire Dante and love Petrarch;\nwe admire Goethe and love Schiller; and if Byron had not been so\nselfish a man, we should have loved him too. We admire Michael Angelo\nand love Raphael; we admire Rubens and love Vandyke; we admire Robert\nBrowning and love Mrs. Browning. In short, we care more for the man who\ngives us himself than for the man who gives us the whole outside world.\n\nI have been able to give you only a few hints of this curious\ndistinction in art and literature. But if we carry it in our mind, we\nshall find it a key by which many doors may be unlocked. It will enable\nus to classify authors, and understand them better.\n\n\n\n\nDUALISM IN NATIONAL LIFE\n\n\nThe science of comparative ethnology is one which has been greatly\ndeveloped during the last twenty-five years. The persistence of\nrace tendencies, as in the Semitic tribes, Jews and Arabs, or in\nthe Teutonic and Celtic branches of the great Aryan stock, has been\ngenerally admitted. Though few would now say, with the ethnologist\nKnox, \"Race is everything,\" none would wholly dispense with this\nfactor, as Buckle did, in writing a history of civilization.\n\nRacial varieties have existed from prehistoric times. Their origin is\nlost in the remote past. As far as history goes back, we find them the\nsame that they are now. When and how the primitive stock differentiated\nitself into the great varieties which we call Aryan, Semitic, and\nTuranian, no one can tell. But there are well-established varieties of\nwhich we can trace the rise and development; I mean national varieties.\nThe character of an Englishman or a Frenchman is as distinctly marked\nas that of a Greek or Roman. There is a general resemblance among all\nEnglishmen; and the same kind of resemblance among all Frenchmen,\nSpaniards, Swedes, Poles. But this crystallization into national types\nof character has taken place in a comparatively short period. We look\nback to a time when there were no Englishmen in Great Britain; but only\nDanes, Saxons, Normans, and Celts; no Frenchmen in France; but Gauls,\nFranks, and Romans. Gradually a distinct quality emerges, and we have\nFrenchmen, Italians, Englishmen. The type, once arrived at, persists,\nand becomes more marked. It is marked by personal looks and manners,\nby a common temperament, a common style of thinking, feeling, acting;\nthe same kind of morals and manners. This type was formed by the action\nand reaction of the divers races brought side by side--Normans and\nSaxons mutually influencing each other in England, and being influenced\nagain by climate, conditions of life, forms of government, national\ncustoms. So, at last, we have the well-developed national character,--a\nmysterious but very certain element, from which no individual can\nwholly escape. All drink of that one spirit.\n\nThus far I have been stating what we all know. But now I would call\nyour attention to a curious fact, which, so far as I am aware, has not\nbefore been noticed. It is this,--that when two nations, during their\nforming period, have been in relation to each other, there will be a\npeculiar character developed in each. That is to say, they will differ\nfrom each other according to certain well-defined lines, and these\ndifferences will repeat themselves again and again in history, in\ncurious parallelisms, or dualisms.\n\nTo take the most familiar illustration of this: consider the national\nqualities of the French and English. The English and French, during\nseveral centuries, have been acting and reacting on each other, both\nin war and peace. Now, what are the typical characteristics of these\ntwo nations? Stated in a broad way they might be described something as\nfollows:--\n\nThe English mind is more practical than ideal; its movement is slow\nbut persistent; its progress is by gradual development; it excels in\nthe industrial arts; it reverences power; it loves liberty more than\nequality, not objecting to an aristocracy. It tends to individualism.\nIts conquests have been due to the power of order, and adherence to law.\n\nThe French mind is more ideal than practical; versatile, rather than\npersistent; its movements rapid, its progress by crises and revolution,\nrather than by development; it excels in whatever is tasteful and\nartistic; it admires glory rather than power; loves equality more than\nliberty; objects to an aristocracy, but is ready to yield individual\nrights at the bidding of the community; renouncing individualism for\nthe sake of communism; and its successes have been due to enthusiasm\nrather than to organization.\n\nNext, look at the Greeks and Romans. These peoples were in intimate\nrelations during the forming period of national life; and we find in\nthem much the same contrasts of character that we do in the English and\nthe French. The Romans were deficient in imagination, rather prosaic,\nfond of rule and fixed methods, conservative of ancient customs. The\nGreeks were quick and versatile; artistic to a high degree; producing\nmasterpieces of architecture, painting, statuary, and creating every\nform of literature; inventing the drama, the epic poem, oratory, odes,\nhistory, philosophy. The Romans borrowed from them their art and their\nliterature, but were themselves the creators of law, the organizers of\nforce. The Greeks and Romans were the English and French of antiquity;\nand you will notice that they occupy geographically the same relative\npositions,--the Greeks and French on the east; the Romans and English\non the west.\n\nBut now observe another curious fact. The Roman Empire and the Greek\nrepublics came to an end; and in Greece no important nationality took\nthe place of those wonderful commonwealths. But in Italy, by the union\nof the old inhabitants with the Teutonic northern invaders, modern\nItaly was slowly formed into a new national life. No longer deriving\nany important influence from Greece (which had ceased to be a living\nand independent force), Italy, during the Middle Ages, came into\nrelations with Spain and the Spaniards. In Spain, as in Italy, a new\nnational life was in process of formation by the union of the Gothic\ntribes, the Mohammedan invaders, and the ancient inhabitants. The\nSpaniards occupied Sicily in 1282, and Naples fell later into their\nhands, about 1420, and in 1526 took possession of Milan. Thus Italy and\nSpain were entangled in complex relations during their forming period.\nWhat was the final result? Modern Italians became the very opposite of\nthe ancient Romans. The Spaniards on the west are now the Romans, and\nthe Italians, the Greeks. The Spaniards are slow, strong, conservative;\nthe Italians, quick-witted, full of feeling and sentiment, versatile.\nThe Spaniards trust to organization, the Italians to enthusiasm. The\nSpaniards are practical, the Italians ideal. In fine, the Spaniards, on\nthe west, are like the English and the ancient Romans; the Italians,\non the east, like the French and the Greeks. The English pride, the\nRoman pride, the Spanish pride, we have all heard of; but the French,\nthe Greeks, and the Italians are not so much inclined to pride and the\nlove of power, as to vanity and the love of fame. England, Rome, and\nSpain, united by law and the love of organization, gradually became\nsolidified into empires; Greece, Italy, and France were always divided\ninto independent states, provinces, or republics.\n\nNow, let us go east and consider two empires that have grown up, side\nby side, with constant mutual relations: Japan and China. The people\nof Japan, on the east, are described by all travelers in language\nthat might be applied to the ancient Greeks or the modern French. They\nare said to be quick-witted, lively, volatile, ready of apprehension,\nwith a keen sense of honor, which prefers death to disgrace; eminently\na social and pleasure-seeking people, fond of feasts, dancing, music,\nand frolics. Men and women are pleasing, polite, affable. On the\nother hand, the Chinese are described as more given to reason than\nto sentiment, prosaic, slow to acquire, but tenacious of all that is\ngained, very conservative, great lovers of law and order; with little\ntaste for art, but much national pride. They are the English of Asia;\nthe Japanese, the French.\n\nGo back to earlier times, when the two oldest branches of the great\nAryan stock diverged on the table-lands of central Asia; the Vedic\nrace descending into India, and the Zend people passing west, into\nPersia. The same duplex development took place that we have seen\nin other instances. The people on the Indus became what they still\nare,--a people of sentiment and feeling. Like the French, they are\npolite, and cultivate civility and courtesy. The same tendency to\nlocal administration which we see in France is found in India; the\ncommune being, in both, the germ-cell of national life. The village\ncommunities in India are little republics, almost independent of\nanything outside. Dynasties change, new rulers and kings arrive;\nHindoo, Mohammedan, English; but the village community remains the\nsame. Like the Japanese, the French, the Italians, the inhabitants\nof India are skillful manufacturers of ornamental articles. Their\nreligion tends to sentiment more than to morality,--to feeling, rather\nthan to action. This is the development which India took when these\nraces inhabited the Punjaub. But the ancient Persians were different.\nTheir religion included a morality which placed its essence in right\nthinking and right action. A sentimental religion, like that of India\nand of Italy, tends to the adoration of saints and holy images and to\nmultiplied ceremonies. A moral religion, like that of Persia, of Judea,\nand of the Teutonic races, tends to the adoration and service of the\nunseen. The Hindoos had innumerable gods, temples, idols. The Persians\nworshiped the sacred fire, without temple, priest, altar, sacrifice,\nor ritual. The ancient Persians, wholly unlike the modern Persians,\nwere a people of action, energy, enterprise. But when the old Persian\nempire fell, the character of the people changed. Just as in Italy\nthe old Roman type disappeared, and was replaced by the opposite in\nthe modern Italian, so modern Persia has swung round to the opposite\npole of national character. The Persians and Turks, both professing\nthe Mohammedan religion, belong to different sects of that faith. The\nTurks are proud, tenacious of old customs, grave in their demeanor,\ngenerally just in their dealings, keeping their word. The Persians, as\nthey appear in the works of Malcolm and Monier, are changeable, kindly,\npolite, given to ceremonies, fond of poetry, with taste for fine art\nand decoration,--a mobile people. The Turk is silent, the Persian\ntalkative. The Turk is proud and cold, the Persian affable and full of\nsentiment. In short, the Persian is the Frenchman, and the Turk the\nEnglishman. And here again, as in the other cases, the French type of\nnationality unfolds itself on the east, and the English on the west.\n\nThese national doubles have not been exhausted. We have other instances\nof twin nations, born of much the same confluence of race elements,\nof whom, as of Esau and Jacob, it might be predicted to the mother\nrace, \"Two nations shall be born of thee; two kinds of people shall go\nforth from thee; and the one shall be stronger than the other.\" Thus\nthere are the twin races which inhabit Sweden and Norway; the Swedes,\non the east, are more intelligent, quick-witted, and versatile; the\nNorwegians, on the west, slow, persistent, and disposed to foreign\nconquest and adventure, as shown in the sea-kings, who discovered\nIceland, Greenland, and Vinland; and the modern emigrants who reap the\nvast wheatfields of Minnesota. So, too, we might speak of the Poles and\nGermans. The Polish nation, on the east, resembling the French; the\nGerman, on the west, the English.\n\nBut time will not allow me to carry out these parallels into details.\nThe question is, are these mere coincidences, or do they belong to the\nhomologons of history, where the same law of progress repeats itself\nunder different conditions, as the skeleton of the mammal is found in\nthe whale. Such curious homologons we find in national events, and they\ncan hardly be explained as accidental coincidences. For instance, the\nEnglish and French revolutions proceeded by six identical steps. First,\nan insurrection of the people. Secondly, the dethronement and execution\nof the king. Thirdly, a military usurper. Fourthly, the old line\nrestored. Fifthly, after the death of the restored king, his brother\nsucceeds to the throne. Sixthly, a second revolution drives the brother\ninto exile, and a constitutional king of a collateral branch takes his\nplace.\n\nBut if these doubles which I have described come by some mysterious law\nof polar force, as in the magnet, where the two kinds of electricity\nare repelled to opposite poles, and yet attract each other, how\naccount for the regularity of the geographical position? Why is the\nFrench, Greek, Hindoo, Persian, Italian, Polish, Swedish type always\nat the east, and the English, Roman, Iranic, Ottoman, Spanish, German,\nNorwegian type always at the west? Are nations, like tides, affected\nby the diurnal revolution of the globe? This, I confess, I am unable\nto explain; and I leave it to others to consider whether what I have\ndescribed is pure coincidence, or if it belongs in some way to the\nphilosophy of history and comes under universal law.\n\n\n\n\nDID SHAKESPEARE WRITE BACON'S WORKS[3]\n\n\nThe greatest of English poets is Shakespeare. The greatest prose writer\nin English literature is probably Bacon. Each of these writers, alone,\nis a marvel of intellectual grandeur. It is hard to understand how\none man, in a few years, could have written all the masterpieces of\nShakespeare,--thirty-six dramas, each a work of genius such as the\nworld will never let die. It is a marvel that from one mind could\nproceed the tender charm of such poems as \"Romeo and Juliet,\" \"As You\nLike It,\" or \"The Winter's Tale;\" the wild romance of \"The Tempest,\"\nor of \"A Midsummer Night's Dream;\" the awful tragedies of \"Lear,\"\n\"Macbeth,\" and \"Othello;\" the profound philosophy of \"Hamlet;\" the\nperfect fun of \"Twelfth Night,\" and \"The Merry Wives of Windsor;\" and\nthe reproductions of Roman and English history. It is another marvel\nthat a man like Bacon, immersed nearly all his life in business, a\nsuccessful lawyer, an ambitious statesman, a courtier cultivating the\nsociety of the sovereign and the favorites of the sovereign, should\nalso be the founder of a new system of philosophy, which has been the\nsource of many inventions and new sciences down to the present day;\nshould have critically surveyed the whole domain of knowledge, and\nbecome a master of English literary style. Each of these phenomena is\na marvel; but put them together, and assume that one man did it all,\nand you have, not a marvel, but a miracle. Yet, this is the result\nwhich the monistic tendency of modern thought has reached. Several\ncritics of our time have attempted to show that Bacon, besides writing\nall the works usually attributed to him, was also the author of all of\nShakespeare's plays and poems.\n\nThis theory was first publicly maintained by Miss Delia Bacon in\n1857. It had been, before, in 1856, asserted by an Englishman,\nWilliam Henry Smith, but only in a small volume printed for private\ncirculation. This book made a distinguished convert in the person of\nLord Palmerston, who openly declared his conviction that Bacon was the\nauthor of Shakespeare's plays. Two papers by Appleton Morgan, written\nin the same sense, appeared last year in \"Appletons' Journal.\" But far\nthe most elaborate and masterly work in support of this attempt to\ndethrone Shakespeare, and to give his seat on the summit of Parnassus\nto Lord Bacon, is the book by Judge Holmes, published in 1866. He has\nshown much ability, and brought forward every argument which has any\nplausibility connected with it.\n\nJudge Holmes was, of course, obliged to admit the extreme antecedent\nimprobability of his position. Certainly it is very difficult to\nbelieve that the author of such immortal works should have been\nwilling, for any reason, permanently to conceal his authorship; or,\nif he could hide that fact, should have been willing to give the\nauthorship to another; or, if willing, should have been able so\neffectually to conceal the substitution as to blind the eyes of all\nmankind down to the days of Miss Delia Bacon and Judge Holmes.\n\nWhat, then, are the arguments used by Judge Holmes? The proofs he\nadduces are mainly these: (1st) That there are many coincidences and\nparallelisms of thought and expression between the works of Bacon and\nShakespeare; (2d) that there is an amount of knowledge and learning\nin the plays, which Lord Bacon possessed, but which Shakespeare could\nhardly have had. Besides these principal proofs, there are many other\nreasons given which are of inferior weight,--a phrase in a letter of\nSir Tobie Matthew; another sentence of Bacon himself, which might be\npossibly taken as an admission that he was the author of \"Richard II.;\"\nthe fact that some plays which Shakespeare certainly did not write were\nfirst published with his name or his initials. But his chief argument\nis that Shakespeare had neither the learning nor the time to write the\nplays, both of which Lord Bacon possessed; and that there are curious\ncoincidences between the plays and the prose works.\n\nThese arguments have all been answered, and the world still believes in\nShakespeare as before. But I have thought it might be interesting to\nshow how easily another argument could be made of an exactly opposite\nkind,--how easily all these proofs might be reversed. I am inclined\nto think that if we are to believe that one man was the author both\nof the plays and of the philosophy, it is much more probable that\nShakespeare wrote the works of Bacon than that Bacon wrote the works\nof Shakespeare. For there is no evidence that Bacon was a poet as well\nas a philosopher; but there is ample evidence that Shakespeare was a\nphilosopher as well as a poet. This, no doubt, assumes that Shakespeare\nactually wrote the plays; but this we have a right to assume, in the\noutset of the discussion, in order to stand on an equal ground with our\nopponents.\n\nThe Bacon vs. Shakespeare argument runs thus: \"Assuming that Lord\nBacon wrote the works commonly attributed to him, there is reason to\nbelieve that he also wrote the plays and poems commonly attributed to\nShakespeare.\"\n\nThe counter argument would then be: \"Assuming that Shakespeare wrote\nthe plays, and poems commonly attributed to him, there is reason to\nbelieve that he also wrote the works commonly attributed to Bacon.\"\n\nThis is clearly the fair basis of the discussion. What is assumed on\nthe one side on behalf of Bacon we have a right to assume on the other\non behalf of Shakespeare. But before proceeding on this basis, I must\nreply to the only argument of Judge Holmes which has much apparent\nweight. He contends that it was impossible for Shakespeare, with the\nopportunities he possessed, to acquire the knowledge which we find\nin the plays. Genius, however great, cannot give the knowledge of\nmedical and legal terms, nor of the ancient languages. Now, it has\nbeen shown that the plays afford evidence of a great knowledge of law\nand medicine; and of works in Latin and Greek, French and Italian.\nHow could such information have been obtained by a boy who had no\nadvantages of study except at a country grammar school, which he\nleft at the age of fourteen, who went to London at twenty-three and\nbecame an actor, and who spent most of his life as actor, theatrical\nproprietor, and man of business?\n\nThis objection presents difficulties to us, and for our time, when\nboys sometimes spend years in the study of Latin grammar. We cannot\nunderstand the rapidity with which all sorts of knowledge were imbibed\nin the period of the Renaissance. Then every one studied everything.\nThen Greek and Latin books were read by prince and peasant, by queens\nand generals. Then all sciences and arts were learned by men and women,\nby young and old. Thus speaks Robert Burton--who was forty years old\nwhen Shakespeare died: \"What a world of books offers itself, in all\nsubjects, arts and sciences, to the sweet content and capacity of the\nreader! In arithmetic, geometry, perspective, opticks, astronomy,\narchitecture, _sculptura_, _pictura_, of which so many and elaborate\ntreatises have lately been written; in mechanics and their mysteries,\nmilitary matters, navigation, riding of horses, fencing, swimming,\ngardening, planting, great tomes of husbandry, cookery, faulconry,\nhunting, fishing, fowling; with exquisite pictures of all sports and\ngames.... What vast tomes are extant in law, physic, and divinity,\nfor profit, pleasure, practice.... Some take an infinite delight to\nstudy the very languages in which these books were written: Hebrew,\nGreek, Syriac, Chaldee, Arabick, and the like.\" This was the fashion\nof that day, to study all languages, all subjects, all authors. A mind\nlike that of Shakespeare could not have failed to share this universal\ndesire for knowledge. After leaving the grammar school, he had nine\nyears for such studies before he went to London. As soon as he began\nto write plays, he had new motives for study; for the subjects of the\ndrama in vogue were often taken from classic story.\n\nBut Shakespeare had access to another source of knowledge besides\nthe study of books. When he reached London, five or six play-houses\nwere in full activity, and new plays were produced every year in\nvast numbers. New plays were then in constant demand, just as the new\nnovel and new daily or weekly paper are called for now. The drama was\nthe periodical literature of the time. Dramatic authors wrote with\nwonderful rapidity, borrowing their subjects from plays already on\nthe stage, and from classic or recent history. Marlowe, Greene, Lyly,\nPeele, Kyd, Lodge, Nash, Chettle, Munday, Wilson, were all dramatic\nwriters before Shakespeare. Philip Henslowe, a manager or proprietor\nof the theatres, bought two hundred and seventy plays in about ten\nyears. Thomas Heywood wrote a part or the whole of two hundred and\ntwenty plays during his dramatic career. Each acted play furnished\nmaterial for some other. They were the property of the play-houses, not\nof the writers. One writer after another has accused Shakespeare of\nindifference to his reputation, because he did not publish a complete\nand revised edition of his works during his life. How could he do\nthis, since they did not belong to him, but to the theatre? Yet every\nwriter was at full liberty to make use of all he could remember of\nother plays, as he saw them acted; and Shakespeare was not slow to use\nthis opportunity. No doubt he gained knowledge in this way, which he\nafterward employed much better than did the authors from whom he took\nit.\n\nThe first plays printed under Shakespeare's name did not appear\ntill he had been connected with the stage eleven years. This gives\ntime enough for him to have acquired all the knowledge to be found\nin his books. That he had read Latin and Greek books we are told by\nBen Jonson; though that great scholar undervalued, as was natural,\nShakespeare's attainments in those languages.\n\nBut Ben Jonson himself furnishes the best reply to those who think\nthat Shakespeare could not have gained much knowledge of science\nor literature because he did not go to Oxford or Cambridge. What\nopportunities had Ben Jonson? A bricklayer by trade, called back\nimmediately from his studies to use the trowel; then running away and\nenlisting as a common soldier; fighting in the Low Countries; coming\nhome at nineteen, and going on the stage; sent to prison for fighting\na duel--what opportunities for study had he? He was of a strong animal\nnature, combative, in perpetual quarrels, fond of drink, in pecuniary\ntroubles, married at twenty, with a wife and children to support. Yet\nJonson was celebrated for his learning. He was master of Greek and\nLatin literature. He took his characters from Athen\u00e6us, Libanius,\nPhilostratus. Somehow he had found time for all this study. \"Greek\nand Latin thought,\" says Taine, \"were incorporated with his own, and\nmade a part of it. He knew alchemy, and was as familiar with alembics,\nretorts, crucibles, etc., as if he had passed his life in seeking\nthe philosopher's stone. He seems to have had a specialty in every\nbranch of knowledge. He had all the methods of Latin art,--possessed\nthe brilliant conciseness of Seneca and Lucan.\" If Ben Jonson--a\nbricklayer, a soldier, a fighter, a drinker--could yet find time to\nacquire this vast knowledge, is there any reason why Shakespeare, with\nmuch more leisure, might not have done the like? He did not possess as\nmuch Greek and Latin lore as Ben Jonson, who, probably, had Shakespeare\nin his mind when he wrote the following passage in his \"Poetaster:\"\n\n    \"His learning savors not the school-like gloss\n    That most consists in echoing words and terms,\n    And soonest wins a man an empty name;\n    Nor any long or far-fetched circumstance\n    Wrapt in the curious generalties of art--\n    But a direct and analytic sum\n    Of all the worth and first effects of art.\n    And for his poesy, 'tis so rammed with life,\n    That it shall gather strength of life with being,\n    And live hereafter more admired than now.\"\n\nThe only other serious proof offered in support of the proposition\nthat Bacon wrote the immortal Shakespearean drama is that certain\ncoincidences of thought and language are found in the works of the two\nwriters. When we examine them, however, they seem very insignificant.\nTake, as an example, two or three, on which Judge Holmes relies, and\nwhich he thinks very striking.\n\nHolmes says (page 48) that Bacon quotes Aristotle, who said that\n\"young men were no fit hearers of moral philosophy,\" and Shakespeare\nsays (\"Troilus and Cressida\"):--\n\n    \"Unlike young men whom Aristotle thought\n    Unfit to hear moral philosophy.\"\n\nBut since Bacon's remark was published in 1605, and \"Troilus and\nCressida\" did not appear until 1609, Shakespeare might have seen it\nthere, and introduced it into his play from his recollection of the\npassage in the \"Advancement of Learning.\"\n\nAnother coincidence mentioned by Holmes is that both writers use the\nword \"thrust:\" Bacon saying that a ship \"thrust into Weymouth;\" and\nShakespeare, that \"Milan was thrust from Milan.\" He also thinks it\ncannot be an accident that both frequently use the word \"wilderness,\"\nthough in very different ways. Both also compare Queen Elizabeth to a\n\"star.\" Bacon makes Atlantis an island in mid-ocean; and the island\nof Prospero is also in mid-ocean. Both have a good deal to say about\n\"mirrors,\" and \"props,\" and like phrases.\n\nSuch reasoning as this has very little weight. You cannot prove two\ncontemporaneous writings to have proceeded from one author by the same\nwords and phrases being found in both; for these are in the vocabulary\nof the time, and are the common property of all who read and write.\n\nMy position is that if either of these writers wrote the works\nattributed to the other, it is much more likely that Shakespeare wrote\nthe philosophical works of Bacon than that Bacon wrote the poetical\nworks of Shakespeare. Assuming then, as we have a right to do in this\nargument, that Shakespeare wrote the plays, what reasons are there for\nbelieving that he also wrote the philosophy?\n\nFirst, this assumption will explain at once that hitherto insoluble\nproblem of the contradiction between Bacon's character and conduct and\nhis works. How could he have been, at the same time, what Pope calls\nhim,--\n\n    \"The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind\"?\n\nHe was, in his philosophy, the leader of his age, the reformer of old\nabuses, the friend of progress. In his conduct, he was, as Macaulay has\nshown, \"far behind his age,--far behind Sir Edward Coke; clinging to\nexploded abuses, withstanding the progress of improvement, struggling\nto push back the human mind.\" In his writings, he was calm, dignified,\nnoble. In his life, he was an office-seeker through long years,\nseeking place by cringing subservience to men in power, made wretched\nto the last degree when office was denied him, addressing servile\nsupplications to noblemen and to the sovereign. To gain and keep office\nhe would desert his friends, attack his benefactors, and make abject\napologies for any manly word he might have incautiously uttered. His\nphilosophy rose far above earth and time, and sailed supreme in the\nair of universal reason. But \"his desires were set on things below.\nWealth, precedence, titles, patronage, the mace, the seals, the\ncoronet, large houses, fair gardens, rich manors, massy services of\nplate, gay hangings,\" were \"objects for which he stooped to everything\nand endured everything.\" These words of Macaulay have been thought too\nsevere. But we defy any admirer of Bacon to read his life, by Spedding,\nwithout admitting their essential truth. How was it possible for a man\nto spend half of his life in the meanest of pursuits, and the other\nhalf in the noblest?\n\nThis difficulty is removed if we suppose that Bacon, the courtier and\nlawyer, with his other ambitions, was desirous of the fame of a great\nphilosopher; and that he induced Shakespeare, then in the prime of his\npowers, to help him write the prose essays and treatises which are his\nchief works. He has himself admitted that he did actually ask the aid\nof the dramatists of his time in writing his books. This remarkable\nfact is stated by Bacon in a letter to Tobie Matthew, written in June,\n1623, in which he says that he is devoting himself to making his\nwritings more perfect--instancing the \"Essays\" and the \"Advancement of\nLearning\"--\"by the help of some good pens, which forsake me not.\" One\nof these pens was that of Ben Jonson, the other might easily have been\nthat of Shakespeare. Certainly there was no better pen in England at\nthat time than his.\n\nWhen Shakespeare's plays were being produced, Lord Bacon was fully\noccupied in his law practice, his parliamentary duties, and his\noffice-seeking. The largest part of the Shakespeare drama was put on\nthe stage, as modern research renders probable, in the ten or twelve\nyears beginning with 1590. In 1597 Shakespeare was rich enough to buy\nthe new place at Stratford-on-Avon, and was also lending money. In 1604\nhe was part owner of the Globe Theatre, so that the majority of the\nplays which gained for him this fortune must have been produced before\nthat time. Now, these were just the busiest years of Bacon's life. In\n1584 he was elected to Parliament. About the same time, he wrote his\nfamous letter to Queen Elizabeth. In 1585 he was already seeking office\nfrom Walsingham and Burleigh. In 1586 he sat in Parliament for Taunton,\nand was active in debate and on committees. He became a bencher in the\nsame year, and began to plead in the courts of Westminster. In 1589 he\nbecame queen's counsel, and member of Parliament for Liverpool. After\nthis he continued active, both in Parliament and at the bar. He sought,\nby the help of Essex, to become Attorney-General. From that period, as\ncrown lawyer, his whole time and thought were required to trace and\nfrustrate the conspiracies with which the kingdom was full. It was\nevident that during these years he had no time to compose fifteen or\ntwenty of the greatest works in any literature.\n\nBut how was Shakespeare occupied when Bacon's philosophy appeared? The\n\"Advancement of Learning\" was published in 1605, after most of the\nplays had been written, as we learn from the fact of Shakespeare's\npurchase of houses and lands. The \"Novum Organum\" was published in\n1620, after Shakespeare's death. But it had been written years before;\nrevised, altered, and copied again and again--it is said twelve times.\nBacon had been engaged upon it during thirty years, and it was at last\npublished incomplete and in fragments. If Shakespeare assisted in the\ncomposition of this work, his death in 1616 would account, at once, for\nits being left unfinished. And Shakespeare would have had ample time to\nfurnish the ideas of the \"Organum\" in the last years of his life, when\nhe had left the theatre. In 1613 he bought a house in Black Friars,\nwhere Ben Jonson also lived. Might not this have been that they might\nmore conveniently co\u00f6perate in assisting Bacon to write the \"Novum\nOrganum\"?\n\nWhen we ask whether it would have been easier for the author of the\nphilosophy to have composed the drama, or the dramatic poet to have\nwritten the philosophy, the answer will depend on which is the greater\nwork of the two. The greater includes the less, but the less cannot\ninclude the greater. Now, the universal testimony of modern criticism\nin England, Germany, and France declares that no larger, deeper, or\nampler intellect has ever appeared than that which produced the\nShakespeare drama. This \"myriad-minded\" poet was also philosopher,\nman of the world, acquainted with practical affairs, one of those who\nsaw the present and foresaw the future. All the ideas of the Baconian\nphilosophy might easily have had their home in this vast intelligence.\nGreat as are the thoughts of the \"Novum Organum,\" they are far inferior\nto that world of thought which is in the drama. We can easily conceive\nthat Shakespeare, having produced in his prime the wonders and glories\nof the plays, should in his after leisure have developed the leading\nideas of the Baconian philosophy. But it is difficult to imagine that\nBacon, while devoting his main strength to politics, to law, and to\nphilosophy, should as a mere pastime for his leisure, have produced in\nhis idle moments the greatest intellectual work ever done on earth.\n\nIf the greater includes the less, the mind of Shakespeare includes that\nof Bacon, and not _vice versa_. This will appear more plainly if we\nconsider the quality of intellect displayed respectively in the dramas\nand the philosophy. The one is synthetic, creative; the other analytic,\ncritical. The one puts together, the other takes apart and examines.\nNow, the genius which can put together can also take apart; but it by\nno means follows that the power of taking apart implies that of putting\ntogether. A watch-maker, who can put a watch together, can easily take\nit to pieces; but many a child who has taken his watch to pieces has\nfound it impossible to put it together again.\n\nWhen we compare the Shakespeare plays and the Baconian philosophy, it\nis curious to see how the one is throughout a display of the synthetic\nintellect, and the other of the analytic. The plays are pure creation,\nthe production of living wholes. They people our thought with a race of\nbeings who are living persons, and not pale abstractions. These airy\nnothings take flesh and form, and have a name and local habitation\nforever on the earth. Hamlet, Desdemona, Othello, Miranda, are as\nreal people as Queen Elizabeth or Mary of Scotland. But when we turn\nto the Baconian philosophy, this faculty is absent. We have entered\nthe laboratory of a great chemist, and are surrounded by retorts and\ncrucibles, tests and re-agents, where the work done is a careful\nanalysis of all existing things, to find what are their constituents\nand their qualities. Poetry creates, philosophy takes to pieces and\nexamines.\n\nIt is, I think, a historic fact, that while those authors whose primary\nquality is poetic genius have often been also, on a lower plane,\neminent as philosophers, there is, perhaps, not a single instance of\none whose primary distinction was philosophic analysis, who has also\nbeen, on a lower plane, eminent as a poet. Milton, Petrarch, Goethe,\nLucretius, Voltaire, Coleridge, were primarily and eminently poets;\nbut all excelled, too, in a less degree, as logicians, metaphysicians,\nmen of science, and philosophers. But what instance have we of any man\nlike Bacon, chiefly eminent as lawyer, statesman, and philosopher,\nwho was also distinguished, though in a less degree, as a poet? Among\ngreat lawyers, is there one eminent also as a dramatic or lyric author?\nCicero tried it, but his verses are only doggerel. In Lord Campbell's\nlist of the lord chancellors and chief justices of England no such\ninstance appears. If Bacon wrote the Shakespeare drama, he is the one\nexception to an otherwise universal rule. But if Shakespeare co\u00f6perated\nin the production of the Baconian philosophy, he belongs to a class of\npoets who have done the same. Coleridge was one of the most imaginative\nof poets. His \"Christabel\" and \"Ancient Mariner\" are pure creations.\nBut in later life he originated a new system of philosophy in England,\nthe influence of which has not ceased to be felt to our day. The\ncase would be exactly similar if we suppose that Shakespeare, having\nranged the realm of imaginative poetry in his youth, had in his later\ndays of leisure co\u00f6perated with Bacon and Ben Jonson in producing the\n\"Advancement of Learning\" and the \"Novum Organum.\" We can easily think\nof them as meeting, sometimes at the house of Ben Jonson, sometimes\nat that of Shakespeare in Black Friars, and sometimes guests at that\nprivate house built by Lord Bacon for purposes of study, near his\nsplendid palace of Gorhambury. \"A most ingeniously contrived house,\"\nsays Basil Montagu, \"where, in the society of his philosophical\nfriends, he devoted himself to study and meditation.\" Aubrey tells\nus that he had the aid of Hobbes in writing down his thoughts. Lord\nBacon appears to have possessed the happy gift of using other men's\nfaculties in his service. Ben Jonson, who had been a thorough student\nof chemistry, alchemy, and science in all the forms then known, aided\nBacon in his observations of nature. Hobbes aided him in giving\nclearness to his thoughts and his language. And from Shakespeare he\nmay have derived the radical and central ideas of his philosophy. He\nused the help of Dr. Playfer to translate his philosophy into Latin.\nTobie Matthew gives him the last argument of Galileo for the Copernican\nsystem. He sends his works to others, begging them to correct the\nthoughts and the style. It is evident, then, that he would have been\nglad of the concurrence of Shakespeare, and that could easily be had,\nthrough their common friend, Ben Jonson.\n\nIf Bacon wrote the plays of Shakespeare, it is difficult to give any\nsatisfactory reason for his concealment of that authorship. He had\nmuch pride, not to say vanity, in being known as an author. He had his\nname attached to all his other works, and sent them as presents to the\nuniversities, and to individuals, with letters calling their attention\nto these books. Would he have been willing permanently to conceal\nthe fact of his being the author of the best poetry of his time?\nThe reasons assigned by Judge Holmes for this are not satisfactory.\nThey are: his desire to rise in the profession of the law, the low\nreputation of a play-writer, his wish to write more freely under an\nincognito, and his wish to rest his reputation on his philosophical\nworks. But if he were reluctant to be regarded as the author of \"Lear\"\nand \"Hamlet,\" he was willing to be known as the writer of \"Masques,\"\nand a play about \"Arthur,\" exhibited by the students of Gray's Inn.\nIt is an error to say that the reputation of a play-writer was low.\nJudge Holmes, himself, tells us that there was nothing remarkable in a\nbarrister of the inns of court writing for the stage. Ford and Beaumont\nwere both lawyers as well as eminent play-writers. Lord Backhurst,\nLord Brooke, Sir Henry Wotton, all wrote plays. And we find nothing in\nthe Shakespeare dramas which Bacon need have feared to say under his\nown name. It would have been ruin to Sir Philip Francis to have avowed\nhimself the author of \"Junius.\" But the Shakespeare plays satirized no\none, and made no enemies. If there were any reasons for concealment,\nthey certainly do not apply to the year 1623, when the first folio\nappeared, which was after the death of Shakespeare and the fall of\nBacon. The acknowledgment of their authorship at that time could no\nlonger interfere with Bacon's rise. And it would be very little to the\ncredit of his intelligence to assume that he was not then aware of the\nvalue of such works, or that he did not desire the reputation of being\ntheir author. It would have been contrary to his very nature not to\nhave wished for the credit of that authorship.\n\nOn the other hand, there would be nothing surprising in the fact of\nShakespeare's laying no claim to credit for having assisted in the\ncomposition of the \"Advancement of Learning.\" Shakespeare was by nature\nas reticent and modest as Bacon was egotistical and ostentatious. What\na veil is drawn over the poet's personality in his sonnets! We read in\nthem his inmost sentiments, but they tell us absolutely nothing of the\nevents of his life, or the facts of his position. And if, as we assume,\nhe was one among several who helped Lord Bacon, though he might have\ndone the most, there was no special reason why he should proclaim that\nfact.\n\nGervinus has shown, in three striking pages, the fundamental harmony\nbetween the ideas and mental tendencies of Shakespeare and Bacon. Their\nphilosophy of man and of life was the same. If, then, Bacon needed to\nbe helped in thinking out his system, there was no one alive who would\nhave given him such stimulus and encouragement as Shakespeare. This\nalso may explain his not mentioning the name of Shakespeare in his\nworks; for that might have called too much attention to the source from\nwhich he received this important aid.\n\nNevertheless, I regard the monistic theory as in the last degree\nimprobable. We have two great authors, and not one only. But if we\nare compelled to accept the view which ascribes a common source to\nthe Shakespeare drama and the Baconian philosophy, I think there are\ngood reasons for preferring Shakespeare to Bacon as the author of\nboth. When the plays appeared, Bacon was absorbed in pursuits and\nambitions foreign to such work; his accepted writings show no sign of\nsuch creative power; he was the last man in the world not to take the\ncredit of such a success, and had no motive to conceal his authorship.\nOn the other hand, there was a period in Shakespeare's life when he had\nabundant leisure to co\u00f6perate in the literary plans of Bacon; his ample\nintellect was full of the ideas which took form in those works; and\nhe was just the person neither to claim nor to desire any credit for\nlending such assistance.\n\nThere is, certainly, every reason to believe that, among his other\nambitions, Bacon desired that of striking out a new path of discovery,\nand initiating a better method in the study of nature. But we know\nthat, in doing this, he sought aid in all quarters, and especially\namong Shakespeare's friends and companions. It is highly probable,\ntherefore, that he became acquainted with the great dramatist, and that\nShakespeare knew of Bacon's designs and became interested in them. And\nif so, who could offer better suggestions than he; and who would more\nwillingly accept them than the overworked statesman and lawyer, who\nwished to be also a philosopher?\n\nFinally, we may refer those who believe that the shape of the brow and\nhead indicates the quality of mental power to the portraits of the two\nmen. The head of Shakespeare, according to all the busts and pictures\nwhich remain to us, belongs to the type which antiquity has transmitted\nto us in the portraits of Homer and Plato. In this vast dome of thought\nthere was room for everything. The head of Bacon is also a grand one,\nbut less ample, less complete--less\n\n    \"Teres, totus atque rotundus.\"\n\nThese portraits therefore agree with all we know of the writings, in\nshowing us which, and which only, of the two minds was capable of\ncontaining the other.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVOLUTION OF A GREAT POEM[4]\n\n\nThere are at least three existing manuscripts of Grays \"Elegy,\" in\nthe author's autograph. The earliest, containing the largest number\nof variations and the most curious, is that now in the possession of\nSir William Fraser in London, and for which he paid the large sum\nof \u00a3230, in 1875. By the kindness of Sir William Fraser, I examined\nthis manuscript at his rooms in London, in 1882. A facsimile copy of\nthis valuable autograph, photographed from the original in 1862, is\nnow before me. A second copy in the handwriting of Gray, called the\nPembroke manuscript, is in the library of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. A\nfacsimile of this autograph appears in Matthias's edition of Mason's\n\"Gray,\" published in 1814. A third copy, in the poet's handwriting,\ncopied by him for his friend, Dr. Wharton, is in the British Museum. I\nexamined this, also, in 1882, and had an accurate copy made for me by\none of the assistants in the museum. This was written after the other\ntwo, as is evident from the fact that it approaches most nearly to the\nform which the \"Elegy\" finally assumed when printed. There are only\nnine or ten expressions in this manuscript which differ from the poem\nas published by Gray. Most of these are unimportant. \"_Or_\" he changed,\nin three places, into \"and.\" \"_And_ in our ashes\" he changed into \"Even\nin our ashes,\" which was a clear improvement. It was not until after\nthis third copy was written that the improvement was made which changed\n\n    \"Forgive, ye Proud, the involuntary Fault,\n    If Memory to These no Trophies raise,\"\n\ninto\n\n    \"Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,\n    If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise.\"\n\nAnother important alteration of a single word was also made after this\nthird manuscript was written. This was the change, in the forty-fifth\nstanza, of \"Reins of Empire\" into \"Rod of Empire.\"\n\n\"The Elegy in a Country Churchyard\" became at once one of the most\npopular poems in the language, and has remained so to this time. It has\nbeen equally a favorite with common readers, with literary men, and\nwith poets. Its place will always be in the highest rank of English\npoetry. The fact, however, is--and it is a very curious fact--that this\nfirst-class poem was the work of a third-class poet. For Thomas Gray\ncertainly does not stand in the first class with Shakespeare, Spenser,\nand Milton. Nor can he fairly be put in the second class with Dryden,\nPope, Burns, Wordsworth, and Byron. He belongs to the third, with\nCowley, Cowper, Shelley, and Keats. There may be a doubt concerning\nsome of whom I have named, but there can be no doubt that Gray will\nnever stand higher than those who may be placed by critics in the third\nclass. Yet it is equally certain that he has produced a first-class\npoem. How is this paradox to be explained?\n\nWhat is the charm of Gray's \"Elegy\"? The thoughts are sufficiently\ncommonplace. That all men must die, that the most humble may have had\nin them some power which, under other circumstances, might have made\nthem famous,--these are somewhat trite statements; but the fascination\nof the verses consists in the tone, solemn but serene, which pervades\nthem; in the pictures of coming night, of breaking day, of cheerful\nrural life, of happy homes; and lastly, in the perfect finish of the\nverse and the curious felicity of the diction. In short, the poem is a\nwork of high art. It was not inspired, but it was carefully elaborated.\nAnd this appears plainly when we compare it, as it stands in the Fraser\nmanuscript, with its final form.\n\nThis poem was a work of eight years. Its heading in the Fraser\nmanuscript is \"Stanzas Wrote in a Country Churchyard.\" It was, however,\nbegun at Stoke in 1742, continued at Cambridge, and had its last\ntouches added at Stoke-Pogis, June 12, 1750. In a letter to Horace\nWalpole of that date, Gray says, \"Having put an end to a thing whose\nbeginning you saw long ago, I immediately send it to you.\"\n\nThe corrections made by Gray during this period were many, and were\nprobably all improvements. Many poets when they try to improve their\nverses only injure them. But Gray's corrections were invariably for\nthe better. We may even say that, if it had been published as it was\nfirst written, and as it now stands in the Fraser manuscript, it would\nhave ranked only with the best poetry of Shenstone or Cowper. Let me\nindicate some of the most important changes.\n\nIn line seventeen, the fine epithet of \"incense-breathing\" was an\naddition.\n\n    \"The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,\"\n\nfor the Fraser manuscript reads--\n\n    \"Forever sleep. The breezy call of morn.\"\n\nNineteenth line, Fraser manuscript has--\n\n    \"Or chanticleer so shrill, or echoing horn,\"\n\ncorrected to\n\n    \"The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn.\"\n\nTwenty-fourth--\"Coming kiss\" was corrected to \"envied kiss.\"\n\nForty-third--\"Awake the silent dust\" was corrected to \"provoke the\nsilent dust.\"\n\nForty-seventh--The correction of \"Reins of Empire\" to \"Rod of Empire\"\nfirst appears in the margin of the Pembroke manuscript.\n\nFifty-seventh--In the Fraser manuscript it reads--\n\n    \"Some village Cato, who with dauntless breast,\n    Some mute, inglorious Tully here may rest;\n    Some C\u00e6sar,\" etc.\n\nIn the Pembroke manuscript, these classical personages have\ndisappeared, and the great improvement was made of substituting\nHampden, Milton, and Cromwell, and thus maintaining the English\ncoloring of the poem.\n\nFifty-first--This verse, beginning, \"But Knowledge,\" etc., was placed,\nin the Fraser manuscript, after the one beginning, \"Some village Cato,\"\nbut with a note in the margin to transfer it to where it now stands.\nThe third line of the stanza was first written, \"Chill Penury had\ndamped.\" This was first corrected to \"depressed,\" and afterward to\n\"repressed.\"\n\nFifty-fifth--\"Their fate forbade,\" changed to \"Their lot forbade.\"\n\nSixty-sixth--\"Their struggling virtues\" was improved to \"Their growing\nvirtues.\"\n\nSeventy-first--\"Crown the shrine\" was altered to \"heap the shrine,\"\nand in the next line \"Incense hallowed by the muse's flame\" was wisely\nchanged to \"Incense kindled by the muse's flame.\"\n\nAfter the seventy-second line stand, in the Fraser manuscript, the\nfollowing stanzas, which Gray, with admirable taste, afterward omitted.\nBut, before he decided to leave them out altogether, he drew a black\nline down the margin, indicating that he would transfer them to another\nplace. These stanzas were originally intended to close the poem.\nAfterward the thought occurred to him of \"the hoary-headed swain\" and\nthe \"Epitaph.\"\n\n    \"The thoughtless World to Majesty may bow,\n      Exalt the Brave and idolize Success,\n    But more to Innocence their safety owe\n      Than Power and Genius e'er conspire to bless.\n\n    \"And thou, who, mindful of the unhonored Dead,\n      Dost, in these Notes, their artless Tale relate,\n    By Night and lonely Contemplation led\n      To linger in the gloomy Walks of Fate;\n\n    \"Hark, how the sacred Calm that broods around\n      Bids every fierce, tumultuous Passion cease,\n    In still, small Accents whispering from the Ground\n      A grateful Earnest of eternal Peace.\n\n    \"No more with Reason and thyself at Strife,\n      Give anxious Cares and useless Wishes room;\n    But through the cool, sequestered Vale of Life\n      Pursue the silent Tenor of thy Doom.\"\n\nAfter these stanzas, according to the Fraser manuscript, were to follow\nthese lines, which I do not remember to have seen elsewhere:--\n\n    \"If chance that e'er some pensive Spirit more,\n      By sympathetic Musings here delayed,\n    With vain though kind Enquiry shall explore\n      Thy once-loved Haunt, thy long-neglected Shade,\n\n    \"Haply,\" etc.\n\nBut Gray soon dispensed with this feeble stanza, and made a new one by\nchanging it into the one beginning:--\n\n    \"For thee, who mindful.\"\n\nThe ninety-ninth and one hundredth lines stand in the Fraser\nmanuscript--\n\n    \"With hasty footsteps brush the dews away\n    On the high brow of yonder hanging lawn.\"\n\nThe following stanza is noticeable for the inversions so frequent\nin Gray, and which he had, perhaps, unconsciously adopted from his\nfamiliarity with the classics. He afterward omitted it:--\n\n    \"Him have we seen the greenwood side along,\n      While o'er the heath we hied, our labors done.\n    Oft as the wood-lark piped her farewell song,\n      With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun.\"\n\nIn the manuscript the word is spelled \"whistful.\" In line 101, \"hoary\nbeech\" is corrected to \"spreading beech,\" and afterward to \"nodding\nbeech.\"\n\nLine 113--\"Dirges meet\" was changed to \"dirges dire;\" and after 116\ncame the beautiful stanza, afterward omitted by Gray as being _de trop_\nin this place:--\n\n    \"There, scattered oft, the earliest of the year,\n      By hands unseen, are showers of violets found;\n    The redbreast loves to build and warble there,\n      And little footsteps lightly print the ground.\"\n\nEven in this verse there were two corrections. \"Robin\" was altered in\nthe Fraser manuscript into \"redbreast,\" and \"frequent violets\" into\n\"showers of violets.\"\n\nOne of the most curious accidents to which this famous poem has been\nsubjected was an erroneous change made in the early editions, which has\nbeen propagated almost to our time. In the stanza beginning--\n\n    \"The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Power,\"\n\nGray wrote\n\n    \"Awaits alike the inevitable Hour.\"\n\nAnd so it stands in all three manuscripts, and in the printed edition\nwhich he himself superintended. His meaning was, \"The inevitable Hour\nawaits everything. It stands there, waiting the boast of Heraldry,\"\netc. But his editors, misled by his inverted style, supposed that it\nwas the gifts of Heraldry, Power, Beauty, etc., that were waiting, and\ntherefore corrected what they thought Gray's bad grammar, and printed\nthe word \"await.\" But so they destroyed the meaning. These things were\nnot waiting at all for the dread hour; they were enjoying themselves,\ncareless of its approach. But \"the hour\" was waiting for them. Gray's\noriginal reading has been restored in the last editions.\n\nIn tracing the development of this fine poem, we see it gradually\nimproving under his careful touch, till it becomes a work of high art.\nIn some poets--Wordsworth, for example--inspiration is at its maximum,\nand art at its minimum. In Gray, I think, inspiration was at its\nminimum, and art at its maximum.\n\n\n\n\nRELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL\n\n\n\n\nAFFINITIES OF BUDDHISM AND CHRISTIANITY[5]\n\n\nIt has long been known that many analogies exist between Buddhism\nand Christianity. The ceremonies, ritual, and rites of the Buddhists\nstrikingly resemble those of the Roman Catholic Church. The Buddhist\npriests are monks. They take the same three vows of poverty, chastity,\nand obedience which are binding on those of the Roman Church. They are\nmendicants, like the mendicant orders of St. Francis and St. Dominic.\nThey are tonsured; use strings of beads, like the rosary, with which\nto count their prayers; have incense and candles in their worship; use\nfasts, processions, litanies, and holy water. They have something akin\nto the adoration of saints; repeat prayers in an unknown tongue; have\na chanted psalmody with a double choir; and suspend the censer from\nfive chains. In China, some Buddhists worship the image of a virgin,\ncalled the Queen of Heaven, having an infant in her arms, and holding a\ncross. In Thibet the Grand Lamas wear a mitre, dalmatica, and cope, and\npronounce a benediction on the laity by extending the right hand over\ntheir heads. The Dalai-Lama resembles the Pope, and is regarded as the\nhead of the Church. The worship of relics is very ancient among the\nBuddhists, and so are pilgrimages to sacred places.\n\nBesides these resemblances in outward ceremonies, more important ones\nappear in the inner life and history of the two religions. Both belong\nto those systems which derive their character from a human founder, and\nnot from a national tendency; to the class which contains the religions\nof Moses, Zoroaster, Confucius, and Mohammed, and not to that in which\nthe Brahmanical, Egyptian, Scandinavian, Greek, and Roman religions\nare found. Both Buddhism and Christianity are catholic, and not\nethnic; that is, not confined to a single race or nation, but by their\nmissionary spirit passing beyond these boundaries, and making converts\namong many races. Christianity began among the Jews as a Semitic\nreligion, but, being rejected by the Jewish nation, established itself\namong the Aryan races of Europe. In the same way Buddhism, beginning\namong an Aryan people--the Hindoos--was expelled from Hindostan, and\nestablished itself among the Mongol races of Eastern Asia. Besides its\nresemblances to the Roman Catholic side of Christendom, Buddhism has\nstill closer analogies with the Protestant Church. Like Protestantism,\nit is a reform, which rejects a hierarchal system and does away with\na priestly caste. Like Protestantism, it has emphasized the purely\nhumane side of life, and is a religion of humanity rather than of\npiety. Both the Christian and Buddhist churches teach a divine\nincarnation, and both worship a God-man.\n\nAre these remarkable analogies only casual resemblances, or are they\nreal affinities? By affinity we here mean genetic relationship. Are\nBuddhism and Christianity related as mother and child, one being\nderived from the other; or are they related by both being derived from\nsome common ancestor? Is either derived from the other, as Christianity\nfrom Judaism, or Protestantism from the Papal Church? That there can\nbe no such affinity as this seems evident from history. History shows\nno trace of the contact which would be required for such influence.\nIf Christianity had taken its customs from Buddhism, or Buddhism from\nChristianity, there must have been ample historic evidence of the fact.\nBut, instead of this, history shows that each has grown up by its own\nnatural development, and has unfolded its qualities separately and\nalone. The law of evolution also teaches that such great systems do not\ncome from imitation, but as growths from a primal germ.\n\nNor does history give the least evidence of a common ancestry from\nwhich both took their common traits. We know that Buddhism was derived\nfrom Brahmanism, and that Christianity was derived from Judaism. Now,\nJudaism and Brahmanism have few analogies; they could not, therefore,\nhave transmitted to their offspring what they did not themselves\npossess. Brahmanism came from an Aryan stock, in Central Asia; Judaism\nfrom a Semitic stem, thousands of miles to the west. If Buddhism and\nChristianity came from a common source, that source must have antedated\nboth the Mosaic and Brahmanical systems. Even then it would be a case\nof atavism in which the original type disappeared in the children, to\nreappear in the later descendants.\n\nAre, then, these striking resemblances, and others which are still to\nbe mentioned, only accidental analogies? This does not necessarily\nfollow; for there is a third alternative. They may be what are\ncalled in science homologies; that is, the same law working out\nsimilar results under the same conditions, though under different\ncircumstances. The whale lives under different circumstances from other\nmammalia; but being a mammal, he has a like osseous structure. What\nseems to be a fin, being dissected, turns out to be an arm, with hand\nand fingers. There are like homologies in history. Take the instance of\nthe English and French revolutions. In each case the legitimate king\nwas tried, condemned, and executed. A republic followed. The republic\ngave way before a strong-handed usurper. Then the original race of\nkings was restored; but, having learned nothing and forgotten nothing,\nthey were displaced a second time, and a constitutional monarch placed\non the throne, who, though not the legitimate king, still belonged\nto the same race. Here the same laws of human nature have worked out\nsimilar results; for no one would suggest that France had copied its\nrevolutions from England. And, in religion, human nature reproduces\nsimilar customs and ceremonies under like conditions. When, for\ninstance, you have a mechanical system of prayer, in which the number\nof prayers is of chief importance, there must be some way of counting\nthem, and so the rosary has been invented independently in different\nreligions. We have no room to point out how this law has worked in\nother instances; but it is enough to refer to the principle.\n\nBesides these resemblances between Buddhism and Christianity, there are\nalso some equally remarkable differences, which should be noticed.\n\nThe first of these is the striking fact that Buddhism has been unable\nto recognize the existence of the Infinite Being. It has been called\natheism by the majority of the best authorities. Even Arthur Lillie,\nwho defends this system from the charge of agnosticism, says:[6] \"An\nagnostic school of Buddhism without doubt exists. It professes plain\natheism, and holds that every mortal, when he escapes from re-births,\nand the causation of Karma by the awakenment of the Bodhi or gnosis,\nwill be annihilated. This Buddhism, by Eug\u00e8ne Burnouf, Saint-Hilaire,\nMax M\u00fcller, Csoma de K\u00f6r\u00f6s, and, I believe, almost every writer of\nnote, is pronounced the original Buddhism,--the Buddhism of the South.\"\nAlmost every writer of note, therefore, who has studied Buddhism in\nthe P\u00e2li, Singhalese, Chinese, and other languages, and has had direct\naccess to its original sources, has pronounced it a system of atheism.\nBut this opinion is opposed to the fact that Buddhists have everywhere\nworshiped unseen and superhuman powers, erected magnificent temples,\nmaintained an elaborate ritual, and adored Buddha as the supreme ruler\nof the worlds. How shall we explain this paradox? All depends on the\ndefinition we give to the word \"atheism.\" If a system is atheistic\nwhich sees only the temporal, and not the eternal; which knows no\nGod as the author, creator, and ruler of Nature; which ascribes the\norigin of the universe to natural causes, to which only the finite is\nknowable, and the infinite unknowable--then Buddhism is atheism. But,\nin that case, much of the polytheism of the world must be regarded as\natheism; for polytheism has largely worshiped finite gods. The whole\nrace of Olympian deities were finite beings. Above them ruled the\neverlasting necessity of things. But who calls the Greek worshipers\natheists? The Buddha, to most Buddhists, is a finite being, one who has\npassed through numerous births, has reached Nirvana, and will one day\nbe superseded by another Buddha. Yet, for the time, he is the Supreme\nBeing, Ruler of all the Worlds. He is the object of worship, and\nreally divine, if in a subordinate sense.\n\nI would not, therefore, call this religion atheism. No religion which\nworships superhuman powers can justly be called atheistic on account of\nits meagre metaphysics. How many Christians there are who do not fully\nrealize the infinite and eternal nature of the Deity! To many He is no\nmore than the Buddha is to his worshipers,--a supreme being, a mighty\nruler, governing all things by his will. How few see God everywhere\nin nature, as Jesus saw Him, letting his sun shine on the evil and\ngood, and sending his rain on the just and unjust. How few see Him in\nall of life, so that not a sparrow dies, or a single hair of the head\nfalls, without the Father. Most Christians recognize the Deity only as\noccasionally interfering by special providences, particular judgments,\nand the like.\n\nBut in Christianity this ignorance of the eternal nature of God is the\nexception, while in Buddhism it is the rule. In the reaction against\nBrahmanism, the Brahmanic faith in the infinite was lost. In the\nfully developed system of the ancient Hindoo religion the infinite\noverpowered the finite, the temporal world was regarded as an illusion,\nand only the eternal was real. The reaction from this extreme was so\ncomplete as to carry the Buddhists to the exact opposite. If to the\nBrahman all the finite visible world was only _maya_--illusion, to the\nBuddhists all the infinite unseen world was unknowable, and practically\nnothing.\n\nPerhaps the most original feature of Christianity is the fact\nthat it has combined in a living synthesis that which in other\nsystems was divided. Jesus regarded love to God and love to man as\nidentical,--positing a harmonious whole of time and eternity, piety\nand humanity, faith and works,--and thus laid the foundation of a\nlarger system than either Brahmanism or Buddhism. He did not invent\npiety, nor discover humanity. Long before he came the Brahmanic\nliterature had sounded the deepest depths of spiritual life, and the\nBuddhist missionaries had preached universal benevolence to mankind.\nBut the angelic hymn which foretold the new religion as bringing at\nonce \"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to\nmen\" indicated the essence of the faith which was at the same time a\nheavenly love and an earthly blessing. This difference of result in the\ntwo systems came probably from the different methods of their authors.\nWith Jesus life was the source of knowledge; the life was the light of\nmen. With the Buddha, reflection, meditation, thought was the source\nof knowledge. In this, however, he included intuition no less than\nreflection. Sakya-muni understood perfectly that a mere intellectual\njudgment possessed little motive power; therefore he was not satisfied\ntill he had obtained an intuitive perception of truth. That alone gave\nat once rest and power. But as the pure intellect, even in its highest\nact, is unable to grasp the infinite, the Buddha was an agnostic on\nthis side of his creed by the very success of his method. Who, by\nsearching, can find out God? The infinite can only be known by the\nprocess of living experience. This was the method of Jesus, and has\nbeen that of his religion. For what is faith but that receptive state\nof mind which waits on the Lord to receive the illumination which it\ncannot create by its own processes? However this may be, it is probable\nthat the fatal defect in Buddhism which has neutralized its generous\nphilanthropy and its noble humanities has been the absence of the\ninspiration which comes from the belief in an eternal world. Man is\ntoo great to be satisfied with time alone, or eternity alone; he needs\nto live from and for both. Hence, Buddhism is an arrested religion,\nwhile Christianity is progressive. Christianity has shown the capacity\nof outgrowing its own defects and correcting its own mistakes. For\nexample, it has largely outgrown its habit of persecuting infidels and\nheretics. No one is now put to death for heresy. It has also passed out\nof the stage in which religion is considered to consist in leaving the\nworld and entering a monastery. The anchorites of the early centuries\nare no longer to be found in Christendom. Even in Catholic countries\nthe purpose of monastic life is no longer to save the soul by ascetic\ntortures, but to attain some practical end. The Protestant Reformation,\nwhich broke the yoke of priestly power and set free the mind of\nEurope, was a movement originating in Christianity itself, like other\ndevelopments of a similar kind. No such signs of progress exist in\nthe system of Buddhism. It has lost the missionary ardor of its early\nyears; it has ceased from creating a vast literature such as grew up in\nits younger days; it no longer produces any wonders of architecture.\nIt even lags behind the active life of the countries where it has its\ngreatest power.\n\nIt is a curious analogy between the two systems that, while neither\nthe Christ nor the Buddha practiced or taught asceticism, their\nfollowers soon made the essence of religion to consist in some form\nof monastic life. Both Jesus and Sakya-muni went about doing good.\nBoth sent their followers into the world to preach a gospel. Jesus,\nafter thirty years of a retired life, came among men \"eating and\ndrinking,\" and associating with \"publicans and sinners.\" Sakya-muni,\nafter spending some years as an anchorite, deliberately renounced that\nmode of religion as unsatisfactory, and associated with all men, as\nJesus afterward did. Within a few centuries after their death, their\nfollowers relapsed into ascetic and monastic practices; but with this\ndifference, that while in Christendom there has always been both a\nregular and a secular clergy, in the Buddhist countries the whole\npriesthood live in monasteries. They have no parish priests, unless\nas an exception. While in Christian countries the clergy has become\nmore and more a practical body, in sympathy with the common life, in\nBuddhist lands they live apart and exercise little influence on the\ncivil condition of the people.\n\nNor must we pass by the important fact that the word Christendom\nis synonymous with a progressive civilization, while Buddhism is\neverywhere connected with one which is arrested and stationary. The\nboundaries of the Christian religion are exactly coextensive with\nthe advance of science, art, literature; and with the continued\naccumulation of knowledge, power, wealth, and the comforts of human\nlife. According to Kuenen,[7] one of the most recent students of these\nquestions, this difference is due to the principle of hope which exists\nin Christianity, but is absent in Buddhism. The one has always believed\nin a kingdom of God here and a blessed immortality hereafter. Buddhism\nhas not this hope; and this, says Kuenen, \"is a blank which nothing can\nfill.\" So large a thinker as Albert R\u00e9ville has expressed his belief\nthat even the intolerance of Christianity indicated a passionate love\nof truth which has created modern science. He says that \"if Europe had\nnot passed through those ages of intolerance, it is doubtful whether\nthe science of our day would ever have arrived.\"[8] It is only within\nthe boundaries of nations professing the Christian faith that we must\ngo to-day to learn the latest discoveries in science, the best works\nof art, the most flourishing literature. Only within the same circle\nof Christian states is there a government by law, and not by will.\nOnly within these boundaries have the rights of the individual been\nsecured, while the power of the state has been increased. Government\nby law, joined with personal freedom, is only to be found where the\nfaith exists which teaches that God not only supports the universal\norder of natural things, but is also the friend of the individual soul;\nand in just that circle of states in which the doctrine is taught that\nthere is no individual soul for God to love and no Divine presence in\nthe order of nature, human life has subsided into apathy, progress has\nceased, and it has been found impossible to construct national unity.\nSaint-Hilaire affirms[9] that \"in politics and legislation the dogma\nof Buddhism has remained inferior even to that of Brahmanism,\" and\n\"has been able to do nothing to constitute states or to govern them by\nequitable rules.\" These Buddhist nations are really six: Siam, Burma,\nNepaul, Thibet, Tartary, and Ceylon. The activity and social progress\nin China and Japan are no exceptions to this rule; for in neither\ncountry has Buddhism any appreciable influence on the character of the\npeople.\n\nTo those who deny that the theology of a people influences its\ncharacter, it may be instructive to see how exactly the good and evil\ninfluences of Buddhism correspond to the positive and negative traits\nof its doctrine. Its merits, says Saint-Hilaire, are its practical\ncharacter, its abnegation of vulgar gratifications, its benevolence,\nmildness, sentiment of human equality, austerity of manners, dislike of\nfalsehood, and respect for the family. Its defects are want of social\npower, egotistical aims, ignorance of the ideal good, of the sense of\nhuman right and human freedom, skepticism, incurable despair, contempt\nof life. All its human qualities correspond to its doctrinal teaching\nfrom the beginning. It has always taught benevolence, patience,\nself-denial, charity, and toleration. Its defects arise inevitably\nfrom its negative aim,--to get rid of sorrow and evil by sinking into\napathy, instead of seeking for the triumph of good and the coming of a\nreign of God here on the earth.\n\nAs regards the Buddha himself, modern students differ widely. Some, of\ncourse, deny his very existence, and reduce him to a solar myth. M.\nEmile Senart, as quoted by Oldenberg,[10] following the Lalita Vistara\nas his authority, makes of him a solar hero, born of the morning cloud,\ncontending by the power of light with the demons of darkness, rising in\ntriumph to the zenith of heavenly glory, then passing into the night of\nNirvana and disappearing from the scene.\n\nThe difficulty about this solar myth theory is that it proves too\nmuch; it is too powerful a solvent; it would dissolve all history. How\neasy it would be, in a few centuries, to turn General Washington and\nthe American Revolution into a solar myth! Great Britain, a region of\nclouds and rain, represents the Kingdom of Darkness; America, with more\nsunshine, is the Day. Great Britain, as Darkness, wishes to devour the\nYoung Day, or dawn of light, which America is about to diffuse over the\nearth. But Washington, the solar hero, arrives. He is from Virginia,\nthat is, born of a virgin. He was born in February, in the sign of\nAquarius and the Fishes,--plainly referring to the birth of the sun\nfrom the ocean. As the sun surveys the earth, so Washington was said to\nbe a surveyor of many regions. The story of the fruitless attempts of\nthe Indians to shoot him at Braddock's defeat is evidently legendary;\nand, in fact, this battle itself must be a myth, for how can we suppose\ntwo English and French armies to have crossed the Atlantic, and then\ngone into a wilderness west of the mountains, to fight a battle? So\neasy is it to turn history into a solar myth.\n\nThe character of Sakya-muni must be learned from his religion and from\nauthentic tradition. In many respects his character and influence\nresembled that of Jesus. He opposed priestly assumptions, taught the\nequality and brotherhood of man, sent out disciples to teach his\ndoctrine, was a reformer who relied on the power of truth and love.\nMany of his reported sayings resemble those of Jesus. He was opposed\nby the Brahmans as Jesus by the Pharisees. He compared the Brahmans\nwho followed their traditions to a chain of blind men, who move on,\nnot seeing where they go.[11] Like Jesus, he taught that mercy was\nbetter than sacrifices. Like Jesus, he taught orally, and left no\nwriting. Jesus did not teach in Hebrew, but in the Aramaic, which was\nthe popular dialect, and so the Buddha did not speak to the people in\nSanskrit, but in their own tongue, which was P\u00e2li. Like Jesus, he seems\nto have instructed his hearers by parables or stories. He was one of\nthe greatest reformers the world has ever seen; and his influence,\nafter that of the Christ, has probably exceeded that of any one who\never lived.\n\nBut, beside such real resemblances between these two masters, we are\ntold of others still more striking, which would certainly be hard to\nexplain unless one of the systems had borrowed from the other. These\nare said to be the pre\u00ebxistence of Buddha in heaven; his birth of a\nvirgin; salutation by angels; presentation in the temple; baptism by\nfire and water; dispute with the doctors; temptation in the wilderness;\ntransfiguration; descent into hell; ascension into heaven.[12] If\nthese legends could be traced back to the time before Christ, then it\nmight be argued that the Gospels have borrowed from Buddhism. Such,\nhowever, is not the fact. These stories are taken from the Lalita\nVistara, which, according to Rhys Davids,[13] was probably composed\nbetween six hundred and a thousand years after the time of Buddha, by\nsome Buddhist poet in Nepaul. Rhys Davids, one of our best authorities,\nsays of this poem: \"As evidence of what early Buddhism actually was,\nit is of about the same value as some medi\u00e6val poem would be of the\nreal facts of the gospel history.\"[13] M. Ernest de Bunsen, in his work\non the \"Angel Messiah,\" has given a very exhaustive statement, says\nMr. Davids, of all the possible channels through which Christians can\nbe supposed to have borrowed from the Buddhists. But Mr. Davids's\nconclusion is that he finds no evidence of any such communications of\nideas from the East to the West.[14] The difference between the wild\nstories of the Lalita Vistara and the sober narratives of the Gospels\nis quite apparent. Another writer, Professor Seydel,[15] thinks, after\na full and careful examination, that only five facts in the Gospels\nmay have been borrowed from Buddhism. These are: (1) The fast of Jesus\nbefore his work; (2) The question in regard to the blind man--\"Who did\nsin, this man, or his parents\"? (3) The pre\u00ebxistence of Christ; (4) The\npresentation in the Temple; (5) Nathanael sitting under a fig-tree,\ncompared with Buddha under a Bo-tree. But Kuenen has examined these\nparallels, and considers them merely accidental coincidences. And, in\ntruth, it is very hard to conceive of one religion borrowing its facts\nor legends from another, if that other stands in no historic relation\nto it. That Buddhism should have taken much from Brahmanism is natural;\nfor Brahmanism was its mother. That Christianity should have borrowed\nmany of its methods from Judaism is equally natural; for Judaism was\nits cradle. Modern travelers in Burma and Tartary have found that the\nBuddhists hold a kind of camp-meeting in the open air, where they pray\nand sing. Suppose that some critic, noticing this, should assert that,\nwhen Wesley and his followers established similar customs, they must\nhave borrowed them from the Buddhists. The absurdity would be evident.\nNew religions grow, they are not imitations.\n\nIt has been thought, however, that Christianity was derived from the\nEssenes, because of certain resemblances, and it is argued that the\nEssenes must have obtained their monastic habits from the Therapeut\u00e6\nin Egypt, and that the Therapeut\u00e6 received them from the Buddhists,\nbecause they could not have found them elsewhere. This theory, however,\nhas been dismissed from the scene by the young German scholar,[16]\nwho has proved that the essay on the Therapeut\u00e6 ascribed to Philo was\nreally written by a Christian anchorite in the third or fourth century.\n\nThe result, then, of our investigation, is this: There is no\nprobability that the analogies between Christianity and Buddhism have\nbeen derived the one from the other. They have come from the common and\nuniversal needs and nature of man, which repeat themselves again and\nagain in like positions and like circumstances. That Jesus and Buddha\nshould both have retired into the wilderness before undertaking their\ngreat work is probable, for it has been the habit of other reformers\nto let a period of meditation precede their coming before the world.\nThat both should have been tempted to renounce their enterprise is\nalso in accordance with human nature. That, in after times, the simple\nnarratives should be overlaid with additions, and a whole mass of\nsupernatural wonders added,--as we find in the Apocryphal Gospels and\nthe Lalita Vistara,--is also in accordance with the working of the\nhuman mind.\n\nLaying aside all such unsatisfactory resemblances, we must regard the\nBuddha as having been one of the noblest of men, and one whom Jesus\nwould have readily welcomed as a fellow worker and a friend. He opposed\na dominant priesthood, maintained the equal religious rights of all\nmankind, overthrew caste, encouraged woman to take her place as man's\nequal, forbade all bloody sacrifices, and preached a religion of peace\nand good will, seeking to triumph only in the fair conflict of reason\nwith reason. If he was defective in the loftiest instincts of the soul;\nif he knew nothing of the infinite and eternal; if he saw nothing\npermanent in the soul of man; if his highest purpose was negative,--to\nescape from pain, sorrow, anxiety, toil,--let us still be grateful for\nthe influence which has done so much to tame the savage Mongols, and to\nintroduce hospitality and humanity into the homes of Lassa and Siam. If\nEdwin Arnold, a poet, idealizes him too highly, it is the better fault,\nand should be easily forgiven. Hero-worshipers are becoming scarce in\nour time; let us make the most of those we have.\n\n\n\n\nWHY I AM NOT A FREE-RELIGIONIST[17]\n\n\nWhat is meant by \"Free Religion\"? I understand by it, individualism in\nreligion. It is the religious belief which has made itself independent\nof historic and traditional influences, so far as it is in the power\nof any one to attain such independence. In Christian lands it means a\nreligion which has cut loose from the Bible and the Christian Church,\nand which is as ready to question the teaching of Jesus as that of\nSocrates or Buddha. It is, what Emerson called himself, an endless\nseeker, with no past behind it. It is entire trust in the private\nreason as the sole authority in matters of religion.\n\nFree Religion may be regarded as Protestantism carried to its ultimate\nresults. A Protestant _Christian_ accepts the leadership of Jesus, and\nkeeps himself in the Christian communion; but he uses his own private\njudgment to discover what Jesus taught, and what Christianity really\nis. The Free Religionist goes a step farther, and decides by his own\nprivate judgment what is true and what false, no matter whether taught\nby Jesus or not.\n\nFree Religion, as thus understood, seems to me opposed to the law of\nevolution, and incompatible with it. Evolution educes the present from\nthe past by a continuous process. Free Religion cuts itself loose\nfrom the past, and makes every man the founder of his own religion.\nAccording to the law of evolution, confirmed by history, every advance\nin religion is the development from something going before. Jewish\nmonotheism grew out of polytheism; Christianity and Mohammedanism out\nof Judaism; Buddhism out of Brahmanism; Protestant Christianity out of\nthe Roman Catholic Church. Jesus himself said, \"Think not that I am\ncome to destroy the Law or the Prophets: I am not come to destroy, but\nto fulfil.\" The higher religions are not made; they grow. Of each it\nmay be said, as of the poet: \"Nascitur, non fit.\" Therefore, if there\nis to arrive something higher than our existing Christianity, it must\nnot be a system which forsakes the Christian belief, but something\ndeveloped from it.\n\nAccording to the principle of evolution, every growing and productive\nreligion obeys the laws of heredity and of variation. It has an\ninherited common life, and a tendency to modification by individual\nactivity. Omit or depress either factor, and the religion loses its\npower of growth. Without a common life, the principle of development\nis arrested. He who leaves the great current which comes from the\npast loses headway. This current, in the Christian communion, is the\ninherited spirit of Jesus. It is his life, continued in his Church;\nhis central convictions of love to God and to man; of fatherhood\nand brotherhood; of the power of truth to conquer error, of good to\novercome evil; of a Kingdom of Heaven to come to us here. It is the\nfaith of Jesus in things unseen; his hope of the triumph of right\nover wrong; his love going down to the lowliest child of God. These\nvital convictions in the soul of Jesus are communicated by contact\nfrom generation to generation. They are propagated, as he suggested,\nlike leaven hidden in the dough. By a different figure, Plato, in\nhis dialogue of Ion, shows that inspiration is transmitted like the\nmagnetic influence, which causes iron rings to adhere and hang together\nin a chain. Thoughts and opinions are communicated by argument,\nreasoning, speech, and writing; but faith and inspiration by the\ninfluence of life on life. The life of Jesus is thus continued in his\nChurch, and those who stand outside of it lose much of this transmitted\nand sympathetic influence. Common life in a religious body furnishes\nthe motive force which carries it forward, while individual freedom\ngives the power of improvement. The two principles of heredity and\nvariation must be united in order to combine union and freedom, and\nto secure progress. Where freedom of thought ceases, religion becomes\nrigid. It is incapable of development. Such, for instance, is the\ncondition of Buddhism, which, at first full of intellectual activity,\nhas now hardened into a monkish ritual.\n\nFree Religion sacrifices the motive power derived from association\nand religious sympathy for the sake of a larger intellectual freedom.\nThe result is individualism. It founds no churches, but spends much\nforce in criticising the Christian community, its belief, and its\nmethods. These are, no doubt, open to criticism, which would do good\nif administered sympathetically and from within, but produce little\nresult when delivered in the spirit of antagonism. Imperfect as the\nChristian Church is, it ought to be remembered that in it are to be\nfound the chief strength and help of the charities, philanthropies, and\nmoral reforms of our time. Every one who has at heart a movement for\nthe benefit of humanity appeals instinctively for aid to the Christian\nchurches. It is in these that such movements usually originate, and are\ncarried on. Even when, as in the antislavery movement, a part of the\nchurches refuse to sympathize with a new moral or social movement, the\nreproaches made against them show that in the mind of the community\nan interest in all humane endeavor is considered to be a part of\ntheir work. The common life and convictions of these bodies enable\nthem to accomplish what individualism does not venture to undertake.\nIndividualism is incapable of organized and sustained work of this\nsort, though it can, and often does, co\u00f6perate earnestly with it.\n\nThe teaching of Jesus is founded on the synthesis of Truth and Love.\nJesus declares himself to have been born \"to bear witness to the\ntruth,\" and he also makes love, divine and human, the substance of his\ngospel. The love element produces union, the truth element, freedom.\nUnion without freedom stiffens into a rigid conservatism. Freedom\nwithout union breaks up into an intellectual atomism. The Christian\nchurches have gone into both extremes, but never permanently; for\nChristianity, as long as it adheres to its founder and his ideas, has\nthe power of self-recovery. Its diseases are self-limited.\n\nIt has had many such periods, but has recovered from them. It passed\nthrough an age in which it ran to ascetic self-denial, and made saints\nof self-torturing anchorites. It afterward became a speculative system,\nand tended to metaphysical creeds and doctrinal distinctions. It became\na persecuting church, burning heretics and Jews, and torturing infidels\nas an act of faith. It was tormented by dark superstitions, believing\nin witchcraft and magic. But it has left all these evils behind. No\none is now put to death for heresy or witchcraft. The monastic orders\nin the Church are preachers and teachers, or given to charity. No\none could be burned to-day as a heretic. No one to-day believes in\nwitchcraft. The old creeds which once held the Church in irons are\nnow slowly disintegrating. But reform, as I have said, must come from\nwithin, by the gradual elimination of those inherited beliefs which\ninterfere with the unity of the Church and the leadership of Christ\nhimself. The Platonic and Egyptian Trinity remaining as dogma, repeated\nbut not understood,--the Manich\u00e6an division of the human race into\nchildren of God and children of the Devil,--the scholastic doctrine of\nthe Atonement, by which the blood of Jesus expiates human guilt,--are\nbeing gradually explained in accordance with reason and the teaching of\nJesus.\n\nSome beliefs, once thought to be of vital importance, are now seen by\nmany to be unessential, or are looked at in a different light. Instead\nof making Jesus an exceptional person, we are coming to regard him as\na representative man, the realized ideal of what man was meant to be,\nand will one day become. Instead of considering his sinlessness as\nsetting him apart from his race, we look on it as showing that sin is\nnot the natural, but unnatural, condition of mankind. His miracles are\nregarded not as violations of the laws of nature, but anticipations of\nlaws which one day will be universally known, and which are boundless\nas the universe. Nor will they in future be regarded as evidence of\nthe mission of Jesus, since he himself was grieved when they were\nso looked upon, and he made his truth and his character the true\nevidence that he came from God. The old distinction between \"natural\"\nand \"supernatural\" will disappear when it is seen that Jesus had a\nsupernatural work and character, the same in kind as ours, though\nhigher in degree. The supreme gifts which make him the providential\nleader of the race do not set him apart from his brethren if we see\nthat it is a law of humanity that gifts differ, and that men endowed\nwith superior powers become leaders in science, art, literature,\npolitics; as Jesus has become the chief great spiritual leader of\nmankind.\n\nMen are now searching the Scriptures, not under the bondage of an\ninfallible letter, but seeking for the central ideas of Jesus and\nthe spirit of his gospel. They begin to accept the maxim of Goethe:\n\"No matter how much the gospels contradict each other, provided the\nGospel does not contradict itself.\" The profound convictions of\nChrist, which pervade all his teaching, give the clue by which to\nexplain the divergences in the narrative. We interpret the letter by\nthe light of the spirit. We see how Jesus emphasized the law of human\nhappiness,--that it comes from within, not from without; that the pure\nin heart see God, and that it is more blessed to give than to receive.\nWe comprehend the stress he lays on the laws of progress,--that he who\nhumbleth himself shall be exalted. We recognize his profound conviction\nthat all God's children are dear to him, that his sun shines on the\nevil and the good, and that he will seek the one lost sheep till he\nfind it. We see his trust in the coming of the Kingdom of God in this\nworld, the triumph of good over evil, and the approaching time when the\nknowledge of God shall fill the earth as the waters cover the sea. And\nwe find his profound faith in the immortal life which abides in us, so\nthat whoever shares that faith with him can never die.\n\nThe more firmly these central ideas of Jesus are understood and held,\nthe less importance belongs to any criticism of the letter. This or\nthat saying, attributed to Jesus in the record, maybe subjected to\nattack; but it is the main current of his teaching which has made him\nthe leader of civilized man for eighteen centuries. That majestic\nstream will sweep on undisturbed, though there may be eddies here or\nstagnant pools there, which induce hasty observers to suppose that it\nhas ceased to flow.\n\n    \"Rusticus expectat dum defluit amnis, at ille\n    Volvitur et volvetur, in omne volubilis \u00e6vium.\"\n\nI sometimes read attacks on special sayings of the record, which\nargue, to the critic's mind, that Jesus was in error here, or mistaken\nthere. But I would recommend to such writers to ponder the suggestive\nrule of Coleridge: \"Until I can understand the ignorance of Plato, I\nshall consider myself ignorant of his understanding;\" or the remark of\nEmerson to the youth who brought him a paper in which he thought he\nhad refuted Plato: \"If you attack the king, be sure that you kill him.\"\n\nWhen the Christian world really takes Jesus _himself_ as its leader,\ninstead of building its faith on opinions _about_ him, we may\nanticipate the arrival of that union which he foresaw and foretold--\"As\nthou, father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one\nin us, that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.\" Then\nChristians, ceasing from party strife and sectarian dissension,\nwill unite in one mighty effort to cure the evils of humanity and\nredress its wrongs. Before a united Christendom, what miseries could\nremain unrelieved? War, that criminal absurdity, that monstrous\nanachronism, must at last be abolished. Pauperism, vice, and crime,\nthough continuing in sporadic forms, would cease to exist as a part of\nthe permanent institutions of civilization. A truly Catholic Church,\nunited under the Master, would lead all humanity up to a higher plane.\nThe immense forces developed by modern science, and the magnificent\ndiscoveries in the realm of nature, helpless now to cure the wrongs\nof suffering man, would become instruments of potent use under the\nguidance of moral forces.\n\nAccording to the law of evolution, this is what we have a right to\nexpect. If we follow the lines of historic development, not being led\ninto extreme individualism; if we maintain the continuity of human\nprogress, this vast result must finally arrive. For such reasons I\nprefer to remain in the communion of the Christian body, doing what I\nmay to assist its upward movement. For such reasons I am not a Free\nReligionist.\n\n\n\n\nHAVE ANIMALS SOULS[18]\n\n\nTo answer this question, we must first inquire what we mean by a soul.\nIf we mean a human soul, it is certain that animals do not possess\nit,--at least not in a fully developed condition. If we mean, \"Do they\npossess an immortal soul?\" that is, perhaps, a question difficult to\nanswer either in the affirmative or the negative. But if we mean by\nthe soul an immaterial principle of life, which co\u00f6rdinates the bodily\norganization to a unity; which is the ground of growth, activity,\nperception, volition; which is intelligent, affectionate, and to a\ncertain extent free; then we must admit that animals have souls.\n\nThe same arguments which induce us to believe that there is a soul in\nman apply to animals. The world has generally believed that in man,\nbeside the body, there is also soul. Why have people believed it? The\nreason probably is, that, beside all that can be accounted for as the\nresult of the juxtaposition of material particles, there remains a very\nimportant element unaccounted for. Mechanical and physical agency may\nexplain much, but the most essential characteristic of vital phenomena\nthey do not explain. They do not account for the unity in variety,\npermanence in change, growth from within by continuous processes,\ncoming from the vital functions in an organized body. Every such\nbody has a unity peculiar to itself, which cannot be considered the\nresult of the collocation of material molecules. It is a unity which\ncontrols these molecules, arranges and rearranges them, maintains a\nsteady activity, carries the body through the phenomena of growth, and\ncauses the various organs to co\u00f6perate for the purposes of the whole.\nThe vital power is not merely the result of material phenomena, but\nit reacts on these as a cause. Add to this that strange phenomenon of\nhuman consciousness, the sense of personality,--which is the clear\nperception of selfhood as a distinct unchanging unit, residing in\na body all of whose parts are in perpetual flux,--and we see why\nthe opinion of a soul has arisen. It has been assumed by the common\nsense of mankind that in every living body the cause of the mode of\nexistence of each part is contained in the whole. As soon as death\nintervenes each part is left free to pass through changes peculiar\nto itself alone. Life is a power which acts from the whole upon the\nparts, causing them to resist chemical laws, which begin to act as soon\nas life departs. The unity of a living body does not result from an\ningenious juxtaposition of parts, like that of a watch, for example.\nFor the unity of a living body implies that which is called \"the vital\nvortex,\" or perpetual exchange of particles.\n\nA watch or clock is the nearest approach which has been made by man\nto the creation of a living being. A watch, for instance, contains\nthe principle of its action in itself, and is not moved from without;\nin that it resembles a living creature. We can easily conceive of a\nwatch which might be made to go seventy years, without being wound\nup. It might need to be oiled occasionally, but not as often as an\nanimal needs to be fed. A watch is also like a living creature in\nhaving a unity as a whole not belonging to the separate parts, and to\nwhich all parts conspire,--namely, that of marking the progress of\ntime. Why, then, say that a man has a soul, and that a watch has not?\nThe difference is this. The higher principle of unity in the watch,\nthat is, its power of marking time, is wholly an effect, and never a\ncause. It is purely and only the result of the arrangement of wheels\nand springs; in other words, of material conditions. But in man, the\nprinciple of unity is also a cause. Life reacts upon body. The laws of\nmatter are modified by the power of life, chemical action is suspended,\nliving muscles are able to endure without laceration the application of\nforces which would destroy the dead fibre. So the thought, the love,\nthe will of a living creature react on the physical frame. A sight, a\nsound, a few spoken words, a message seen in a letter, cause an immense\nrevulsion in the physical condition. Something is suddenly told us,\nand we faint away, or even die, from the effect of the message. Here\nmind acts upon matter, showing that in man mind is not merely a result,\nbut also a cause. Hence men have generally believed in the existence\nof a soul in man. They have not been taught it by metaphysicians, it\nis one of the spontaneous inductions of common sense from universal\nexperience.\n\nBut this argument applies equally to prove a soul in animals. The same\nreaction of soul on body is constantly apparent. Every time that you\nwhistle to your dog, and he comes bounding toward you, his mind has\nacted on his body. His will has obeyed his thought, his muscles have\nobeyed his will. The cause of his motion was mental, not physical.\nThis is too evident to require any further illustration. Therefore,\nregarding the soul as a principle of life, connected with the body\nbut not its result, or, in other words, as an immaterial principle of\nactivity, there is the same reason for believing in the soul of animals\nthat there is for believing in the soul of man.\n\nBut when we ask as to the nature of the animal soul, and how far it is\nanalogous to that of man, we meet with certain difficulties. Let us\nsee then how many of the human qualities of the soul are to be found\nin animals, and so discover if there is any remainder not possessed by\nthem, peculiar to ourselves.\n\nThat the vital soul, or principle of life, belongs equally to plants,\nanimals, and men, is evident. This is so apparent as to be granted\neven by Descartes, who regards animals as mere machines, or automata,\ndestitute of a thinking soul, but not of life or feeling. They are\nautomata, but living and feeling automata. Descartes denies them a\nsoul, because he defines the soul as the thinking and knowing power.\nBut Locke (with whom Leibnitz fully agreed on this point) ascribes to\nanimals thought as well as feeling, and makes their difference from man\nto consist in their not possessing abstract ideas. We shall presently\nsee the truth of this most sagacious remark.\n\nPlants, animals, and men are alike in possessing the vital principle,\nwhich produces growth, which causes them to pass through regular\nphases of development, which enables them to digest and assimilate\nfood taken from without, and which carries on a steady circulation\nwithin. To this are added, in the animal, the function of voluntary\nlocomotion, perception through the senses of an outward world, the\npower of feeling pleasure and pain, some wonderful instincts, and some\ndegree of reflective thought. Animals also possess memory, imagination,\nplayfulness, industry, the sense of shame, and many other very human\nqualities.\n\nTake, for example, Buffon's fine description of the dog (\"Histoire du\nChien\"):--\n\n\"By nature fiery, irritable, ferocious, and sanguinary, the dog in\nhis savage state is a terror to other animals. But domesticated he\nbecomes gentle, attached, and desirous to please. He hastens to lay\nat the feet of his master his courage, his strength, and all his\nabilities. He listens for his master's orders, inquires his will,\nconsults his opinion, begs his permission, understands the indications\nof his wishes. Without possessing the power of human thought, he has\nall the warmth of human sentiment. He has more than human fidelity,\nhe is constant in his attachments. He is made up of zeal, ardor, and\nobedience. He remembers kindness longer than wrong. He endures bad\ntreatment and forgets it--disarming it by patience and submission.\"\n\nNo one who has ever had a dog for a friend will think this description\nexaggerated. If any should so consider it, we will cite for their\nbenefit what Mr. Jesse, one of the latest students of the canine\nrace, asserts concerning it, in his \"Researches into the History of\nthe British Dog\" (London, 1866). He says that remarkable instances\nof the following virtues, feelings, and powers of mind are well\nauthenticated:--\n\n\"The dog risks his life to give help; goes for assistance; saves\nlife from drowning, fire, other animals, and men; assists distress;\nguards property; knows boundaries; resents injuries; repays benefits;\ncommunicates ideas; combines with other dogs for several purposes;\nunderstands language; knows when he is about to die; knows death in\na human being; devotes his whole life to the object of his love; dies\nof grief and of joy; dies in his master's defense; commits suicide;\nremains by the dead; solicits, and gives alarm; knows the characters\nof men; recognizes a portrait, and men after long absence; is fond of\npraise and sensible to ridicule; feels shame, and is sensible of a\nfault; is playful; is incorruptible; finds his way back from distant\ncountries; is magnanimous to smaller animals; is jealous; has dreams;\nand takes a last farewell when dying.\"\n\nMuch of this, it may be said, is instinctive. We must therefore\ndistinguish between Instinct and Intelligence; or, rather, between\ninstinctive intelligence and reflective intelligence. Many writers on\nthe subject of animals have not carefully distinguished these very\ndifferent activities of the soul. Even M. Leroy, one of the first in\nmodern times who brought careful observation to the study of the nature\nof animals, has not always kept in view this distinction---as has been\nnoticed by a subsequent French writer of very considerable ability,\nM. Flourens.[19] The following marks, according to M. Flourens,\ndistinguish instinct from intelligence:--\n\n            INSTINCT            INTELLIGENCE\n\n    Is spontaneous,        Is deliberate,\n    \" necessary,           \" conditional,\n    \" invariable,          \" modifiable,\n    \" innate,              comes from observation and experience,\n    \" fatal,               is free,\n    \" particular.          \" general.\n\nThus the building faculty of the beaver is an instinct, for it acts\nspontaneously, and always in the same way. It is not a general faculty\nof building in all places and ways, but a special power of building\nhouses of sticks, mud, and other materials, with the entrance under\nwater and a dry place within. When beavers build on a running stream,\nthey begin by making a dam across it, which preserves them from losing\nthe water in a drought; but this also is a spontaneous and invariable\nact. The old stories of their driving piles, using their tails for\ntrowels, and having well-planned houses with many chambers, have been\nfound to be fictitious. That the beaver builds by instinct, though\nintelligence comes in to modify the instinct, appears from his wishing\nto build his house or his dam when it is not needed. Mr. Broderip,\nthe English naturalist, had a pet beaver that manifested his building\ninstinct by dragging together warming-pans, sweeping-brushes, boots,\nand sticks, which he would lay crosswise. He then would fill in his\nwall with clothes, bits of coal, turf, laying it very even. Finally,\nhe made a nest for himself behind his wall with clothes, hay, and\ncotton. As this creature had been brought from America very young, all\nthis procedure must have been instinctive. But his intelligence showed\nitself in his adapting his mode of building to his new circumstances.\nHis instinct led him to build his wall, and to lay his sticks\ncrosswise, and to fill in with what he could find, according to the\nuniversal and spontaneous procedure of all beavers. But his making use\nof a chest of drawers for one side of his wall, and taking brushes and\nboots instead of cutting down trees, were no doubt acts of intelligence.\n\nA large part of the wonderful procedure of bees is purely instinctive.\nBees, from the beginning of the world, and in all countries of the\nearth, have lived in similar communities; have had their queen, to\nlay eggs for them: if their queen is lost, have developed a new one\nin the same way, by altering the conditions of existence in one of\ntheir larv\u00e6; have constructed their hexagonal cells by the same\nmathematical law, so as to secure the most strength with the least\noutlay of material. All this is instinct--for it is spontaneous and not\ndeliberate; it is universal and constant. But when the bee deflects his\ncomb in order to avoid a stick thrust across the inside of the hive,\nand begins the variation before he reaches the stick, this can only be\nregarded as an act of intelligence.\n\nAnimals, then, have both instincts and intelligence; and so has man. A\nlarge part of human life proceeds from tendencies as purely, if not as\nvigorously, instinctive as those of animals. Man has social instincts,\nwhich create human society. Children play from an instinct. The\nmaternal instinct in a human mother is, till modified by reflection, as\nspontaneous, universal, and necessary as the same instinct in animals.\nBut in man the instincts are reduced to a minimum, and are soon\nmodified by observation, experience, and reflection. In animals they\nare at their maximum, and are modified in a much less degree.\n\nIt is sometimes said that animals do not reason, but man does. But\nanimals are quite capable of at least two modes of reasoning, that of\ncomparison and that of inference. They compare two modes of action, or\ntwo substances, and judge the one to be preferable to the other, and\naccordingly select it. Sir Emerson Tennent tells us that elephants,\nemployed to build stone walls in Ceylon, will lay each stone in its\nplace, then stand off and look to see if it is plumb, and, if not, will\nmove it with their trunk, till it lies perfectly straight. This is a\npure act of reflective judgment. He narrates an adventure which befell\nhimself in Ceylon while riding on a narrow road through the forest. He\nheard a rumbling sound approaching, and directly there came to meet him\nan elephant, bearing on his tusks a large log of wood, which he had\nbeen directed to carry to the place where it was needed. Sir Emerson\nTennent's horse, unused to these monsters, was alarmed, and refused to\ngo forward. The sagacious elephant, perceiving this, evidently decided\nthat he must himself go out of the way. But to do this, he was obliged\nfirst to take the log from his tusks with his trunk, and lay it on the\nground, which he did, and then backed out of the road between the trees\ntill only his head was visible. But the horse was still too timid to go\nby, whereupon the judicious pachyderm pushed himself farther back, till\nall of his body, except the end of his trunk, had disappeared. Then Sir\nEmerson succeeded in getting his horse by, but stopped to witness the\nresult. The elephant came out, took the log up again, laid it across\nhis tusks, and went on his way. This story, told by an unimpeachable\nwitness, shows several successive acts of reasoning. The log-bearer\ninferred from the horse's terror that it would not pass; he again\ninferred that in that case he must himself get out of the way; that, to\ndo this, he must lay down his log; that he must go farther back; and\naccompanying this was his sense of duty, making him faithful to his\ntask; and, most of all, his consideration of what was due to this human\ntraveler, which kept him from driving the horse and man before him as\nhe went on.\n\nThere is another well-authenticated anecdote of an elephant; he was\nfollowing an ammunition wagon, and saw the man who was seated on it\nfall off just before the wheel. The man would have been crushed had\nnot the animal instantly run forward, and, without an order, lifted\nthe wheel with his trunk, and held it suspended in the air, till the\nwagon had passed over the man without hurting him. Here were combined\npresence of mind, good will, knowledge of the danger to the man, and a\nrapid calculation of how he could be saved.\n\nPerhaps I may properly introduce here an account of the manifestations\nof mind in the animals I have had the most opportunity of observing.\nI have a horse, who was named Rubezahl, after the mountain spirit of\nthe Harz made famous in the stories of Musaeus. We have contracted his\nname to Ruby for convenience. Now I have reason to believe that Ruby\ncan distinguish Sunday from other days. On Sunday I have been in the\nhabit of driving to Boston to church; but on other days, I drive to the\nneighboring village, where are the post-office, shops of mechanics, and\nother stores. To go to Boston, I usually turn to the right when I leave\nmy driveway; to go to the village, I turn to the left. Now, on Sunday,\nif I leave the reins loose, so that the horse may do as he pleases, he\ninvariably turns to the right, and goes to Boston. On other days, he\nas invariably turns to the left, and goes to the village. He does this\nso constantly and regularly, that none of the family have any doubt\nof the fact that he knows that it is Sunday; _how_ he knows it we are\nunable to discover. I have left my house at the same hour on Sunday\nand on Monday, in the same carriage, with the same number of persons\nin it; and yet on Sunday he always turns to the right, and on Monday\nto the left. He is fed at the same time on Sunday as on other days,\nbut the man comes back to harness him a little later on Sunday than at\nother times, and that is possibly his method of knowing that it is the\nday for going to Boston. But see how much of observation, memory, and\nthought is implied in all this.\n\nAgain, Ruby has shown a very distinct feeling of the supernatural.\nDriving one day up a hill near my house, we met a horse-car coming down\ntoward us, running without horses, simply by the force of gravity. My\nhorse became so frightened that he ran into the gutter, and nearly\noverturned me; and I got him past with the greatest difficulty. Now\nhe had met the cars coming down that hill, drawn by horses, a hundred\ntimes, and had never been alarmed. Moreover, only a day or two after,\nin going up the same hill, we saw a car moving uphill, before us, where\nthe horses were entirely invisible, being concealed by the car itself,\nwhich was between us and the horses. But this did not frighten Ruby\nat all. He evidently said to himself, \"The horses are there, though I\ndo not see them.\" But in the other case it seemed to him an effect\nwithout a cause--something plainly supernatural. There was nothing\nin the aspect of the car itself to alarm him; he had seen that often\nenough. He was simply terrified by seeing it move without any adequate\ncause--just as we should be, if we saw our chairs begin to walk about\nthe room.\n\nOur Newfoundland dog's name is Donatello; which, again, is shortened\nto Don in common parlance. He has all the affectionate and excellent\nqualities of his race. He is the most good-natured creature I ever saw.\nNothing provokes him. Little dogs may yelp at him, the cat or kittens\nmay snarl and spit at him: he pays no attention to them. A little\ndog climbs on his back, and lies down there; one of the cats will\nlie between his legs. But at night, when he is on guard, no one can\napproach the house unchallenged.\n\nBut his affection for the family is very great. To be allowed to come\ninto the house and lie down near us is his chief happiness. He was very\nfond of my son E----, who played with him a good deal, and when the\nyoung man went away, during the war, with a three months' regiment,\nDon was much depressed by his absence. He walked down regularly to the\nstation, and stood there till a train of cars came in; and when his\nfriend did not arrive in it, he went back, with a melancholy air, to\nthe house. But at last the young man returned. It was in the evening,\nand Don was lying on the piazza. As soon as he saw his friend, his\nexultation knew no bounds. He leaped upon him, and ran round him,\nbarking and showing the wildest signs of delight. All at once he turned\nand ran up into the garden, and came back bringing an apple, which he\nlaid down at the feet of his young master. It was the only thing he\ncould think of to do for him--and this sign of his affection was quite\npathetic.\n\nThe reason why Don thought of the apple was probably this: we had\ntaught him to go and get an apple for the horse, when so directed. We\nwould say, \"Go, Don, get an apple for poor Ruby;\" then he would run up\ninto the garden, and bring an apple, and hold it up to the horse; and\nperhaps when the horse tried to take it he would pull it away. After\ndoing this a few times, he would finally lie down on his back under the\nhorse's nose, and allow the latter to take the apple from his mouth.\nHe would also kiss the horse, on being told to do so. When we said,\n\"Don, kiss poor Ruby,\" he leaped up and kissed the horse's nose. But he\nafterwards hit upon a more convenient method of doing it. He got his\npaw over the rein and pulled down the horse's head, so that he could\ncontinue the osculatory process more at his ease, sitting comfortably\non the ground.\n\nAnimals know when they have done wrong; so far, at least, as that means\ndisobeying our will or command. The only great fault which Don ever\ncommitted was stealing a piece of meat from our neighbor's kitchen. I\ndo not think he was punished or even scolded for it; for we did not\nfind it out till later, when it would have done no good to punish him.\nBut a week or two after that, the gentleman whose kitchen had been\nrobbed was standing on my lawn, talking with me, and he referred,\nlaughingly, to what Don had done. He did not even look at the dog, much\nless change his tones to those of rebuke. But the moment Don heard his\nname mentioned, he turned and walked away, and hid himself under the\nlow branches of a Norway spruce near by. He was evidently profoundly\nashamed of himself. Was this the result of conscience, or of the love\nof approbation? In either case, it was very human.\n\nThat the love of approbation is common to many animals we all know.\nDogs and horses certainly can be influenced by praise and blame, as\neasily as men. Many years ago we had occasion to draw a load of gravel,\nand we put Ruby into a tip-cart to do the work. He was profoundly\ndepressed, and evidently felt it as a degradation. He hung his head,\nand showed such marks of humiliation that we have never done it since.\nBut on the other hand, when he goes out, under the saddle, by the side\nof a young horse, this veteran animal tries as hard to appear young\nas any old bachelor of sixty years who is still ambitious of social\ntriumphs. He dances along, and goes sideways, and has all the airs and\ngraces of a young colt. All this, too, is very human.\n\nAt one time my dog was fond of going to the railway station to see\nthe people, and I always ordered him to go home, fearing he should\nbe hurt by the cars. He easily understood that if he went there, it\nwas contrary to my wishes. Nevertheless, he often went; and I do not\nknow but this fondness for forbidden fruit was rather human, too. So,\nwhenever he was near the station, if he saw me coming, he would look\nthe other way, and pretend not to know me. If he met me anywhere else,\nhe always bounded to meet me with great delight. But at the station\nit was quite different. He would pay no attention to my whistle or my\ncall. He even pretended to be another dog, and would look me right in\nthe face without apparently recognizing me. He gave me the cut direct,\nin the most impertinent manner; the reason evidently being that he knew\nhe was doing what was wrong, and did not like to be found out. Possibly\nhe may have relied a little on my near-sightedness, in this man\u0153uvre.\n\nThat animals have acute observation, memory, imagination, the sense of\napprobation, strong affections, and the power of reasoning is therefore\nvery evident. Lord Bacon also speaks of a dog's reverence for his\nmaster as partaking of a religious element. \"Mark,\" says he, \"what\na generosity and courage a dog will put on, when he finds himself\nmaintained by a man, who to him is instead of a God--which courage\nhe could not attain, without that confidence in a better nature than\nhis own.\" Who that has seen the mute admiration and trust in a dog's\neye, as he looks up at his master, but can see in it something of a\nreligious reverence, the germ and first principle of religion?\n\nWhat, then, is the difference between the human soul and that of the\nanimal in its highest development?\n\nThat there is a very marked difference between man and the highest\nanimal is evident. The human being, weaker in proportion than all other\nanimals, has subjected them all to himself. He has subdued the earth by\nhis inventions. Physically too feeble to dig a hole in the ground like\na rabbit, or to fell a tree like a beaver; unable to live in the water\nlike a fish, or to move through the air like a bird; he yet, by his\ninventive power and his machinery, can compel the forces of nature to\nwork for him. They are the true genii, slaves of his lamp. Air, fire,\nwater, electricity, and magnetism build his cities and his stately\nships, run his errands, carry him from land to land, and accept him as\ntheir master.\n\nWhence does man obtain this power? Some say it is _the human hand_\nwhich has made man supreme. It is, no doubt, a wonderful machine; a\nbox of tools in itself. The size and strength of the thumb, and the\npower of opposing it to the extremities of the fingers, distinguishes,\naccording to most anatomists, the human hand from that of the\nquadrumanous animals. In those monkeys which are nearest to man, the\nthumb is so short and weak, and the fingers so long and slender,\nthat their tips can scarcely be brought in opposition. Excellent for\nclimbing, they are not good for taking up small objects or supporting\nlarge ones. But the hand of man could accomplish little without the\nmind behind it. It was therefore a good remark of Galen, that \"man is\nnot the wisest of animals because he has a hand; but God has given him\na hand because he is the wisest of animals.\"\n\nThe size of the human brain, relatively greater than that of almost any\nother animal; man's structure, adapting him to stand erect; his ability\nto exist in all climates; his power of subsisting on varied food: all\nthese facts of his physical nature are associated with his superior\nmental power, but do not produce it. The question recurs, What enables\nhim to stand at the head of the animal creation?\n\nPerhaps the chief apparent distinctions between man and other animals\nare these:--\n\n1. The lowest races of men use tools; other animals do not.\n\n2. The lowest human beings possess a verbal language; other animals\nhave none.\n\n3. Man has the capacity of self-culture, as an individual; other\nanimals have not.\n\n4. Human beings, associated in society, are capable of progress in\ncivilization, by means of science, art, literature, and religion; other\nanimals are not.\n\n5. Men have a capacity for religion; no animal, except man, has this.\n\nThe lowest races of men use tools, but no other animal does this. This\nis so universally admitted by science that the presence of the rudest\ntools of stone is considered a sufficient trace of the presence of man.\nIf stone hatchets or hammers or arrowheads are found in any stratum,\nthough no human bones are detected, anthropologists regard this as\na sufficient proof of the existence of human beings in the period\nindicated by such a geologic formation. The only tools used by animals\nin procuring food, in war, or in building their homes, are their\nnatural organs: their beaks, teeth, claws, etc. It may be added that\nman alone wears clothes; other animals being sufficiently clothed by\nnature. No animals make a fire, though they often suffer from cold; but\nthere is no race of men unacquainted with the use of fire.[20]\n\nNo animals possess a verbal language. Animals can remember some of the\nwords used by men, and associate with them their meaning. But this is\nnot the use of language. It is merely the memory of two associated\nfacts,--as when the animal recollects where he found food, and goes to\nthe same place to look for it again. Animals have different cries,\nindicating different wants. They use one cry to call their mate,\nanother to terrify their prey. But this is not the use of verbal\nlanguage. Human language implies not merely an acquaintance with the\nmeaning of particular words, but the power of putting them together in\na sentence. Animals have no such language as this; for, if they had,\nit would have been learned by men. Man has the power of learning any\nverbal language. Adelung and Vater reckon over three thousand languages\nspoken by men, and any man can learn any of them. The negroes speak\ntheir own languages in their own countries; they speak Arabic in North\nAfrica; they learn to speak English, French, and Spanish in America,\nand Oriental languages when they go to the East. If any animals had a\nverbal language, with its vocabulary and grammar, men would long ago\nhave learned it, and would have been able to converse with them.\n\nAgain, no animal except man is capable of self-culture, as an\nindividual. Animals are trained by external influences; they do not\nteach themselves. An old wolf is much more cunning than a young one,\nbut he has been made so by the force of circumstances. You can teach\nyour dog tricks, but no dog has ever taught himself any. Yet the lowest\nsavages teach themselves to make tools, to ornament their paddles\nand clubs, and acquire certain arts by diligent effort. Birds will\nsometimes practice the tunes which they hear played, till they have\nlearned them. They will also sometimes imitate each other's songs.\nThat is, they possess the power of vocal imitation. But to imitate\nthe sounds we hear is not self-culture. It is not developing a new\npower, but it is exercising in a new way a natural gift. Yet we must\nadmit that in this habit of birds there is the rudiment, at least, of\nself-education.\n\nAll races of men are capable of progress in civilization. Many,\nindeed, remain in a savage state for thousands of years, and we cannot\npositively prove that any particular race which has always been\nuncivilized is capable of civilization. But we are led to believe\nit from having known of so many tribes of men who have emerged from\napathy, ignorance, and barbarism into the light of science and art.\nSo it was with all the Teutonic races,--the Goths, Germans, Kelts,\nLombards, Scandinavians. So it was with the Arabs, who roamed for\nthousands of years over the deserts, a race of ignorant robbers, and\nthen, filled with the great inspiration of Islam, flamed up into a\nbrilliant coruscation of science, literature, art, military success,\nand profound learning. What great civilizations have grown up in\nChina, India, Persia, Assyria, Babylon, Ph\u0153nicia, Egypt, Greece,\nRome, Carthage, Etruria! But no such progress has ever appeared among\nthe animals. As their parents were, five thousand years ago, so,\nessentially, are they now.\n\nNor are animals religious, in the sense of worshiping unseen powers\nhigher than themselves. My horse showed a sense of the supernatural,\nbut this is not worship.\n\nThese are some of the most marked points of difference between man and\nall other animals. Now these can all be accounted for by the hypothesis\nin which Locke and Leibnitz both agreed; namely, that while animals are\ncapable of reasoning about facts, they are incapable of abstract ideas.\nOr, we may say with Coleridge, that while animals, in common with man,\npossess the faculty of understanding, they do not possess that of\nreason. Coleridge seems to have intended by this exactly what Locke\nand Leibnitz meant by their statement. When my dog Don heard the word\n\"apple,\" he thought of the particular concrete apple under the tree;\nand not of apples in general, and their relation to pears, peaches,\netc. Don understood me when I told him to go and get an apple, and\nobeyed; but he would not have understood me if I had remarked to him\nthat apples were better than pears, more wholesome than peaches, not so\nhandsome as grapes. I should then have gone into the region of abstract\nand general ideas.\n\nNow it is precisely the possession of this power of abstract thought\nwhich will explain the superiority of man to all other animals. It\nexplains the use of tools; for a tool is an instrument prepared, not\nfor one special purpose, but to be used generally, in certain ways.\nA baboon, like a man, might pick up a particular stone with which to\ncrack a particular nut; but the ape does not make and keep a stone\nhammer, to be used on many similar occasions. A box of tools contains a\ncollection of saws, planes, draw-knives, etc., not made to use on one\noccasion merely, but made for sawing, cutting, and planing purposes\ngenerally.\n\nStill more evident is it that the power of abstraction is necessary\nfor verbal language. We do not here use the common term \"articulate\nspeech,\" for we can conceive of animals articulating their vocal\nsounds. But \"a word\" is an abstraction. The notion is lifted out of the\nconcrete particular fact, and deposited in the abstract general term.\nAll words, except proper names, are abstract; and to possess and use a\nverbal language is impossible, without the possession of this mental\nfaculty.\n\nIn regard to self-culture, it is clear that for any steady progress\none must keep before his mind an abstract idea of what he wishes to\ndo. This enables him to rise above impulse, passion, instinct, habit,\ncircumstance. By the steady contemplation of the proposed aim, one can\narrange circumstances, restrain impulse, direct one's activity, and\nbecome really free.\n\nIn like manner, races become developed in civilization by the impact\nof abstract ideas. Sometimes it is by coming in contact with other\ncivilized nations, which gives them an ideal superior to anything\nbefore known. Sometimes the motive power of their progress is the\nreception of truths of science, art, literature, or religion.\n\nIt is not necessary to show that without abstract, universal, and\nnecessary ideas no religion is possible; for religion, being the\nworship of unseen powers, conceived as existing, as active, as\nspiritual, necessarily implies these ideas in the mind of the worshiper.\n\nWe find, then, in the soul of animals all active, affectionate,\nand intelligent capacities, as in that of man. The only difference\nis that man is capable of abstract ideas, which give him a larger\nliberty of action, which enable him to adopt an aim and pursue it,\nand which change his affections from an instinctive attachment into a\nprinciple of generous love. Add, then, to the animal soul the capacity\nfor abstract ideas, and it would rise at once to the level of man.\nMeantime, in a large part of their nature, they have the same faculties\nwith ourselves. They share our emotions, and we theirs. They are made\n\"a little lower\" than man, and if we are souls, so surely are they.\n\nAre they immortal? To discuss this question would require more space\nthan we can here give to it. For my own part, I fully believe in the\ncontinued existence of all souls, at the same time assuming their\ncontinued advance. The law of life is progress; and one of the best\nfeatures in the somewhat unspiritual theory of Darwin is its profound\nfaith in perpetual improvement. This theory is the most startling\noptimism that has ever been taught, for it makes perpetual progress to\nbe the law of the whole universe.\n\nMany of the arguments for the immortality of man cannot indeed be\nused for our dumb relations, the animals. We cannot argue from their\nuniversal faith in a future life; nor contend that they need an\nimmortality on moral grounds, to recompense their good conduct and\npunish their wickedness. We might indeed adduce a reason implied in\nour Saviour's parable, and believe that the poor creatures who have\nreceived their evil things in this life will be comforted in another.\nMoreover, we might find in many animals qualities fitting them for a\nhigher state. There are animals, as we have seen, who show a fidelity,\ncourage, generosity, often superior to what we see in man. The dogs\nwho have loved their master more than food, and starved to death on\nhis grave, are surely well fitted for a higher existence. Jesse tells\na story of a cat which was being stoned by cruel boys. Men went by,\nand did not interfere; but a dog, that saw it, did. He drove away the\nboys, and then took the cat to his kennel, licked her all over with his\ntongue, and his conduct interested people, who brought her milk. The\ncanine nurse took care of her till she was well, and the cat and dog\nremained fast friends ever after. Such an action in a man would have\nbeen called heroic; and we think such a dog would not be out of place\nin heaven.\n\nYet it is not so much on particular cases of animal superiority that\nwe rely, but on the difficulty of conceiving, in any sense, of the\ndestruction of life. The principle of life, whether we call it soul\nor body, matter or spirit, escapes all observation of the senses. All\nthat we know of it by observation is that, beside the particles of\nmatter which compose an organized body, there is something else, not\ncognizable by the senses, which attracts and dismisses them, modifies\nand co\u00f6rdinates them. The unity of the body is not to be found in\nits sensible phenomena, but in something which escapes the senses.\nInto the vortex of that life material molecules are being continually\nabsorbed, and from it they are perpetually discharged. If death means\nthe dissolution of the body, we die many times in the course of our\nearthly career, for every body is said by human anatomists to be\nchanged in all its particles once in seven years. What then remains,\nif all the particles go? The principle of organization remains, and\nthis invisible, persistent principle constitutes the identity of every\norganized body. If I say that I have the _same_ body when I am fifty\nwhich I had at twenty, it is because I mean by \"body\" that which\ncontinues unaltered amid the fast-flying particles of matter. This life\nprinciple makes and remakes the material frame; that body does not\nmake it. When what we call death intervenes, all that we can assert\nis that the life principle has done wholly and at once what it has\nalways been doing gradually and in part. What happens to the material\nparticles, we see: they become detached from the organizing principle,\nand relapse into simply mechanical and chemical conditions. What has\nhappened to that organizing principle we neither see nor know; and we\nhave absolutely no reason at all for saying that it has ceased to exist.\n\nThis is as true of plants and of animals as of men; and there is no\nreason for supposing that when these die their principle of life\nis ended. It probably has reached a crisis, which consists in the\nputting on of new forms and ascending into a higher order of organized\nexistence.\n\n\n\n\nAPROPOS OF TYNDALL[21]\n\n\nWe have all read in our \"Vicar of Wakefield\" the famous speech made\nby the venerable and learned Ephraim Jenkinson to good Dr. Primrose:\n\"The cosmogony, or creation of the world, has puzzled philosophers in\nall ages. Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have\nall attempted it in vain,\" etc. But we hardly expected to have this\nquestion of cosmogony reopened by an eminent scientist in an address\nto the British Association. What \"Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and\nOcellus Lucanus have all attempted in vain\" Professor Tyndall has not\nonly discussed before a body of men learned in the physical sciences,\nbut has done it in such a manner as to rouse two continents to a new\ninterest in the question. One party has immediately accused him of\nirreligion and infidelity, while another has declared his statements\ninnocent if not virtuous. But the question which has been least debated\nis, What has the professor really said? or, Has he said anything?\n\nThe celebrated sentence which has occasioned this excitement is as\nfollows:--\n\n\"Abandoning all disguise, the confession that I feel bound to make\nbefore you is, that I prolong the vision backward across the boundary\nof the experimental evidence, and discern in that matter which we in\nour ignorance, and notwithstanding our professed reverence for its\nCreator, have hitherto covered with opprobrium, the promise and potency\nof every form and quality of life.\"\n\nDoes he, then, declare himself a materialist? A materialist is one\nwho asserts everything which exists to be matter, or an affection of\nmatter. What, then, is matter, and how is that to be defined? The\ncommon definition of matter is, that which is perceived by the senses,\nor the substance underlying sensible phenomena. By means of the senses\nwe perceive such qualities or phenomena as resistance, form, color,\nperfume, sound. Whenever we observe these phenomena, whenever we see,\nhear, taste, touch, or smell, we attribute the affections thus excited\nto an external substance, which we call _matter_. But we are aware of\nother phenomena which are _not_ perceived by the senses,--- such as\nthought, love, and will. We are as certain of their existence as we\nare of sensible phenomena. I am as sure of the reality of love as I am\nof the whiteness of chalk. By a law of our mind, whenever we perceive\nsensible phenomena, we necessarily attribute them to a substance\noutside of ourselves, which we call matter. And by another law, or the\nsame law, whenever we perceive the phenomena of consciousness, we\nnecessarily attribute them to a substance which we call soul, mind, or\nspirit. All that we know of matter, and all that we know of soul, is\ntheir phenomena, and as these are entirely different, we are obliged\nto assume that matter and mind are different. None of the qualities or\nattributes of matter belong to mind, none of those of mind to matter.\n\nDoes Tyndall deny this distinction? Apparently not. He not only makes\nBishop Butler declare, with unanswerable power, that materialism can\nnever show any connection between molecular processes and the phenomena\nof consciousness, but he distinctly iterates this in his own person\nat the end of the address; asserting that there is no fusion possible\nbetween the two classes of facts, those of sensation and those of\nconsciousness. Professor Tyndall, then, in the famous sentence above\nquoted, does not declare himself a materialist in the only sense\nin which the term has hitherto been used. He does not pretend that\nsensation, thought, emotion, and will are reducible, in the last\nanalysis, to solidity, extension, divisibility, etc.; he positively and\nabsolutely denies this.\n\nWhen Tyndall, therefore, asserts that he discerns in matter the\npromise and potency of every form and quality of life, he uses the\nword \"matter\" in a new sense. He does not mean by it the underlying\nsubject of sensible phenomena. It is not the matter which we see,\nhear, touch, taste, and smell. What is it then? It is something beyond\nthe limits of observation and experiment; for he says that in order to\ndiscover it we must \"prolong the vision backward across the boundary\nof the experimental evidence.\" In short, it is something which we know\nnothing about. It is a conjecture, an opinion, a theoretical matter. In\nanother place he calls this imaginary substance \"a cosmical life.\" This\nsomething, which shall be the common basis of the phenomena of sense\nand soul, not only is not known, but apparently is not knowable. For he\nassures us that the very attempt to understand this cosmical life which\nmakes the connection between physical and mental phenomena, is \"to soar\nin a vacuum,\" or \"to try to lift one's self by his own waistband.\"\n\nOf course, then, the contents of the famous sentence are not _science_.\nIt is not the great scientist, the profound observer of nature, the\ndistinguished experimentalist, who speaks to us in that sentence, but\none who is theorizing, as we all have a right to theorize. We also,\nif we choose, may imagine some \"cosmical life\" behind both matter and\nsoul, as the common origin of both, and call this life _spirit_. We\nshall then be thinking of exactly the same substance that Tyndall is\nthinking of, only we give it another name. He has merely given another\nname to the great Being behind all the phenomena of body and soul, out\nof which or whom all proceed. But to give another name to a fact is\nnot to tell us anything more about it. All meaning having evaporated\nfrom the word \"matter,\" the sentence loses its whole significance, and\nit appears that the alarming declaration asserts nothing at all! In\n\"abandoning all disguise\" Tyndall has run little risk, for our analysis\nshows that he has not asserted anything except, perhaps, this, that\nthere is, in his judgment, some unknown common basis in which matter\nand mind both inhere. This assertion is not alarming nor dangerous, for\nit is only what has always been believed.\n\nAs there is no materialism, in any known sense of that term, in the\ndoctrine of this address, so likewise there is no atheism. In fact, in\nthis same sentence Tyndall speaks of the \"creator\" of what he likes\nto call \"matter\" or \"cosmical life.\" He objects strongly to a creator\nwho works mechanically, and he seems to reprove Darwin for admitting\nan original or primordial form, created at first by the Deity. \"The\nanthropomorphism, which it seemed the object of Mr. Darwin to set\naside, is as firmly associated with the creation of a few forms as with\nthe creation of a multitude.\" In another passage he says: \"Is there not\na temptation to close to some extent with Lucretius, when he affirms\nthat nature is seen to do all things spontaneously of herself without\nthe meddling of the gods?\". But this last sentence shows a singular\nvacillation in so clear a thinker as Tyndall. How can one close \"to\nsome extent\" with such a statement as that of Lucretius? Either the\ngods meddle, or they do not meddle. They can hardly be considered as\nmeddling \"to some extent.\" In still another passage he contrasts the\ndoctrine of evolution with the usual doctrine of creation, rejecting\nthe last in favor of the other, because creation makes of God \"an\nartificer, fashioned after the human model, and acting by broken\nefforts, as man is seen to act.\"\n\nAll these expressions are somewhat vague, implying, as it seems, a\ncertain obscurity in Tyndall's own thought. But it is not atheism.\nHis \"cosmical life\" probably is exactly what Cudworth means by\n\"plastic life.\" It is well known that Cudworth, whose great work\nis a confutation of all atheism, himself admits what he calls \"a\nplastic nature\" in the universe as a subordinate instrument of divine\nProvidence. Just as Tyndall objects to regarding the Deity as \"an\nartificer,\" Cudworth objects to the \"mechanic theists,\" who make the\nDeity act directly upon matter from without, by separate efforts,\ninstead of pouring a creative and arranging life into nature. We can\neasily see that Cudworth, like Tyndall, would object to Darwin's one or\ntwo \"primordial germs.\" His \"plastic nature\" is working everywhere and\nalways, though under a divine guidance. It is \"a life,\" and therefore\nincorporeal. It is an unconscious life, which acts, not knowingly,\nbut fatally. Man, according to Cudworth, partakes of this life from\nthe life of the universe, just as he partakes of heat and cold from\nthe heat and cold of the universe. Thus Cudworth, believing in some\nsuch \"cosmical life\" as Tyndall imagines, conceives it as being itself\nthe organ and instrument of the Deity. Tyndall, therefore, though\nless clear in his statements than Cudworth, is not logically involved\nin atheism by those statements, unless we implicate in the same\ncondemnation the writer whose vast work constitutes the fullest arsenal\nof weapons against all the forms of atheism.\n\nUnfortunately, however, Tyndall does not come to any clearness on\nthis point, which in one possessing such a lucidity of intellect must\nbe occasioned by his leaving his own domain of science and venturing\ninto this metaphysical world, with which he is not so familiar.\nHis acquaintance with the history of these studies seems not to be\nextensive. For example, he attributes to Herbert Spencer, as if he were\nthe discoverer, what both Hobbes and Descartes had already stated,\nthat there is no necessary resemblance between our sensations and the\nexternal objects from which they are derived. In regard to a belief in\nGod, he tells us that in his weaker moments he loses it, or that it\nbecomes clouded and dim, but that when he is at his best he accepts it\nmost fully. This belief, therefore, is not with Tyndall a matter of\nconviction, founded on reason, but a question of moods. No wonder,\nthen, that he relegates religion to the region of sentiment, and\ndeclares that it has nothing to do with knowledge. It must not touch\nany question of cosmogony, or, if it does, must \"submit to the control\nof science\" in that field. But what has science to do with cosmogony?\nScience rests on observation of facts; but our professor tells us\nthat he obtains his great cosmological idea of \"a cosmical life\" by\nprolonging his vision backward \"across the boundary of the experimental\nevidence.\" Such science as this, which is based on no experience, and\nis incapable of verification, has hardly the right to warn religious\nbelief away from any field.\n\nTyndall seems a little astray in making creation and evolution\ncontradictory and incompatible. Evolution, he tells us, is the\nmanifestation of a power wholly inscrutable to the intellect of man. We\nknow that God is,--that is, we know it in our better moods,--but _what_\nGod is, we cannot ever know. At all events we must not consider him as\na Creator. \"Two courses,\" says Tyndall, \"and only two, are possible.\nEither let us open our doors freely to the conception of creative acts,\nor, abandoning them, let us radically change our notions of matter.\"\nHis objections to the idea of a Creator appear to be (1) that it is\n\"derived, not from the study of Nature, but from the observation of\nmen;\" and (2) that it represents the Deity \"as an artificer, fashioned\nafter a human model, and acting by broken efforts as man is seen to\nact.\"\n\nAre these objections sound? When we study man, are we not then also\nstudying Nature? Is not man himself the highest manifestation of\nNature? If so, and if we see the quality of any power best in its\nhighest and fullest operations, we can study the nature of God best\nby looking into our own. We should, in fact, know very little of\nNature if we did not look within as well as without. Tyndall justly\ndemands unlimited freedom of investigation in the pursuit of science.\nBut whence came this very idea of freedom except from the human mind?\nNothing in the external world is free; all is fatal. Such ideas as\ncause, force, substance, law, unity, ideality, are not observed in\nthe outward world--they are given by the activity of the mind itself.\nSubtract these from our thought, and we should know very little of\nNature or its origin.\n\nNo doubt the idea of a Creator, and of one perfect in wisdom, power,\nand goodness, is derived by man from his own mind. But it is not\nnecessary that such a Creator should be an \"artificer,\" or proceed by\n\"broken efforts.\" He may act by evolution, or processes of development.\nHe may create perpetually, by a life flowing from himself into all\nthings. He may create the universe anew at every moment--not as a\nman lights a torch with a match and then goes away, but as the sun\ncreates his image in the water by a perpetual process. Thus God may be\nregarded as _creating_ each animal and each plant, while he maintains\nthe mysterious force of development by which it grows from its egg or\nits seed. The essential idea of creation is an infinite cause, acting\naccording to a perfect intelligence, for a perfect good. There is\nnothing, necessarily, of an artificer or of broken efforts in this. It\nis the very idea of divine creation given in the New Testament. \"From\nwhom, and through whom, and to whom, are all things.\" \"In him, we live,\nand move, and have our being.\" The theist may well accept the view\ngiven by Goethe, in his little poem, \"Gott, Gem\u00fcth, und Welt.\"\n\n    \"What kind of God would He be who only pushes the universe from\n             without?\n    Who lets the All of Things run round and round on his finger?\n    It becomes him far better to move the universe from within,\n    To take Nature up into Himself, to let Himself down into Nature,\n    So that whatever lives, and moves, and has its being in Him\n    Never loses His power, never misses His spirit.\"\n\nSuch a conception of God, as a perpetual Creator, is essential to the\nintellectual rest of the human mind, and it is painful to see the\nirresolution of Professor Tyndall in regard to it. \"Clear and confident\nas Jove\" in the domain which is his own, where his masterly powers of\nobservation, discrimination, and judgment leave him without a peer, he\nseems shorn of his strength on entering this field of metaphysics.\nHe has warned theology not to trespass on the grounds of science; or,\nif she enters them, to submit to science as her superior. Theology\nhas been in the habit of treating science in the same supercilious\nway; telling her that she was an intruder if she ventured to discuss\nquestions of psychology or religion. This is equally unwise on either\npart. Theologians should be glad when men of science become seriously\ninterested in these great questions of the Whence and the Whither. The\naddress of Professor Tyndall is excellent in its intention as well as\nin its candid and manly treatment of the subject. Its indecision and\nindistinctness are probably due to his having accepted too implicitly\nthe guidance of Spencer, thus assuming that religious truth is\nunknowable, that creation is impossible, and that only phenomena can\nbecome objects of knowledge. \"Insoluble mystery\" is therefore his final\nanswer to the questions he has himself raised.\n\nGoethe is wiser when he follows the Apostle Paul, and regards the\nDeity as \"the fullness which filleth all in all.\" There is no unity\nto thought, and no hope for scientific progress, more than for moral\nculture, unless we see intelligence at the centre, intelligence on the\ncircumference of being. To place an impenetrable darkness instead of\nan unclouded light on the throne of the universe, is to throw a shadow\nover the Creation.\n\nWe say that there is no unity in thought without this conviction. The\nonly real unity we know in the world is our own. All we see around\nus, including our own body, is divisible, subject to alteration and\nchange. Only the ego, or soul, is conscious of a perfect unity in a\nperpetual identity. Unless we can attribute to the source of all being\na similar personal unity, there can be no coherence to science, but it\nmust forever remain fragmentary and divided. This is what we mean by\nasserting the personality of Deity. This idea reaches what Lord Bacon\ncalls \"the vertical point of natural philosophy\" or \"the summary law of\nNature,\" and constitutes, as he declares, \"the union of all things in a\nperpetual and uniform law.\"\n\nAnd unless we can recognize in the ultimate fountain of being an\nintelligent purpose, the meaning of the universe departs. Without\nintelligence in the cause there is none in the effect. Then the world\nhas no meaning, life no aim. The universe comes out of darkness, and is\nplunging into darkness again.\n\nTake away from the domain of knowledge the idea of a creating and\npresiding intelligence, and there remains no motive for science itself.\nProfessor Tyndall is sagacious enough to see and candid enough to admit\nthat \"without moral force to whip it into action the achievements of\nthe intellect would be poor indeed,\" and that \"science itself not\nunfrequently derives motive power from ultra-scientific sources.\" Faith\nin God, as an intelligent creator and ruler of the world, has awakened\nenthusiasm for scientific investigation among both the Aryan and the\nSemitic races.\n\nThe purest and highest form of monotheism is that of Christianity; and\nin Christendom has science made its largest progress. Not by martyrs\nfor science, but by martyrs for religion, has the human mind been\nemancipated. Mr. Tyndall says of scientific freedom, \"We fought and won\nour battle even in the middle ages.\" But the heroes of intellectual\nliberty have been the heroes of faith. Hundreds of thousands have died\nfor a religious creed; but how many have died for a scientific theory?\nLuther went to Worms, and maintained his opinions there in defiance\nof the anathemas of the church and the ban of the empire, but Galileo\ndenied his most cherished convictions on his knees. Galileo was as\nnoble a character as Luther; but science does not create the texture\nof soul which makes so many martyrs in all the religious sects of\nChristendom. Let the doctrine of cosmical force supplant our faith in\nthe Almighty, and in a few hundred years science would probably fade\nout of the world from pure inanition. The world would probably not care\nenough for _anything_ to care for science. The light of eternity must\nfall on this our human and earthly life, to arouse the soul to a living\nand permanent interest even in things seen and temporal.\n\nProfessor Tyndall says: \"Whether the views of Lucretius, Darwin, and\nSpencer are right or wrong, we claim the freedom to discuss them. The\nground which they cover is scientific ground.\"\n\nIt is not only a right, but a duty to examine these theories, since\nthey are held seriously and urged earnestly by able men. But we must\ndoubt whether they ought to claim the authority of science. They are\nproposed by scientific men, and they refer to scientific subjects. But\nthese theories, in their present development, belong to metaphysics\nrather than to science. Science consists, first, of observation of\nfacts; secondly, of laws inferred from those facts; and thirdly, of\na verification of those laws by new observation and experiment. That\nwhich cannot be verified is no part of science; astronomy is a science,\nsince every eclipse and occultation verifies its laws; geology is a\nscience, since every new observation of the strata and their contents\naccords with the established part of the system; chemistry is a\nscience for the same reason. But Darwin's theory of the transformation\nof species by natural selection is as yet unverified. \"There is no\nevidence of a direct descent of earlier from later species in the\ngeological succession of animals.\" So says Agassiz, and on this point\nhis testimony can hardly be impeached. Professor W. Thompson, another\ngood geological authority, says: \"In successive geological formations,\nalthough new species are constantly appearing, and there is abundant\nevidence of progressive change, no single case has yet been observed\nof one species passing through a series of inappreciable modifications\ninto another.\" Neither has any such change taken place within historic\ntimes, for the animals and plants found in the tombs of Egypt are\n\"identical, in all respects,\" says M. Quatrefages, \"with those now\nexisting.\" He adds the opinion, after a very careful and candid\nexamination of the hypothesis of Darwin, that \"the theory and the\nfacts do not agree.\" Not being verified, then, this theory is not yet\nscience, but an unverified mental hypothesis, that is, metaphysics.\n\nIt is important that this should be distinctly said, for when men\neminent in science propound new theories, these theories themselves are\napt to be regarded as science, and those who oppose them are accused\nof being opposed to science. This is the tendency which Professor\nTyndall has so justly described in this very address: \"When the human\nmind has achieved greatness and given evidence of power in any domain,\nthere is a tendency to credit it with similar power in any other\ndomain.\" Because Tyndall is great in experimental science, many are\napt to accept his cosmological conclusions. Because he is a great\nobserver in natural history, his metaphysical theories are supposed\nto be supported by observation, and to rest on experience. Professor\nTyndall's own address terminates, not in science, but nescience. It\ntreats of a realm of atoms and molecules whose existence science has\nnever demonstrated, and attributes to them potencies which science has\nnever verified. It is a system, not made necessary by the stringent\nconstraint of facts, but avowedly constructed in order to avoid the\nbelief in an intelligent Creator, and a universe marked by the presence\nof design. His theory, he admits, no less than that of Darwin, was not\nconstructed in the pure interests of truth for its own sake. There was\nanother purpose in both,--to get rid of a theology of final causes, of\na theology which conceives of God as a human artificer. He wished to\nexclude religion from the field of cosmogony, and forbid it to intrude\non the region of knowledge. Theologians have often been reproached\nfor studying \"with a purpose,\" but it seems that this is a frailty\nbelonging not to theologians only, but to all human beings who care a\ngood deal for what they believe.\n\nProfessor Tyndall accepts religious faith as an important element of\nhuman nature, but considers it as confined to the sentiments, and\nas not based in knowledge. He doubtless comes to this conclusion\nfrom following too implicitly the traditions of modern English\npsychology. These assume that knowledge comes only from without,\nthrough the senses, and never from within, through intuition. This\nprepossession, singularly English and insular, is thus stated by John\nStuart Mill in his article on Coleridge. \"Sensation, and the mind's\nconsciousness of its own acts, are not only the exclusive sources,\nbut the sole materials of our knowledge. There is no knowledge _a\npriori_; no truths cognizable by the mind's inward light, and grounded\non intuitive evidence.\" These views have been developed in England by\nthe two Mills, Herbert Spencer, Bain, and others, who have made great\nefforts to show how sensations may be transformed into thoughts; how\nassociation of ideas may have developed instincts; how hereditary\nimpressions, repeated for a million years, may at last have taken on\nthe aspect of necessary truths. In short, they have laid out great\nlabor and ingenuity in proving that a sensation may, very gradually, be\ntransformed into a thought.\n\nBut all this labor is probably a waste of time and of intellectual\npower. The attempt at turning sensation into thought only results in\nturning thought into sensation. It is an error that we only know what\nwe perceive through the senses, or transform by the action of the\nmind. It is not true that we only know that of which we can form a\nsensible image. We know the existence of the soul as certainly as that\nof the body. We know the infinite and the eternal as well as we know\nthe finite and temporal. We know substance, cause, immortal beauty,\nabsolute truth, as surely as the flitting phenomena which pass within\nthe sphere of sensational experience. These convictions belong, not to\nthe sphere of sentiment and emotion, but to that of knowledge. It is\nbecause they show us realities and not imaginations, that they nerve\nthe soul to such vast efforts in the sphere of morals, literature, and\nreligion.\n\nThe arguments against the independent existence of the soul which\nTyndall puts into the mouth of his Lucretian disciple are not difficult\nto answer. \"You can form no picture of the soul,\" he says. No; and\nneither can we form a mental picture of love or hate, of right and\nwrong, or even of bodily pain and pleasure. \"If localized in the body,\nthe soul must have form.\" Must a pain, localized in the finger, have\nform? \"When a leg is amputated, in which part does the soul reside?\"\nWe answer, that the soul resides in the body, with reduced power. Its\ninstrument is less perfect than before--like a telescope which has\nlost a lens. \"If consciousness is an essential attribute of the soul,\nwhere is the soul when consciousness ceases by the depression of the\nbrain?\" Is there any difficulty, we reply, in supposing that the soul\nmay pass sometimes into a state of torpor, when its instrument is\ninjured? A soul may sleep, and so be unconscious, without being dead.\n\"The diseased brain may produce immorality: can the reason control it?\nIf not, what is the use of the reason?\" To this we answer that the\nsoul may lose its power with a diseased body; but when furnished with\nanother and better body, it will regain it. \"If you regard the body\nonly as an instrument, you will neglect to take care of it.\" Does the\nastronomer neglect to take care of his telescope?\n\nThese answers to the Lucretian may be far from complete; but they are\nat least as good as the objections. The soul, no doubt, depends on the\nbody, and cannot do its work well when the body is out of order; but\ndoes that prove it to be the _result_ of the body? If so, the same\nargument would prove the carpenter to be the result of his box of\ntools, and the organist to be the result of his organ. The organist\ndraws sweet music from his instrument. But as his organ grows old,\nor is injured by the weather, or the pipes crack, and the pedals get\nout of order, the music becomes more and more imperfect. At last the\ninstrument is wholly ruined, and the music wholly ceases. Is, then,\nthe organist dead, or was he only the result of the organ? \"Without\nphosphorus, no thought,\" say the materialists. True. So, \"without the\norgan, no music.\" Just as in addition to the musical instrument we need\na performer, so in addition to the brain we need a soul.\n\nThere are two worlds of knowledge,--the outward world, which is\nperceived through the senses, and which belongs to physical science,\nand the inward world, perceived by the nobler reason, and from which\na celestial light streams in, irradiating the mind through all its\npowers. Religion and science are not opposed, though different; their\nspheres are different, though not to be divided. Each is supreme in\nits own region, but each needs the help of the other in order to do\nits own work well. Professor Tyndall claims freedom of discussion and\ninquiry for himself and his scientific brethren, and says he will\noppose to the death any limitation of this liberty. He need not be\nanxious on this point. Religious faith has already fought this battle,\nand won for science as well as for itself perfect liberty of thought.\nThe Protestant churches may say, \"With a great sum obtained we this\nfreedom.\" By the lives of its confessors and the blood of its martyrs\nhas it secured for all men to-day equal rights of thought and speech.\nWhat neither Copernicus, Kepler, nor Galileo could do was accomplished\nby the courage of Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Knox, and Oliver\nCromwell.\n\nAnd now the freedom they obtained by such sacrifices we inherit and\nenjoy: \"We are free-born.\" We may be thankful that in most countries\nto-day no repression nor dictation prevents any man from expressing\nhis inmost thought. We are glad that the most rabid unbelief and\nextreme denial can be spoken calmly in the open day. This is one great\ndiscovery of modern times, that errors lose half their influence when\nopenly uttered. We owe this discovery to the Reformation. The reformers\nmade possible a toleration much larger than their own; unwittingly,\nwhile seeking freedom for their own thoughts, they won the same\nfreedom for others, who went farther than they. They builded better\nthan they knew.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nProfessor Tyndall's address is tranquil yet earnest, modest, and manly.\nBut its best result is, that it shows us the impotence of the method\nof sensation to explain the mystery of the universe. It has shown us\nclearly the limitations of \"the understanding judging by sense\"--shown\nthat it sees our world clearly, but is blind to the other. It can tell\nevery blade of grass, and name every mineral; but it stands helpless\nand hopeless before the problem of being. Science and religion may each\nsay with the apostle, \"We know in part and prophesy in part.\" Together\nand united, they may one day see and know the whole.\n\n\n\n\nLAW AND DESIGN IN NATURE[22]\n\n\nIn the paper which opens this discussion on \"Law and Design in Nature,\"\nProfessor Newcomb announces in a single sentence a proposition, the\ntruth or falsehood of which, he tells us, is \"the sole question\npresented for discussion in the present series of papers.\"\n\nBut, as soon as we examine this proposition, we find that it contains\nnot one sole question, but three. The three are independent of each\nother, and do not necessarily stand or fall together. They are these:--\n\n1. \"The whole course of Nature, considered as a succession of\nphenomena, is conditioned solely by antecedent causes.\"\n\n2. In the action of these causes, \"no regard to consequences is\ntraceable.\"\n\n3. And no regard to consequences is \"necessary to foresee the\nphenomena.\"\n\nOf these three propositions I admit the truth of the first; deny\nthe truth of the second; and, for want of space, and because of its\nrelative unimportance, leave the third unexamined.\n\nThe first proposition is so evidently true, and so universally\nadmitted, that it was hardly worth positing for discussion. It is\nmerely affirming that every natural phenomenon implies a cause. The\nword \"antecedent\" is ambiguous, but, if it intends logical and not\nchronological antecedence, it is unobjectionable. So understood, we are\nmerely asked if we can accept the law of universal causation; which\nI suppose we shall all readily do, since this law is the basis of\ntheology no less than of science. Without it, we could not prove the\nexistence of the first cause. Professor Newcomb has divided us into two\nconflicting schools, one of theology and the other of science. Taking\nmy place in the school of theology, I think I may safely assert for\nmy brethren that on this point there is no conflict, but that we all\nadmit the truth of the law of universal causation. It will be noticed\nthat Professor Newcomb has carefully worded his statement, so as not to\nconfine us to physical causes, nor even to exclude supernatural causes\nfrom without, working into the nexus of natural laws. He does not\nsay \"antecedent physical causes,\" nor does he say \"causes which have\nexisted from the beginning.\"\n\nAdmitting thus the truth of the first proposition, I must resolutely\ndeny that of the second; since, by accepting it, I should surrender\nthe very cause I wish to defend, namely, that we can perceive design\nin Nature. Final causes are those which \"regard consequences.\" The\nprinciple of finality is defined by M. Janet (in his recent exhaustive\nwork, \"Les Causes finales\") as \"the present determined by the future.\"\nOne example of the way in which we can trace in Nature \"a regard to\nconsequences\" is so excellently stated by this eminent philosopher\nthat we will introduce it here: \"Consider what is implied in the egg\nof a bird. In the mystery and night of incubation there comes, by the\ncombination of an incredible number of causes, a living machine within\nthe egg. It is absolutely separated from the external world, but every\npart is related to some future use. The outward physical world which\nthe creature is to inhabit is wholly divided by impenetrable veils from\nthis internal laboratory; but a pre\u00ebstablished harmony exists between\nthem. Without, there is light; within, an optical machine adapted to\nit. Without, there is sound; within, an acoustic apparatus. Without,\nare vegetables and animals; within, organs for their reception and\nassimilation. Without, is air; within, lungs with which to breathe it.\nWithout, is oxygen; within, blood to be oxygenized. Without, is earth;\nwithin, feet are being made to walk on it. Without, is the atmosphere;\nwithin, are wings with which to fly through it. Now imagine a blind\nand idiotic workman, alone in a cellar, who simply by moving his limbs\nto and fro should be found to have forged a key capable of opening\nthe most complex lock. If we exclude design, this is what Nature is\nsupposed to be doing.\"\n\nThat design exists in Nature, and that earthly phenomena actually\ndepend on final causes as well as on efficient causes, appears from\nthe industry of man. Man is certainly a part of Nature, and those who\naccept evolution must regard him as the highest development resulting\nfrom natural processes. Now, all over the earth, from morning till\nevening, men are acting for ends. \"Regard to consequences is traceable\"\nin all their conduct. They are moved by hope and expectation. They\ndevise plans, and act for a purpose. From the savage hammering his\nflint arrowheads, up to a Shakespeare composing \"Hamlet,\" a Columbus\nseeking a new way to Asia, or a Paul converting Europe to a Syrian\nreligion, human industry is a constant proof that a large part of\nthe course of Nature on this earth is the result of design. And, as\nman develops into higher stages, this principle of design rises also\nfrom the simple to the complex, taking ever larger forms. A ship, for\ninstance, shows throughout the adaptation of means to ends, by which\ncomplex adaptations produce a unity of result.\n\nAnd that there is no conflict between the action of physical causes\nand final causes is demonstrated by the works of man, since they all\nresult from the harmonious action of both. In studying human works we\nask two questions,--\"How?\" and \"Why?\" We ask, \"What is it for?\" and\n\"How is it done?\" The two lines of inquiry run parallel, and without\nconflict. So, in studying the works of Nature, to seek for design does\nnot obstruct the investigation of causes, and may often aid it. Thus\nHarvey is said to have been led to the discovery of the circulation of\nthe blood by seeking for the use of the valves of the veins and heart.\n\nThe human mind is so constituted that, whenever it sees an event,\nit is obliged to infer a cause. So, whenever it sees adaptation, it\ninfers design. It is not necessary to know the end proposed, or who\nwere the agents. Adaptation itself, implying the use of means, leads us\nirresistibly to infer intention. We do not know who built Stonehenge,\nor some of the pyramids, or what they were built for; but no one doubts\nthat they were the result of design. This inference is strengthened\nif we see combination toward an end, and preparation made beforehand\nfor a result which comes afterward. From preparation, combination, and\nadaptation, we are led to believe in the presence of human design even\nwhere we did not before know of the presence of human beings. A few\nrudely shaped stones, found in a stratum belonging to the Quaternary\nperiod, in which man had before not been believed to exist, changed\nthat opinion. Those chipped flints showed adaptation; from adaptation\ndesign was inferred; and design implied the presence of man.\n\nNow, we find in Nature, especially in the organization and\ninstincts of animals, myriads of similar instances of preparation,\ncombination, and adaptation. Two explanations only of this occurred\nto antiquity,--design and chance. Socrates, Plato, and others, were\nled by such facts to infer the creation of the world by an intelligent\nauthor--\"ille opifex rerum.\" Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius,\nascribed it to the fortuitous concourse of atoms. But modern science\nhas expelled chance from the universe, and substituted law. Laplace,\nobserving forty-three instances in the solar system of planets and\ntheir satellites revolving on their axes or moving in their orbits,\nfrom west to east, declared that this could not be a mere coincidence.\nChance, therefore, being set aside, the question takes another form:\n\"Did the cosmos that we see come by design or by law?\"\n\nBut does this really change the question? Granting, for example, the\ntruth of the theory of the development of all forms of life, under the\noperation of law, from a primal cell, we must then ask, \"Did these\n_laws_ come by chance or by design?\" It is not possible to evade that\nissue. If the universe resulted from non-intelligent forces, those\nforces themselves must have existed as the result of chance or of\nintelligence. If you put out the eyes, you leave blindness; if you\nstrike intelligence out of the creative mystery, you leave blind\nforces, the result of accident. Whatever is not from intelligence is\nfrom accident. To substitute law for chance is merely removing the\ndifficulty a little further back; it does not solve it.\n\nTo eliminate interventions from the universe is not to remove design.\nThe most profound theists have denied such interruptions of the course\nof Nature. Leibnitz is an illustrious example of this. Janet declares\nhim to have been the true author of the theory of evolution, by his\n\"Law of Continuity,\" of \"Insensible Perceptions,\" and of \"Infinitely\nSmall Increments.\" Yet he also fully believed in final causes.\nDescartes, who objected to some teleological statements, believed that\nthe Creator imposed laws on chaos by which the world emerged into a\ncosmos. We know that existing animals are evolved by a continuous\nprocess from eggs, and existing vegetables by a like process from\nseeds. No one ever supposed that there was less of design on this\naccount in their creation. So, if all existing things came at first by\na like process from a single germ, it would not argue less, but far\nmore, of design in the universe.\n\nThe theory of \"natural selection\" does not enable us to dispense with\nfinal causes. This theory requires the existence of forces working\naccording to the law of heredity and the law of variation, together\nwith a suitable environment. But whence came this arrangement, by\nwhich a law of heredity was combined with a law of variation, and\nboth made to act in a suitable environment? Here we find again the\nthree marks of a designing intelligence: preparation, combination,\nadaptation. That intelligence which combines and adapts means to ends\nis merely remanded to the initial step of the process, instead of being\nallowed to act continuously along the whole line of evolution. Even\nthough you can explain by the action of mechanical forces the whole\ndevelopment of the solar system and its contents from a nebula, you\nhave only accumulated all the action of a creative intelligence in the\nnebula itself. Because I can explain the mechanical process by which a\nwatch keeps time, I have not excluded the necessity of a watchmaker.\nBecause, walking through my neighbor's grounds, I come upon a water-ram\npumping up water by a purely mechanical process, I do not argue that\nthis mechanism makes the assumption of an inventor superfluous. In\nhuman industry we perceive a power capable of using the blind forces\nof Nature for an intelligent end; which prepares beforehand for the\nintended result; which combines various conditions suited to produce\nit, and so creates order, system, use. But we observe in Nature exactly\nsimilar examples of order, method, and system, resulting from a vast\nnumber of combinations, correlations, and adaptations of natural\nforces. Man himself is such a result. He is an animal capable of\nactivity, happiness, progress. But innumerable causes are combined and\nharmonized in his physical frame, each necessary to this end. As the\nhuman intelligence is the only power we know capable of accomplishing\nsuch results, analogy leads us to assume that a similar intelligence\npresides over the like combinations of means to ends in Nature. If any\none questions the value of this argument from analogy, let him remember\nhow entirely we rely upon it in all the business of life. We _know_\nonly the motives which govern our own actions; but we infer by analogy\nthat others act from similar motives. Knowing that we ourselves combine\nmeans designed to effect ends, when we see others adapting means to\nends, we assume that they act also with design. Hence we have a right\nto extend the argument further and higher.\n\nThe result of what I have said is this: The phenomena of the universe\ncannot be satisfactorily explained except by the study both of\nefficient causes and of final causes. Routine scientists, confining\nthemselves to the one, and routine theologians, confining themselves\nto the other, may suppose them to be in conflict. But men of larger\ninsight, like Leibnitz, Newton, Descartes, and Bacon, easily see the\nharmony between them. Like Hegel they say: \"Nature is no less artful\nthan powerful; it attains its end while it allows all things to act\naccording to their constitution;\" or they declare with Bacon that \"the\nhighest link of Nature's chain is fastened to the foot of Jupiter's\nchair.\" But the belief in final causes does not imply belief in\nsupernatural intervention, nor of any disturbance in the continuity of\nnatural processes. It means that Nature is pervaded by an intelligent\npresence; that mind is above and around matter; that mechanical laws\nare themselves a manifestation of some providing wisdom, and that when\nwe say Nature we also say God.[23]\n\n\n\n\nHISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO CARLYLES, OR CARLYLE PAST AND PRESENT[24]\n\n\nIn Thomas Carlyle's earlier days, when he followed a better inspiration\nthan his present,--when his writings were steeped, not in cynicism, but\nin the pure human love of his fellow beings,--in the days when he did\nnot worship Force, but Truth and Goodness,--in those days, it was the\nfashion of critics to pass the most sweeping censures on his writings\nas \"affected,\" \"unintelligible,\" \"extravagant.\" But he worked his way\non, in spite of that superficial criticism,--he won for himself an\naudience; he gained renown; he became authentic. _Now_, the same class\nof critics admire and praise whatever he writes. For the rule with\nmost critics is that of the bully in school and college,--to tyrannize\nover the new boys, to abuse the strangers, but to treat with respect\nwhoever has bravely fought his way into a recognized position. Carlyle\nhas fought his way into the position of a great literary chief,--so\nnow he may be ever so careless, ever so willful, and he will be spoken\nof in high terms by all monthlies and quarterlies. When he deserved\nadmiration, he was treated with cool contempt; now that he deserves\nthe sharpest criticism, not only for his false moral position, but\nfor his gross literary sins, the critics treat him with deference and\nrespect.\n\nBut let us say beforehand that we can never write of Thomas Carlyle\nwith bitterness. We have received too much good from him in past\ndays. He is our \"Lost Leader,\" but we have loved and honored him as\nfew men were ever loved and honored. It is therefore with tenderness,\nand not any cold, indifferent criticism, that we find fault with him\nnow. We shall always be grateful to the real Carlyle, the old Carlyle\nof \"Sartor Resartus,\" of the \"French Revolution,\" of the \"Life of\nSchiller,\" of \"Heroes and Hero-Worship,\" and of that long and noble\nseries of articles in the Edinburgh, Foreign Review, Westminster, and\nFrazer, each of which illuminated some theme, and threw the glory of\ngenius over whatever his mind touched or his pencil drew.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCarlyle's \"Frederick the Great\"[25] seems to us a badly written book.\nLet us consider the volume containing the fifteenth, sixteenth, and\nseventeenth chapters. Nothing in these chapters is brought out clearly.\nWhen we have finished the book, the mind is filled with a confusion of\nvague images. We know that Mr. Carlyle is not bound to \"provide us\nwith brains\" as well as with a history, but neither was he so bound in\nother days. Yet no such confusion was left after reading the \"French\nRevolution.\" How brilliantly distinct was every leading event, every\ninfluential person, every pathetic or poetic episode, in that charmed\nnarrative! Who can forget Carlyle's account of the \"Menads,\" the\nKing's \"Flight to Varennes,\" the Constitutions that \"would not march,\"\nthe \"September Massacres,\" \"Charlotte Corday,\"--every chief tragic\nmovement, every grotesque episode, moving forward, distinct and clear,\nto the final issue, \"a whiff of grapeshot\"? Is there anything like that\nin this confused \"Frederick\"?\n\nCompare, for example, the chapters on Voltaire in the present volume\nwith the article on Voltaire published in 1829.\n\nThe sixteenth book is devoted to the ten years of peace which followed\nthe second Silesian war. These were from 1746 to 1756. The book\ncontains fifteen chapters. Carlyle begins, in chapter i., by lamenting\nthat there is very little to be known or said about these ten years.\n\"Nothing visible in them of main significance but a crash of authors'\nquarrels, and the crowning visit of Voltaire.\" Yet one would think\nthat matter enough might be found in describing the immense activity\nof Friedrich, of which Macaulay says, \"His exertions were such as were\nhardly to be expected from a human body or a human mind.\" During these\nyears Frederick brought a seventh part of his people into the army,\nand organized and drilled it under his own personal inspection, till\nit became the finest in Europe. He compiled a code of laws, in which\nhe, among the first, abolished torture. He made constant journeys\nthrough his dominions, examining the condition of manufactures,\narts, commerce, and agriculture. He introduced the strictest economy\ninto the expenditures of the state. He indulged himself, indeed,\nin various architectural extravagances at Berlin and Potsdam,--but\notherwise saved every florin for his army. He wrote \"Memoirs of the\nHouse of Brandenburg,\" and an epic poem on the \"Art of War.\" But our\nauthor disdains to give us an account of these things. They are not\npicturesque, they can be told in only general terms, and Carlyle\nwill tell us only what an eyewitness could see or a listener hear.\nAccordingly, instead of giving us an account of these great labors of\nhis hero, he inserts (chapter ii.) \"a peep at Voltaire and his divine\nEmilie,\" \"a visit to Frederick by Marshal Saxe;\" (chapter iii.) a long\naccount of Candidate Linsenbarth's visit to the king; \"Sir Jonas Hanway\nstalks across the scene;\" the lawsuit of Voltaire about the Jew Hirsch;\n\"a demon news-writer gives an idea of Friedrich;\" the quarrel of\nVoltaire and Maupertuis; \"Friedrich is visible in Holland to the naked\neye for some minutes.\"\n\nThis is very unsatisfactory. Reports of eyewitnesses are, no doubt,\npicturesque and valuable; but so only on condition of being properly\narranged, and tending, in their use, toward some positive result. Then\nthe tone of banter, of irony, almost of persiflage, is discouraging. If\nthe whole story of Friedrich is so unintelligible, uninteresting, or\nincommunicable, why take the trouble to write it? The _poco-curante_\nair with which he narrates, as though it were of no great consequence\nwhether he told his story or not, contrasts wonderfully with his early\nearnestness. Carlyle writes this history like a man thoroughly _blas\u00e9_.\nImpossible for him to take any interest in it himself,--how, then, does\nhe expect to interest us? Has he not himself told us, in his former\nwritings, that the man who proposes to teach others anything must be\ngood enough to believe it first himself?\n\nHere is the problem we have to solve. How came this change from the\nCarlyle of the Past to the Carlyle of the Present,--from Carlyle the\nuniversal believer to Carlyle the universal skeptic,--from him to whom\nthe world was full of wonder and beauty, to him who can see in it\nnothing but Force on the one side and Shams on the other? What changed\nthat tender, loving, brave soul into this hard cynic? And how was it,\nas Faith and Love faded out of him, that the life passed from his\nthought, the glory from his pen, and the page, once alive with flashing\nideas, turned into this confused heap of rubbish, in which silver\nspoons, old shoes, gold sovereigns, and copper pennies are pitched out\npromiscuously, for the patient reader to sift and pick over as he can?\nIn reading the Carlyle of thirty years ago, we were like California\nminers,--come upon a rich _placer_, never before opened, where we could\nall become rich in a day. Now the reader of Carlyle is a _chiffonier_,\nraking in a heap of street dust for whatever precious matters may turn\nup.\n\nTo investigate this question is our purpose now,--and in doing so we\nwill consider, in succession, these two Carlyles.\n\nI. It was about the year 1830 that readers of books in this vicinity\nbecame aware of a new power coming up in the literary republic.\nOpinions concerning him varied widely. To some he seemed a Jack Cade,\nleader of rebels, foe to good taste and all sound opinions. Especially\ndid his admiration for Goethe and for German literature seem to many\npreposterous and extravagant. It was said of these, that \"the force\nof folly could no further go,\"--that they \"constituted a burlesque\ntoo extravagant to be amusing.\" The tone of Carlyle was said to be of\n\"unbounded assumption;\" his language to be \"obscure and barbarous;\" his\nideas composed of \"extravagant paradoxes, familiar truths or familiar\nfalsehoods;\" \"wildest extravagance and merest silliness.\"\n\nBut to others, and especially to the younger men, this new writer\ncame, opening up unknown worlds of beauty and wonder. A strange\ninfluence, unlike any other, attracted us to his writing. Before we\nknew his name, we knew _him_. We could recognize an article by our new\nauthor as soon as we opened the pages of the Foreign Review, Edinburgh,\nor Westminster, and read a few paragraphs. But it was not the style,\nthough marked by a singular freedom and originality--not the tone of\nkindly humor, the good-natured irony, the happy illustrations brought\nfrom afar,--not the amount of literary knowledge, the familiarity with\nGerman, French, Italian, Spanish literature,--not any or all of these\nwhich so bewitched us. We knew a young man who used to walk from a\nneighboring town to Boston every week, in order to read over again two\narticles by Carlyle in two numbers of the Foreign Review lying on a\ntable in the reading-room of the Athen\u00e6um. This was his food, in the\nstrength of which he could go a week, till hunger drove him back to\nget another meal at the same table. We knew other young men and young\nwomen who taught themselves German in order to read for themselves\nthe authors made so luminous by this writer. Those were counted\nfortunate who possessed the works of our author, as yet unpublished\nin America,--his \"Life of Schiller,\" his \"German Romance,\" his Review\narticles. What, then, was the charm,--whence the fascination?\n\nTo explain this we must describe a little the state of literature and\nopinion in this vicinity at the time when Carlyle's writings first made\ntheir appearance.\n\nUnitarianism and Orthodoxy had fought their battle, and were resting\non their arms. Each had intrenched itself in certain positions, each\nhad won to its side most of those who legitimately belonged to it.\nControversy had done all it could, and had come to an end. Among the\nUnitarians, the so-called \"practical preaching\" was in vogue; that is,\nethical and moral essays, pointing out the goodness of being good,\nand the excellence of what was called \"moral virtue.\" There was, no\ndoubt, a body of original thinkers and writers,--better thinkers and\nwriters, it may be, than we have now,--who were preparing the way for\nanother advance. Channing had already unfolded his doctrine of man,\nof which the central idea is, that human nature is not to be moulded\nby religion, but to be developed by it. Walker, Greenwood, Ware, and\ntheir brave associates, were conducting this journal with unsurpassed\nability. But something more was needed. The general character of\npreaching was not of a vitalizing sort. It was much like what Carlyle\nsays of preaching in England at the same period: \"The most enthusiastic\nEvangelicals do not preach a Gospel, but keep describing how it should\nand might be preached; to awaken the sacred fire of faith is not their\nendeavor; but at most, to describe how faith shows and acts, and\nscientifically to distinguish true faith from false.\" It is \"not the\nLove of God which is taught, but the love of the Love of God.\"\n\nAccording to this, God was outside of the world, at a distance from\nhis children, and obliged to communicate with them in this indirect\nway, by breaking through the walls of natural law with an occasional\nmiracle. There was no door by which he could enter into the sheepfold\nto his sheep. Miracles were represented, even by Dr. Channing, as\nabnormal, as \"violations of the laws of nature;\" something, therefore,\nunnatural and monstrous, and not to be believed except on the best\nevidence. God could not be supposed to break through the walls of this\nhouse of nature, except in order to speak to his children on some\ngreat occasions. That he had done it, in the case of Christianity,\ncould be proved by the eleven volumes of Dr. Lardner, which showed the\nFour Gospels to have been written by the companions of Christ, and not\notherwise.\n\nThe whole of this theory rested, it will be observed, on a sensuous\nsystem of mental philosophy. \"All knowledge comes through the senses,\"\nwas its foundation. Revelation, like every other form of knowledge,\nmust come through the senses. A miracle, which appeals to the sight,\ntouch, hearing, is the only possible proof of a divine act. For,\nin the last analysis, all our theology rests on our philosophy.\nTheology, being belief, must proceed according to those laws of belief,\nwhatever they are, which we accept and hold. The man who thinks that\nall knowledge comes through the senses must receive his theological\nknowledge also that way, and no other. This was the general opinion\nthirty or forty years ago; hence this theory of Christianity, which\nsupposes that God is obliged to break his own laws in order to\ncommunicate it.\n\nBut the result of this belief was harmful. It tended to make\nour religion formal, our worship a mere ceremony; it made real\ncommunication with God impossible; it turned prayer into a\nself-magnetizing operation; it left us virtually \"without God and hope\nin the world.\" Thanks to Him who never leaves himself without a witness\nin the human heart, this theory was often nullified in practice by the\nirrepressible instincts which it denied, by the spiritual intuitions\nwhich it ridiculed. Even Professor Norton, its chief champion, had\na heart steeped in the sweetest piety. Denying, intellectually, all\nintuitions of God, Duty, and Immortality, his beautiful and tender\nhymns show the highest spiritual insight. Still it cannot be denied\nthat this theory tended to dry up the fountains of religious faith\nin the human heart, and to leave us in a merely mechanical and\nunspiritualized world.\n\nNow the first voice which came to break this enchantment was, to many,\nthe voice of Thomas Carlyle. It needed for this end, it always needs, a\nman who could come face to face with Truth. Every great idol-breaker,\nevery man who has delivered the world from the yoke of Forms, has been\none who was able to see the substance of things, who was gifted with\nthe insight of realities. Forms of worship, forms of belief, at first\nthe channels of life, through which the Living Spirit flowed into human\nhearts, at last became petrified, incrusted, choked. A few drops of the\nvital current still ooze slowly through them, and our parched lips,\nsucking these few drops, cling all the more closely to the form as it\nbecomes less and less a vehicle of life. The poorest word, old and\ntrite, is precious when there is no open vision. We do well continually\nto resort to the half-dead form, \"till the day dawn, and the day-star\narise in our hearts.\"\n\nBut at last there comes a man capable of dispensing with the form,--a\nman endowed with a high degree of the intuitive faculty,--a born seer,\na prophet, seeing the great realities of the universe with open vision.\nThe work of such a man is to break up the old formulas and introduce\nnew light and life. This work was done for the Orthodox thirty years\nago by the writings of Coleridge; for the Unitarians in this vicinity,\nby the writings of Thomas Carlyle.\n\nThis was the secret of the enthusiasm felt for Carlyle, in those\ndays, by so many of the younger men and women. He taught us to look at\nrealities instead of names, at substance instead of surface,--to see\nGod in the world, in nature, in life, in providence, in man,--to see\ndivine truth and beauty and wonder everywhere around. He taught that\nthe only organ necessary by which to see the divine in all things was\nsincerity, or inward truth. And so he enabled us to escape from the\nform into the spirit, he helped us to rise to that plane of freedom\nfrom which we could see the divine in the human, the infinite in the\nfinite, God in man, heaven on earth, immortality beginning here,\neternity pervading time. This made for us a new heaven and a new earth,\na new religion and a new life. Faith was once more possible, a faith\nnot bought by the renunciation of mature reason or the beauty and glory\nof the present hour.\n\nBut all this was taught us by our new prophet, not by the intellect\nmerely, but by the spirit in which he spoke. He did not seem to be\ngiving us a new creed, so much as inspiring us with a new life. That\nwhich came from his experience went into ours. Therefore it might\nhave been difficult, in those days, for any of his disciples to state\nwhat it was that they had learned from him. They had not learned his\ndoctrine,--they had absorbed it. Hence, very naturally, came the\nimitations of Carlyle, which so disgusted the members of the old\nschool. Hence the absurd Carlylish writing, the feeble imitations by\nhonest, but weak disciples of the great master. It was a pity, but not\nunnatural, and it soon passed by.\n\nAs Carlyle thus did his work, not so much by direct teaching as by an\ninfluence hidden in all that he said, it did not much matter on what\nsubject he wrote,--the influence was there still. But his articles\non Goethe were the most attractive, because he asserted that in this\npatriarch of German literature he had found one who saw in all things\ntheir real essence, one whose majestic and trained intelligence could\ninterpret to us in all parts of nature and life the inmost quality, the\n_terza essenza_, as the Italian Platonists called it, which made each\nitself. Goethe was announced as the prophet of Realism. He, it should\nseem, had perfectly escaped from words into things. He saw the world,\nnot through dogmas, traditions, formulas, but as it was in itself. To\nhim\n\n          \"the world's unwithered countenance\n    Was fresh as on creation's day.\"\n\nConsider the immense charm of such hopes as these! No wonder that the\ncritics complained that the disciples of Carlyle were \"insensible\nto ridicule.\" What did they care for the laughter, which seemed to\nthem, in their enthusiasm, like \"the crackling of thorns under the\npot.\" Ridicule, in fact, never touches the sincere enthusiast. It is\na good and useful weapon against affectation, but it falls, shivered\nto pieces, from the magic breastplate of truth. No sincere person,\nat work in a cause which he knows to be important, ever minds being\nlaughed at.\n\nBut besides his admirable discussions of Goethe, Carlyle's \"Life of\nSchiller\" opened the portals of German literature, and made an epoch in\nbiography and criticism. It was a new thing to read a biography written\nwith such enthusiasm,--to find a critic who could really write with\nreverence and tender love of the poet whom he criticised. Instead of\ntaking his seat on the judicial bench, and calling his author up before\nhim to be judged as a culprit, Carlyle walks with Schiller through the\ncircles of his poems and plays, as Dante goes with Virgil through the\nInferno and Paradiso. He accepts the great poet as his teacher and\nmaster,[26] a thing unknown before in all criticism. It was supposed\nthat a biographer would become a mere Boswell if he looked up to his\nhero, instead of looking down on him. It was not understood that it was\nthat \"angel of the world,\" Reverence, which had exalted even a poor,\nmean, vain fool, like Boswell, and enabled him to write one of the best\nbooks ever written. It was not his reverence for Johnson which made\nBoswell a fool,--his reverence for Johnson made him, a fool, capable of\nwriting one of the best books of modern times.\n\nThis capacity of reverence in Carlyle--this power of perceiving a\ndivine, infinite quality in human souls--tinges all his biographical\nwriting with a deep religious tone. He wrote of Goethe, Schiller,\nRichter, Burns, Novalis, even Voltaire, with reverence. He could\nsee their defects easily enough, he could playfully expose their\nweaknesses; but beneath all was the sacred undertone of reverence for\nthe divine element in each,--for that which God had made and meant them\nto be, and which they had realized more or less imperfectly in the\nstruggle of life. The difference between the reverence of a Carlyle\nand that of a Boswell is, that one is blind and the other intelligent.\nThe one worships his hero down to his shoes and stockings, the other\ndistinguishes the divine idea from its weak embodiment.\n\nTwo articles from this happy period--that on the \"Signs of the Times\"\nand that called \"Characteristics\"--indicate some of Carlyle's leading\nideas concerning right thinking and right living. In the first, he\ndeclares the present to be an age of mechanism,--not heroic, devout,\nor philosophic. All things are done by machinery. \"Men have no faith\nin individual endeavor or natural force.\" \"Metaphysics has become\nmaterial.\" Government is a machine. All this he thinks evil. The\nliving force is in the individual soul,--not mechanic, but dynamic.\nReligion is a calculation of expediency, not an impulse of worship; no\nthousand-voiced psalm from the heart of man to his invisible Father,\nthe Fountain of all goodness, beauty, and truth, but a contrivance by\nwhich a small quantum of earthly enjoyment may be exchanged for a much\nlarger quantum of celestial enjoyment. \"Virtue is pleasure, is profit.\"\n\"In all senses we worship and follow after power, which may be called a\nphysical pursuit.\" (Ah, Carlyle of the Present! does not that wand of\nthine old true self touch thee?) \"No man now loves truth, as truth must\nbe loved, with an infinite love; but only with a finite love, and, as\nit were, _par amours_.\"\n\nIn the other article, \"Characteristics,\" printed two years later, in\n1831, he unfolds the doctrine of \"Unconsciousness\" as the sign of\nhealth in soul as well as body. He finds society sick everywhere; he\nfinds its religion, literature, science, all diseased, yet he ends\nthe article, as the other was ended, in hope of a change to something\nbetter.\n\nThese two articles may be considered as an introduction to his next\ngreat work, \"Sartor Resartus,\" or the \"Clothes-Philosophy.\" Here, in a\nvein of irony and genial humor, he unfolds his doctrine of substance\nand form. The object of all thought and all experience is to look\nthrough the clothes to the living beneath them. According to his book,\nall human institutions are the clothing of society; language is the\ngarment of thought, the heavens and earth the time-vesture of the\nEternal. So, too, are religious creeds and ceremonies the clothing\nof religion; so are all symbols the vesture of some idea; so are\nthe crown and sceptre the vesture of government. This book is the\nautobiography of a seeker for truth. In it he is led from the shows of\nthings to their innermost substance, and as in all his other writings,\nhe teaches here also that sincerity, truthfulness, is the organ by\nwhich we are led to the solid rock of reality, which underlies all\nshows and shams.\n\nII. We now come to treat of Carlyle in his present aspect,--a much\nless agreeable task. We leave Carlyle the generous and gentle, for\nCarlyle the hard cynic. We leave him, the friend of man, lover of\nhis race, for another Carlyle, advocate of negro slavery, worshiper\nof mere force, sneering at philanthropy, and admiring only tyrants,\ndespots, and slaveholders. The change, and the steps which led to it,\nchronologically and logically, it is our business to scrutinize,--not a\ngrateful occupation indeed, but possibly instructive and useful.\n\nThomas Carlyle, after spending his previous life in Scotland, and from\n1827 to 1834 in his solitude at Craigenputtoch, removed to London\nin the latter year, when thirty-eight years old. Since then he has\npermanently resided in London, in a house situated on one of the quiet\nstreets running at right angles with the Thames. He came to London\nalmost an unknown man; he has there become a great name and power\nin literature. He has had for friends such men as John Stuart Mill,\nSterling, Maurice, Leigh Hunt, Browning, Thackeray, and Emerson. His\n\"French Revolution\" was published in 1837; \"Sartor Resartus\" (published\nin Frazer in 1833, and in Boston in a volume in 1836) was put forth\ncollectively in 1838; and in the same year his \"Miscellanies\" (also\ncollected and issued in Boston in 1838) were published in London, in\nfour volumes. \"Chartism\" was issued in 1839. He gave four courses\nof Lectures in Willis's rooms \"to a select but crowded audience,\"\nin 1837, 1838, 1839, and 1840. Only the last of these--\"Heroes and\nHero-Worship\"--was published. \"Past and Present\" followed in 1843,\n\"Oliver Cromwell\" in 1845. In 1850 he printed \"Latter-Day Pamphlets,\"\nand subsequently his \"Life of Sterling\" (1851), and the four volumes,\nnow issued, of \"Frederick the Great.\"\n\nThe first evidence of an altered tendency is perhaps to be traced in\nthe \"French Revolution.\" It is a noble and glorious book; but, as one\nof his friendly critics has said, \"its philosophy is contemptuous and\nmocking, and it depicts the varied and gigantic characters which stalk\nacross the scene, not so much as responsible and living mortals, as\nthe mere mechanical implements of some tremendous and irresistible\ndestiny.\" In \"Heroes and Hero-Worship\" the habit has grown of revering\nmere will, rather than calm intellectual and moral power. The same\nthing is shown in \"Past and Present,\" in \"Cromwell,\" and in \"Latter-Day\nPamphlets,\" which the critic quoted above says is \"only remarkable as\na violent imitation of himself, and not of his better self.\" For the\nworks of this later period, indeed, the best motto would be that verse\nfrom Daniel: \"He shall exalt himself, and magnify himself, and speak\nmarvelous things; neither shall he regard the God of his fathers, but\nin his stead shall he honor the God of Forces, a god whom his fathers\nknew not.\"\n\nProbably this apostasy from his better faith had begun, before this,\nto show itself in conversation. At least Margaret Fuller, in a letter\ndated 1846, finds herself in his presence admiring his brilliancy, but\n\"disclaiming and rejecting almost everything he said.\" \"For a couple of\nhours,\" says she, \"he was talking about poetry, and the whole harangue\nwas one eloquent proclamation of the defects in his own mind.\" \"All\nCarlyle's talk, another evening,\" says she, \"was a defence of mere\nforce,--success the test of right; if people would not behave well, put\ncollars round their necks; find a hero, and let them be his slaves.\"\n\"Mazzini was there, and, after some vain attempts to remonstrate,\nbecame very sad. Mrs. Carlyle said to me, 'These are but opinions to\nCarlyle; but to Mazzini, who has given his all, and helped bring his\nfriends to the scaffold, in pursuit of such subjects, it is a matter of\nlife and death.'\"\n\nAs this mood of Mr. Carlyle comes out so strongly in the \"Latter-Day\nPamphlets,\" it is perhaps best to dwell on them at greater leisure.\n\nThe first is \"The Present Time.\" In this he describes Democracy as\ninevitable, but as utterly evil; calls for a government; finds most\nEuropean governments, that of England included, to be shams and\nfalsities,--no-government, or drifting, to be a yet greater evil. The\nobject, he states, is to find the noblest and best men to govern.\nDemocracy fails to do this; for universal balloting is not adequate to\nthe task. Democracy answered in the old republics, when the mass were\nslaves, but will not answer now. The United States are no proof of its\nsuccess, for (1st) anarchy is avoided merely by the quantity of cheap\nland, and (2d) the United States have produced no spiritual results,\nbut only material. Democracy in America is no-government, and \"its only\nfeat is to have produced eighteen millions of the greatest _bores_ ever\nseen in the world.\" Mr. Carlyle's plan, therefore, is to find, somehow,\nthe _best man_ for a ruler, to make him a despot, to make the mass of\nthe English and Irish slaves, to beat them if they will not work, to\nshoot them if they still refuse. The only method of finding this best\nman, which he suggests, is to _call for him_. Accordingly, Mr. Thomas\nCarlyle _calls_, saying, \"Best man, come forward, and govern.\"\n\nThe sum, therefore, of his recipe for the diseases of the times is\nSLAVERY.\n\nThe second pamphlet is called \"Model Prisons,\" and the main object of\nthis is to ridicule all attempts at helping men by philanthropy or\nhumanity. The talk of \"Fraternity\" is nonsense, and must be drummed\nout of the world. Beginning with model prisons, he finds them much\ntoo good for the \"scoundrels\" who are shut up there. He would have\nthem whipped and hung (seventy thousand in a year, we suppose, as in\nbluff King Harry's time, with no great benefit therefrom). \"Revenge,\"\nhe says, \"is a right feeling against bad men,--only the excess of it\nwrong.\" The proper thing to say to a bad man is, \"Caitiff, I hate\nthee.\" \"A collar round the neck, and a cart-whip over the back,\" is\nwhat he thinks would be more just to criminals than a model prison. The\nwhole effort of humanity should be to help the industrious and virtuous\npoor; the criminals should be swept out of the way, whipt, enslaved,\nor hung. As for human brotherhood, he does not admit brotherhood\nwith \"scoundrels.\" Particularly disgusting to him is it to hear this\nphilanthropy to bad men called Christianity. Christianity, he thinks,\ndoes not tell us to love the bad, but to hate them as God hates them.\nAccording, probably, to his private expurgated version of the Gospel,\n\"that ye may be the children of your Father in heaven, whose sun rises\nonly on the good, and whose rain falls only on the just.\"\n\n\"Downing Street\" and \"New Downing Street\" are fiery tirades against\nthe governing classes in England. Mr. Carlyle says (according to his\ninevitable refrain), that England does not want a reformed Parliament,\na body of talkers, but a reformed Downing Street, a body of workers.\nHe describes the utter imbecility of the English government, and calls\nloudly for some able man to take its place. Two passages are worth\nquoting; the first as to England's aspect in her foreign relations,\nwhich is quite as true for 1864 as for 1854.\n\n\"How it stands with the Foreign Office, again, one still less knows.\nSeizures of Sapienza, and the like sudden appearances of Britain in\nthe character of Hercules-Harlequin, waving, with big bully-voice,\nher sword of sharpness over field-mice, and in the air making horrid\ncircles (horrid Catherine-wheels and death-disks of metallic terror\nfrom said huge sword) to see how they will like it. Hercules-Harlequin,\nthe Attorney Triumphant, the World's Busybody!\"\n\nOr see the following description of the sort of rulers who prevail in\nEngland, no less than in America:--\n\n\"If our government is to be a No-Government, what is the matter who\nadministers it? Fling an orange-skin into St. James Street, let the man\nit hits be your man. He, if you bend him a little to it, and tie the\ndue official bladders to his ankles, will do as well as another this\nsublime problem of balancing himself upon the vortexes, with the long\nloaded pole in his hand, and will, with straddling, painful gestures,\nfloat hither and thither, walking the waters in that singular manner\nfor a little while, till he also capsize, and be left floating feet\nuppermost,--after which you choose another.\"\n\nConcerning which we may say, that if this is the result of monarchy and\naristocracy in England, we can stick a little longer to our democracy\nin America. Mr. Carlyle says that the object of all these methods is to\nfind the ablest man for a ruler. He thinks our republican method very\ninsufficient and absurd,--much preferring the English system,--and then\ntells us that this is the outcome of the latter; that you might as well\nselect your ruler by throwing an orange-skin into the street as by the\nmethod followed in England.\n\nDespotism, tempered by assassination, seems to be Carlyle's notion of a\ngood government.\n\nThe pamphlet \"Stump-Orator\" is simply a bitter denunciation of all\ntalking, speech-making, and writing, as the curse of the time, and ends\nwith the proposition to cut out the tongues of one whole generation, as\nan act of mercy to them and a blessing to the human race.\n\nThus this collection of \"Latter-Day Pamphlets\" consists of the\nbitterest cynicism. Carlyle sits in it, as in a tub, snarling at\nfreedom, yelping at philanthropy, growling at the English government,\nsnapping at all men who speak or write, and ending with one long howl\nover the universal falsity and hollowness of mankind in general.\n\nAfter which he proceeds to his final apotheosis of despotism pure and\nsimple, in this \"Life of Frederick the Great.\" Of this it is not\nnecessary to say more than that Frederick, being an absolute despot,\nbut a very able one, having plunged Europe into war in order to steal\nSilesia, is everywhere admired, justified, or excused by Carlyle, who\nreserves his rebukes and contempt for those who find fault with all\nthis.\n\nThat, with these opinions, Carlyle should have taken sides with the\nslaveholders' conspiracy against the Union is not surprising. His\nsympathies were with them; first, as slaveholders, secondly, as\naristocrats. He hates us because we are democrats, and he loves them\nbecause they are despots and tyrants. Long before the outbreak of the\nrebellion, he had ridiculed emancipation, and denounced as folly and\nevil the noblest deed of England,--the emancipation of her West India\nslaves. In scornful, bitter satire, he denounced England for keeping\nthe fast which God had chosen, in undoing the heavy burdens, letting\nthe oppressed go free, and breaking every yoke. He ridiculed the black\nman, and described the poor patient African as \"Quashee, steeped to\nthe eyes in pumpkin.\" In the hateful service of oppression he had\nalready done his best to uphold slavery and discourage freedom. And\nwhile he fully believed in enslaving the laboring population, black or\nwhite, and driving it to work by the cart-whip, he as fully abhorred\nrepublicanism everywhere, and most of all in the United States.\nHe had exhausted the resources of language in vilifying American\ninstitutions. It was a matter of course, therefore, that at the\noutbreak of this civil war all his sympathies should be with those who\nwhip women and sell babies.\n\nHow is it that this great change should have taken place? Men\nchange,--but not often in this way. The ardent reformer often hardens\ninto the stiff conservative. The radical in religion is very likely to\njoin the Catholic Church. If a Catholic changes his religion, he goes\nover to atheism. To swing from one extreme to another, is a common\nexperience. But it is a new thing to see calmness in youth, violence in\nage,--to find the young man wise and all-sided, the old man bigoted and\nnarrow.\n\nWe think the explanation to be this.\n\nThomas Carlyle from the beginning has not shown the least appreciation\nof the essential thing in Christianity. Brought up in Scotland,\ninheriting from Calvinism a sense of truth, a love of justice, and a\nreverence for the Jewish Bible, he has never passed out of Judaism\ninto Christianity. To him, Oliver Cromwell is the best type of true\nreligion; inflexible justice the best attribute of God or man. He is\na worshiper of Jehovah, not of the God and Father of the Lord Jesus\nChrist. He sees in God truth and justice; he does not see in him\nlove. He is himself a prophet after the type of Elijah and John the\nBaptist. He is the voice crying in the wilderness; and we may say of\nhim, therefore, as was said of his prototype, \"He was a burning and a\nshining light, and ye were willing, for a season, to rejoice in his\nlight,\"--but not always,--not now.\n\nCarlyle does not, indeed, claim to be a Jew, or to reject Christ. On\nthe contrary, he speaks of him with very sincere respect. He seems,\nhowever, to know nothing of him but what he has read in Goethe about\nthe \"worship of sorrow.\" The Gospel appears to him to be, essentially,\na worship of sorrow. That Christ \"came to save sinners,\"--of that\nCarlyle has not the faintest idea. To him the notion of \"saving\nsinners\" is only \"rose-water philanthropy.\" He does not wish them\nsaved, he wishes them damned,--swept into hell as soon as convenient.\n\nBut, as everything which is real has two sides, that of _truth_ and\nthat of _love_,--it usually happens that he who only sees _one_ side at\nlast ceases even to see that. All goodness, to Carlyle, is truth,--in\nman it is sincerity, or love of reality, sight of the actual facts,--in\nGod it is justice, divine adherence to law, infinite guidance of the\nworld and of every human soul according to a strict and inevitable\nrule of righteousness. At first this seems to be a providence,--and\nCarlyle has everywhere, in the earlier epoch, shown full confidence in\nProvidence. But believe only in justice and truth,--omit the doctrine\nof forgiveness, redemption, salvation,--and faith in Providence\nbecomes sooner or later a despairing fatalism. The dark problem of evil\nremains insoluble without the doctrine of redemption.\n\nSo it was that Carlyle, seeing at first the chief duty of man to be\nthe worship of reality, the love of truth, next made that virtue to\nconsist in sincerity, or being in earnest. Truth was being true to\none's self. In this lay the essence of heroism. So that Burns, being\nsincere and earnest, was a hero,--Odin was a hero,--Mohammed was a\nhero,--Cromwell was a hero,--Mirabeau and Danton were heroes,--and\nFrederick the Great was a hero. That which was first the love of truth,\nand caused him to reverence the calm intellectual force of Schiller and\nGoethe, soon became earnestness and sincerity, and then became power.\nFor the proof of earnestness is power. So from power, by eliminating\nall love, all tenderness, as being only rose-water philanthropy, he at\nlast became a worshiper of mere will, of force in its grossest form.\nSo he illustrates those lines of Shakespeare in which this process is\nso well described. In \"Troilus and Cressida\" Ulysses is insisting on\nthe importance of keeping everything in its place, and giving to the\nbest things and persons their due priority. Otherwise, mere force will\ngovern all things.\n\n    \"Strength would be lord of imbecility,\"--\n\nas Carlyle indeed openly declares that it ought to be,--\n\n    \"And the rude son should strike his father dead,\"\n\nwhich Carlyle does not quite approve of in the case of Dr. Francia. But\nwhy not, if he maintains that strength is the measure of justice?\n\n    \"Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong\n    (Between whose endless jar justice resides)\n    Should lose their names and so should justice, too.\n    _Then everything includes itself in power,\n    Power into will, will into appetite;\n    And appetite, an universal wolf,\n    So doubly seconded with will and power,\n    Must make perforce an universal prey,\n    And, last, eat up himself._\"\n\nJust so, in the progress of Carlyle's literary career, first, force\nbecame right,--then, everything included itself in power,--next, power\nwas lost in will, and will in mere caprice or appetite. From his\nadmiration for Goethe, as the type of intellectual power, he passed to\nthe praise of Cromwell as the exponent of will, and then to that of\nFrederick, whose appetite for plunder and territory was seconded by\nan iron will and the highest power of intellect; but whose ambition\ndevoured himself, his country, and its prosperity, in the mad pursuit\nof victory and conquest.\n\nThe explanation, therefore, of our author's lapse, is simply this, that\nhe worshiped truth divorced from love, and so ceased to worship truth,\nand fell into the idolatry of mere will. Truth without love is not\ntruth, but hard, willful opinion, just as love without truth is not\nlove, but weak good-nature and soft concession.\n\nCarlyle has no idea of that sublime feature of Christianity, which\nshows to us God caring more for the one sinner who repents than the\nninety and nine just persons which need no repentance. To him one just\nperson deserves more care than ninety-nine sinners. Yet it is strange\nthat he did not learn from his master, Goethe, this essential trait\nof the Gospel. For Goethe, in a work translated by Carlyle himself,\ndistinguishes between the three religions thus. The ethnic or Gentile\nreligions, he says, reverence _what is above us_,--the religion of the\nphilosopher reverences _what is on our own level_,--but Christianity\nreverences _what is beneath us_. \"This is the last step,\" says Goethe,\n\"which mankind were destined to attain,--to recognize humility\nand poverty, mockery and despite, disgrace and wretchedness, as\ndivine,--nay, _even on sin and crime to look not as hindrances, but to\nhonor and love them as furtherances of what is holy_.\"\n\nOn sin and crime, as we have seen, Carlyle looks with no such\ntenderness. But if he does not care for the words of Christ, teaching\nus that we must forgive if we hope to be forgiven, if he does not care\nfor the words of his master, Goethe, he might at least remember his own\nexposition of this doctrine in an early work, where he shows that the\npoor left to perish by disease infect a whole community, and declares\nthat the safety of all is involved in the safety of the humblest.\n\nIn 1840, when he wrote \"Chartism,\" Carlyle seems to have known better\nthan he did in 1855, when he wrote these \"Latter-Day Pamphlets.\" _Then_\nhe said:--\n\n\"To believe practically that the poor and luckless are here only as a\nnuisance to be abraded and abated, and in some permissible manner made\naway, and swept out of sight, is not an amiable faith.\"\n\nOf Ireland, too, he said:--\n\n\"We English pay, even now, the bitter smart of long centuries of\ninjustice to Ireland.\" \"It is the feeling of _injustice_ that is\ninsupportable to all men. The brutalest black African feels it, and\ncannot bear that he should be used unjustly. No man can bear it, or\nought to bear it.\"\n\nThis seems like the \"rose-water philanthropy\" which he subsequently so\nmuch disliked. In this book also he speaks of a \"seven years' Silesian\nrobber-war,\"--we trust not intending to call his beloved Frederick a\nrobber! And again he proposes, as one of the best things to be done\nin England, to have all the people taught by government to read and\nwrite,--the same thing which this American democracy, in which he could\nsee not one good thing, has so long been doing. That was the plan by\nwhich England was to be saved,--a plan first suggested in England in\n1840,--adopted and acted on in America for two hundred years.\n\nBut just as love separated from truth becomes cruelty, so _truth_\nby itself--truth _not_ tempered and fulfilled by love--runs sooner\nor later into falsehood. _Truth_, after a while, becomes dogmatism,\noverbearing assertion, willful refusal to see and hear other than one's\nown belief; that is to say, it becomes falsehood. Such has been the\ncase with our author. On all the subjects to which he has committed\nhimself he closes his eyes, and refuses to see the other side. Like his\nown symbol, the mighty Bull, he makes his charge _with his eyes shut_.\n\nDetermined, for example, to rehabilitate such men as Mirabeau,\nCromwell, Frederick, and Frederick's father, he does thorough work, and\ndefends or excuses all their enormities, palliating whenever he cannot\njustify.\n\nWhat can we call this which he says[27] concerning the execution of\nLieutenant Katte, by order of old King Friedrich Wilhelm? Tired of\nthe tyranny of his father, tired of being kicked and caned, the young\nprince tried to escape. He was caught and held as a deserter from the\narmy, and his father tried to run him through the body. Lieutenant\nKatte, who had aided him in getting away, having been kicked and caned,\nwas sent to a court-martial to be tried. The court-martial found him\nguilty not of deserting, but of intending to desert, and sentenced\nhim to two years' imprisonment. Whereupon the king went into a rage,\ndeclared that Katte had committed high treason, and ordered him to be\nexecuted. Whereupon Carlyle thus writes:--\n\n\"'Never was such a transaction before or since in modern history,'\ncries the angry reader; 'cruel, like the grinding of human hearts under\nmillstones; like----' Or, indeed, like the doings of the gods, which\nare cruel, but not that alone.\"\n\nIn other words, Carlyle cannot make up his mind frankly to condemn\nthis atrocious murder, and call it by its right name. He must needs\ntry to sophisticate us by talking about \"the doings of the gods.\"\nBecause Divine Providence takes men out of the world in various ways,\nit is therefore allowable to a king, provided he be a hero grim enough\nand \"earnest\" enough, to kick men, cane them, and run them through\nthe body when he pleases; and, after having sent a man to be tried by\ncourt-martial, if the court acquits him, to order him to be executed by\nhis own despotic will. A truth-telling Carlyle ought to have said, \"I\nadmit this is murder; but I like the old fellow, and so I will call it\nright.\" A Carlyle grown sophistical mumbles something about its being\nlike \"the doings of the gods,\" and leaves off with that small attempt\nat humbug. Be brave, my men, and defend my Lord Jeffreys next for\nbullying juries into hanging prisoners. Was not Jeffreys \"grim\" too?\nIn fact, are not most murderers \"grim\"?\n\nWe have had occasion formerly, in this journal, to examine the writings\nof another very positive and clear-headed thinker,--Mr. Henry James.\nMr. James is, in his philosophy, the very antithesis of Carlyle.\nWith equal fervor of thought, with a like vehemence of style, with a\nsomewhat similar contempt for his opponents, Mr. James takes exactly\nthe opposite view of religion and duty. As Carlyle preaches the law,\nand the law alone, maintaining justice as the sole Divine attribute, so\nMr. James preaches the Gospel only, denying totally that to the Divine\nMind any distinction exists between saint and sinner, unless that the\nsinner is somewhat more of a favorite than the saint. We did not, do\nnot, agree with Mr. James in his anti-nomianism; as between him and\nCarlyle, we think his doctrine far the truer and nobler. He stands on\na higher plane, and sees much the farther. A course of reading in Mr.\nJames's books might, we think, help our English cynic not a little.\n\nGod is the perfect harmony of justice and love. His justice is warmed\nthrough and through with love, his love is sanctified and made strong\nby justice. And so, in Christ, perfect justice was fulfilled in perfect\nlove. But in him first was fully revealed, in this world, the Divine\nfatherly tenderness to the lost, to the sinner, to those lowest down\nand farthest away. In him was taught that our own redemption from\nevil does not lie in despising and hating men worse than ourselves,\nbut in saving them. The hard Pharisaic justice of Carlyle may call\nthis \"rose-water philanthropy,\" but till he accepts it from his heart,\nand repents of his contempt for his fallen fellowmen, till he learns\nto love \"scoundrels,\" there is no hope for him. He lived once in the\nheaven of reverence, faith, and love; he has gone from it into the hell\nof Pharisaic scorn and contempt. Till he comes back out of that, there\nis no hope for him.\n\nBut such a noble nature cannot be thus lost. He will one day, let us\ntrust, worship the divine love which he now abhors. Cromwell asked, on\nhis death-bed, \"if those once in a state of grace could fall,\" and,\nbeing assured not, said, \"I am safe then, for I am sure I was once in a\nstate of grace.\" There is a truth in this doctrine of the perseverance\nof saints. Some truths once fully seen, even though afterward rejected\nby the mind and will, stick like a barbed arrow in the conscience,\ntormenting the soul till they are again accepted and obeyed. Such a\ntruth Carlyle once saw, in the great doctrine of reverence for the\nfallen and the sinful. He will see it again, if not in this world, then\nin some other world.\n\nThe first Carlyle was an enthusiast, the last Carlyle is a cynic. From\nenthusiasm to cynicism, from the spirit of reverence to the spirit\nof contempt, the way seems long, but the condition of arriving is\nsimple. Discard LOVE, and the whole road is passed over. Divorce love\nfrom truth, and truth ceases to be open and receptive,--ceases to be a\npositive function, turns into acrid criticism, bitter disdain, cruel\nand hollow laughter, empty of all inward peace. Such is the road which\nCarlyle has passed over, from his earnest, hopeful youth to his bitter\nold age.\n\nCarlyle fulfilled for many, during these years, the noble work of a\nmediator. By reverence and love he saw what was divine in nature, in\nman, and in life. By the profound sincerity of his heart, his worship\nof reality, his hatred of falsehood, he escaped from the commonplaces\nof literature to a better land of insight and knowledge. So he was\nenabled to lead many others out of their entanglements, into his own\nluminous insight. It was a great and blessed work. Would that it had\nbeen sufficient for him!\n\n\n\n\nBUCKLE AND HIS THEORY OF AVERAGES[28]\n\n\nWe welcomed kindly the first installment of Mr. Buckle's work,[29]\ngiving a cursory account of it, and hinting, rather than urging,\nthe objections which readily suggested themselves against theories\nconcerning Man, History, Civilization, and Human Progress. But now\nit seems a proper time to discuss with a little more deliberation\nthe themes opened before us by this intrepid writer,--this latest\nchampion of that theory of the mind which in the last century was\ncalled Materialism and Necessity, and which in the present has been\nre-baptized as Positivism.\n\nThe doctrines of which Mr. Buckle is the ardent advocate seem to us,\nthe more thoroughly we consider them, to be essentially theoretical,\nsuperficial, and narrow. They are destitute of any broad basis of\nreality. In their application by Mr. Buckle, they fail to solve\nthe historic problems upon which he tries their power. With a show\nof science, they are unscientific, being a mere collection of\nunverified hypotheses. And if Mr. Buckle should succeed in introducing\nhis principles and methods into the study of history, it would\nbe equivalent to putting backward for about a century this whole\ndepartment of thought.\n\nYet, while we state this as our opinion, and one which we shall\npresently endeavor to substantiate by ample proof, we do not deny to\nMr. Buckle's volumes the interest arising from vigorous and independent\nthinking, faithful study of details, and a strong, believing purpose.\nThey are interesting and valuable contributions to our literature.\nBut this is not on account of their purpose, but in spite of it;\nnotwithstanding their doctrines, not because of them. The interest\nof these books, as of all good history, derives itself from their\npicturesque reproduction of life. Whatever of value belongs to Mr.\nBuckle's work is the same as that of the writings of Macaulay, Motley,\nand Carlyle. Whoever has the power of plunging like a diver into the\nspirit of another period, sympathizing with its tone, imbuing himself\nwith its instincts, sharing its loves and hates, its faith and its\nskepticism, will write its history so as to interest us. For whoever\nwill really show to us the breathing essence of any age, any state of\nsociety, or any course of human events, cannot fail of exciting that\nelement of the soul which causes man everywhere to rejoice in meeting\nwith man. He who will write the history of Arabians, Kelts, or Chinese,\nof the Middle Ages, the Norman Sea-kings, or the Roman Plebs, so\nthat we can see ourselves beneath these diverse surroundings of race,\ncountry, and period, and see that these also are really MEN,--this\nwriter instantly awakens our interest, whether he call himself poet,\nnovelist, or historian. In all cases, the secret of success is to write\nso as to enable the reader to identify himself with the characters\nof another age. Great authors enable us to look at actions, not\nfrom without, but from within. When we read the historic plays of\nShakespeare, or the historic novels of Scott, we are charmed by finding\nthat kings and queens are, after all, our poor human fellow-creatures,\nsharing all our old, familiar struggles, pains, and joys. When we read\nthat great historic masterpiece, the \"French Revolution\" of Carlyle,\nthe magic touch of the artist introduces us into the heart of every\ncharacter in the motley, shifting scene. We are the poor king escaping\nto Varennes under the dewy night and solemn stars. We are tumultuous\nMirabeau, with his demonic but generous soul. We are devoted Charlotte\nCorday; we are the Gironde; we the poor prisoners of Terror, waiting in\nour prison for the slow morning to bring the inevitable doom. This is\nthe one indispensable faculty for the historian; and this faculty Mr.\nBuckle so far possesses as to make his page a living one. It is true\nthat his sympathy is intellectual rather than imaginative. It is not of\nthe high order of Shakespeare, nor even of that of Carlyle. But, so\nfar as it goes, it is a true faculty, and makes a true historian.\n\nYet we cannot but notice how the effectual working of this historic\norgan is interfered with by the dogmatic purpose of Mr. Buckle; and,\non the other hand, how his theoretic aim is disturbed by the interest\nof his narrative. His history is always meant to be an argument. His\nnarrations of events are never for their own sake, but always to\nprove some thesis. There is, therefore, no consecutive narrative, no\nprogress of events, no sustained interest. These volumes are episodes,\nput together we cannot well say how, or why. In the seventh chapter\nof the first volume we have a graphic description of the Court life\nin England in the days of Charles II., James II., William, and the\nGeorges, in connection with the condition of the Church and clergy.\nFrom this we are taken, in the next chapter, to France, and to similar\nrelations between Henry IV., Louis XIII., Richelieu, and the French\nCatholics and Protestants. We then are brought back to England, to\nconsider the protective system there; and once more we return to\nFrance, to investigate its operation in that country. Afterward we have\nan essay on \"The State of Historical Literature in France from the\nEnd of the Sixteenth to the End of the Eighteenth Century,\" followed\nby another essay on the \"Proximate Causes of the French Revolution.\"\nMany very well finished biographic portraits are given us in these\nchapters. There are excellent sketches of Burke, Voltaire, Richelieu,\nBossuet, Montesquieu, Rousseau, Bichat, in the first volume; and of\nAdam Smith, Reid, Black, Leslie, Hutton, Cullen, Hunter, in the second.\nThese numerous biographic sketches, which are often accompanied with\ngood literary notices of the writings of these authors, are very ably\nwritten; but it is curious to remember, while reading them, that Mr.\nBuckle thinks that, as history advances, it has less and less to do\nwith biography.\n\nThere is an incurable defect in the method of this work. On the one\nhand, the dogmatic purpose is constantly breaking into the interest\nof the narration; on the other, the interest of the narration is\ncontinually enticing the writer from his argument into endless episodes\nand details of biography. The argument is deprived of its force by the\nstory; the story is interrupted continually on account of the argument.\nMr. Buckle has mistaken the philosophy of history for history itself.\nA history of civilization is not a piece of metaphysical argument, but\na consecutive account of the social progress either of an age or of a\nnation. This irreconcilable conflict of purpose, while it leaves to the\nparts of the work their value, destroys its worth as a whole.\n\nMr. Buckle might probably inquire whether we would eliminate wholly\nfrom history all philosophic aim, all teleologic purpose. He objects,\nand very properly, to degrading history into mere annals, without any\ninstructive purpose. We agree with him. We do not admire the style\nof history which feels neither passion nor sympathy, which narrates\ncrimes without indignation, and which has no aim in its narration\nexcept to entertain a passing hour. But it is one thing deliberately\nto announce a thesis and bring detached passages of history to prove\nit, and another to write a history which, by its incidents, spirit,\nand characters shall convey impulse and instruction. The historian\nmay dwell upon the events which illustrate his convictions, and may\ndevelop the argument during the progress of his moving panorama; but\nthe history itself, as it moves, should impress the lesson. The history\nof Mr. Motley, for example, illustrates and impresses the evils of\nbigotry, superstition, and persecution on the life of nations, quite as\npowerfully as does that of Mr. Buckle; but Mr. Motley never suspends\nhis narrative in order to prove to us logically that persecution is an\nevil.\n\nMr. Buckle, in his style of writing, belongs to a modern class of\nauthors whom we may call the bullying school. It is true that he is far\nless extravagant than some of them, and indeed is not deeply tinged\nwith their peculiar manner. The first great master of this class of\nwriters is Thomas Carlyle; but their peculiarity has been carried to\nits greatest extent by Ruskin. Its characteristic feature is treating\nwith supreme contempt, as though they were hopeless imbeciles, all who\nventure to question the _dicta_ of the writer. This superb arrogance\nmakes these writers rather popular with the English, who, as a nation,\nlike equally well to bully and to be bullied.\n\nBuckle professes to have at last found the only true key to history,\nand to have discovered some of its important laws, especially those\nwhich regard the progress of civilization.\n\nI. _His View of Freedom._--Mr. Buckle's fundamental position is, that\nthe actions of men are governed by fixed laws, and that, when these\nlaws are discovered, history will become a science, like geometry,\ngeology, or astronomy. The chief obstacle hitherto to its becoming a\nscience has been the belief that the actions of men were determined,\nnot by fixed laws, but by free will (which he considers equivalent\nto chance), or by supernatural interference or providence (which he\nregards as equivalent to fate). \"We shall thus be led,\" he says (Vol.\nI. p. 6, Am. ed.), \"to one vast question, which, indeed, lies at the\nroot of the whole subject, and is simply this: Are the actions of men,\nand therefore of societies, governed by fixed laws, or are they the\nresult either of chance or of supernatural interference?\" Identifying\nfreedom with chance, Mr. Buckle denies that there is such a thing, and\nmaintains that every human action is determined by some antecedent,\ninward or outward, and that not one is determined by the free choice\nof the man himself. His principal argument against free will is the law\nof averages, which we will therefore proceed to consider in its bearing\non this point.\n\nStatistics, carefully collected during many years and within different\ncountries, show a regularity of return in certain vices and crimes,\nwhich indicates the presence of law. Thus, about the same number of\nmurders are committed every year in certain countries and large cities,\nand even the instruments by which they are committed are employed in\nthe same proportion. Suicide also follows some regular law. \"In a\ngiven state of society, a certain number of persons must put an end to\ntheir own life.\" In London, about two hundred and forty persons kill\nthemselves every year,--in years of panic and disaster a few more, in\nprosperous years not quite so many. Other actions of men are determined\nin the same way,--not by personal volition, but by some controlling\ncircumstance. \"It is now known that the number of marriages in England\nbears a fixed and definite relation to the price of corn.\" \"Aberrations\nof memory are marked by this general character of necessary and\ninvariable order.\" The same average number of persons forget every\nyear to direct the letters dropped into the post-offices of London and\nParis. Facts of this kind \"force us to the conclusion,\" says Buckle,\n\"that the offenses of men are the result, not so much of the vices of\nthe individual offender, as of the state of society into which he is\nthrown.\"\n\nThe argument then is: If man's moral actions are under law, they are\nnot free, for freedom is the absence of law. The argument of Mr. Buckle\nis conclusive, provided freedom does necessarily imply the absence of\nlaw. But such, we think, is not the fact.\n\nThe actions of man do not proceed solely from the impact of external\ncircumstances; for then he would be no better than a ball struck with a\nbat. Nor do they proceed solely from the impulses of his animal nature;\nfor then he would be only a superior kind of machine, moved by springs\nand wheels. But in addition to external and internal impulse there is\nalso in man the power of personal effort, activity, will,--to which we\ngive the name of Free Choice, or Freedom. This modifies and determines\na part of his actions,--while a second part come from the influence\nof circumstance, and a third from organic instincts and habitual\ntendencies.\n\nNow, it is quite certain that no man has freedom of will enough to\ncause _his whole_ nexus of activity to proceed from it. For if a man\ncould cause _all_ his actions to proceed by a mere choice or effort,\nhe could turn himself at will into another man. In other words, there\ncould be no such thing as permanent moral character. No one could be\ndescribed; for while we were describing him, he might choose to be\ndifferent, and so would become somebody else. It is evident, therefore,\nthat some part of every man's life must lie outside of the domain of\nfreedom.\n\nIn what, then, does the essence of freedom consist? If it be not the\nfreedom to do whatever we choose, what is it? Plainly, if we analyze\nour own experience, we shall find that it is simply what its scholastic\nname implies, freedom of choice, or _liber arbitrio_. It is not, in the\nlast analysis, freedom to act, but it is freedom to choose.\n\nBut freedom to choose what? Can we choose anything? Certainly not. Our\nfreedom of choice is limited by our knowledge. We cannot choose that\nwhich we do not know. We must choose something within the range of our\nexperience. And our freedom of choice consists in the alternative of\nmaking this choice or omitting to make it,--exerting ourselves or not\nexerting ourselves. Consciousness testifies universally to this extent\nof freedom. We know by our consciousness that we can exert ourselves or\nnot exert ourselves at any moment,--exert ourselves to act or not exert\nourselves to act, to speak or not to speak. This power of making or not\nmaking an effort is freedom in its simplest and lowest form.\n\nIn this lowest form, it is apparent that human freedom is inadequate to\ngive any permanent character to human actions. They will be directed by\nthe laws of organization and circumstance. Freedom in this sense may\nbe compared to the power which a man has of rowing a boat in the midst\nof a fog. He may exert himself to row, he may row at any moment forward\nor backward, to the right or to the left. He has this freedom,--but it\ndoes not enable him to go in any special direction. Not being able to\ndirect his boat to any fixed aim, it is certain that it will be drifted\nby the currents or blown by the winds. Freedom in this form is only\nwillfulness, because devoid of an inward law.\n\nBut let the will direct itself by a fixed law, and it at once becomes\ntrue freedom, and begins to impress itself upon actions, modifying the\nresults of organization and circumstance. Not even in this case can\nit destroy those results; it only modifies them. It enters as a third\nfactor with those other two to produce the product. The total character\nof a man's actions will be represented by a formula, thus: John's\nOrganization \u00d7 John's Circumstances \u00d7 John's Freedom = John's Character.\n\nApply this to the state of society where the law of averages has been\ndiscovered. In such a society there are always to be found three\nclasses of persons. In the first class, freedom is either dormant or\nis mere willfulness. The law of mind is subject therefore in these to\nthe law of the members. The will is an enslaved will, and its influence\non action is a nullity, not needing to be taken into the account. From\nthis class come the largest proportion of the crimes and vices, regular\nin number because resulting from constant conditions of society. Of\nthese persons we can predict with certainty that, under certain strong\ntemptations to evil, they will inevitably yield.\n\nBut in another class of persons the will has learned to direct itself\nby a moral law toward a fixed aim. The man in the boat is now steering\nby a compass, and ceases to be the sport of current and gale. The will\nreacts upon organization, and directs circumstance. The man has learned\nhow to master his own nature, and how to arrange external conditions.\nWe can predict with certainty that under no possible influences will\nthis class yield to some forms of evil.\n\nThere is also in each community a third class, who are struggling, but\nnot emancipated. They are partly free, but not wholly so. From this\nclass come the slight variations of the average, now a little better,\nnow a little worse.\n\nApplying this view of the freedom of the will to history, we see that\nthe problem is far more complicated than Mr. Buckle admits. Man's\nfreedom, with him, is an element not to be taken into consideration,\nbecause it does not exist. But the truth is, that human freedom is\nnot only a factor, but a variable factor, the value of which changes\nwith every variety of human condition. In the savage condition it\nobeys organization and circumstances, and has little effect on social\ncondition. But as civilization advances, the power of freedom to\nreact on organization and circumstance increases, varying however\nagain, according to the force and inspiration of the ideas by which it\nis guided. And of all these ideas, precisely those which Mr. Buckle\nunderrates, namely, moral and religious ideas, are those which most\ncompletely emancipate the will from circumstances, and vitalize it with\nan all-conquering force.\n\nTo see this, take two extreme cases,--that of an African Hottentot, and\nthat of Joan of Arc. Free will in the African is powerless; he remains\nthe helpless child of his situation. But the Maid of Arc, though\nutterly destitute of Mr. Buckle's \"Intellectual Truths\" (being unable\nto read or write, and having received no instruction save religious\nideas), and wanting in the \"Skepticism\" which he thinks so essential to\nall historic progress, yet develops a power of will which reacts upon\ncircumstances so as to turn into another channel the current of French\nhistory. All bonds of situation and circumstance are swept asunder\nby the power of a will set free by mighty religious convictions.\nThe element of freedom, therefore, is one not to be neglected by an\nhistorian, except to his own loss.\n\nThe law of averages applies only to undeveloped men, or to the\nundeveloped sides of human nature, where the element of freedom has not\ncome in play. When the human race shall have made such progress that it\nshall contain a city inhabited by a million persons all equal to the\nApostle Paul and the Apostle John in spiritual development, it will\nnot be found that a certain regular number kill their wives every year,\nor that from two hundred and thirteen to two hundred and forty annually\ncommit suicide. Nor will this escape from the averages be owing to an\nincreased acquaintance with physical laws so much as to a higher moral\ndevelopment. We shall return to this point, however, when we examine\nmore fully Buckle's doctrine in regard to the small influence of\nreligion on civilization.\n\nII. _Mr. Buckle's View of Organization._--Mr. Buckle sets aside\nentirely the whole great fact of organization, upon which the science\nof ethnology is based. Perhaps the narrowness of his mind shows more\nconspicuously in this than elsewhere. He attributes no influence to\nrace in civilization. While so many eminent writers at the present\nday say, with Mr. Knox, that \"Race is everything,\" Mr. Buckle quietly\nrejoins that Race is nothing. \"Original distinctions of race,\" he\nsays, \"are altogether hypothetical.\" \"We have no decisive ground for\nsaying that the moral and intellectual faculties in man are likely to\nbe greater in an infant born in the most civilized part of Europe,\nthan in one born in the wildest region of a barbarous country.\" (Vol.\nI. p. 127, Am. ed.) \"We often hear of hereditary talents, hereditary\nvices, and hereditary virtues; but whoever will critically examine\nthe evidence will find that we have no proof of their existence.\" He\ndoubts the existence of hereditary insanity, or a hereditary tendency\nto suicide, or even to disease. (Vol. I. p. 128, note.) He does not\nbelieve in any progress of natural capacity in man, but only of\nopportunity, \"that is, an improvement in the circumstances under which\nthat capacity after birth comes into play.\" \"Here then is the gist of\nthe whole matter. The progress is one, not of internal power, but of\nexternal advantage.\" He goes on to say, in so many words, that the only\ndifference between a barbarian child and a civilized child is in the\npressure of surrounding circumstances. In support of these opinions he\nquotes Locke and Turgot.\n\nIt is difficult to understand how an intelligent and well-informed man,\nan immense reader and active thinker, can have lived in the midst of\nthe nineteenth century and retain these views. For students at every\nextreme of thought have equally recognized the force of organization,\nthe constancy of race, the permanent varieties existing in the human\nfamily, the steady ruling of the laws of descent. If there is any one\npart of the science of anthropology in which the nineteenth century has\nreversed the judgment of the eighteenth,--and that equally among men of\nscience, poets, materialists, idealists, anatomists, philologists,--it\nis just here. To find so intelligent a man reproducing the last century\nin the midst of the present is a little extraordinary.\n\nPerhaps there could not be found four great thinkers more different in\ntheir tendencies of thought and range of study than Goethe, Spurzheim,\nDr. Prichard, and Max M\u00fcller; yet these four, each by his own method of\nobservation, have shown with conclusive force the law of variety and\nof permanence in organization. Goethe asserts that every individual\nman carries from his birth to his grave an unalterable speciality of\nbeing,--that he is, down to the smallest fibre of his character, one\nand the same man; and that the whole mighty power of circumstance,\nmodifying everything, cannot abolish anything,--that organization and\ncircumstance hold on together with an equally permanent influence in\nevery human life. Gall and Spurzheim teach that every fibre of the\nbrain has its original quality and force, and that such qualities\nand forces are transmitted by obscure but certain laws of descent.\nPrichard, with immense learning, describes race after race, giving\nthe types of each human family in its physiology. And, finally, the\ngreat science of comparative philology, worked out by such thinkers\nand students as Bopp, Latham, Humboldt, Bunsen, Max M\u00fcller, and a\nhost of others, has proved the permanence of human varieties by ample\nglossological evidence. Thus the modern science of ethnology has\narisen, on the basis of physiology, philology, and ethology, and is\nperhaps the chief discovery of the age. Yet Mr. Buckle quietly ignores\nthe whole of it, and continues, with Locke, to regard every human mind\nas a piece of white paper, to be written on by external events,--a\npiece of soft putty, to be moulded by circumstances.\n\nThe facts on which the science of ethnology rests are so numerous and\nso striking, that the only difficulty in selecting an illustration\nis from the quantity and richness of material. But we may take two\ninstances,--that of the Teutons and Kelts, to show the permanence\nof differences under the same circumstances, and that of the Jews,\nthe Arabs, and the Gypsies, to show the continuity of identity under\ndifferent circumstances. For if it can be made evident that different\nraces of men preserve different characters, though living for long\nperiods under similar circumstances, and that the same race preserves\nthe same character, though living for long periods under different\ncircumstances, the proof is conclusive that character is _not_ derived\nfrom circumstances only. We shall not indeed go to the extreme of\nsuch ethnologists as Knox, Nott, or Gliddon, and say that \"Race is\neverything, and circumstances nothing,\" but we shall see that Mr.\nBuckle is mistaken in saying that \"Circumstances are everything, and\nrace nothing.\"\n\nThe differences of character between the German and Keltic varieties\nof the human race are marked, but not extreme. They both belong to\nthe same great Indo-European or Aryan family. They both originated\nin Asia, and the German emigration seems to have followed immediately\nafter that of the Kelts. Yet when described by C\u00e6sar, Tacitus, and\nStrabo, they differed from each other exactly as they differ now. They\nhave lived for some two thousand years in the same climate, under\nsimilar political and social institutions, and yet they have preserved\ntheir original diversity.\n\nAccording to the description of C\u00e6sar[30] and Tacitus[31] the German\ntribes differed essentially from the Gauls or Kelts in the following\nparticulars. The Germans loved freedom, and were all free. The Kelts\ndid not care for freedom. The meanest German was free. But all the\ninferior people among the Kelts were virtually slaves. The Germans had\nno priests, and did not care for sacrifices. The Kelts had a powerful\npriesthood and imposing religious rites. The Germans were remarkable\nfor their blue eyes, light hair, and large limbs. The Kelts were\ndark-complexioned. The Gauls were more quick, but less persevering,\nthan the Germans. Ready to attack, they were soon discouraged.\nTacitus, describing the Germans, says: \"They are a pure, unmixed, and\nindependent race; there is a family likeness through the nation, the\nsame form and features, stern blue eyes, ruddy hair; a strong sense\nof honor; reverence for women; religious, but without a ritual;\nsuperstitiously believing in supernatural signs and portents, but\nnot in a priesthood; not living in cities, but in scattered homes;\nrespecting marriage; the children brought up in the dirt, among the\ncattle; hospitable, frank, and generous; fond of drinking beer, and\neating preparations of milk.\"\n\nThe German and Keltic races, thus distinguished in the days of C\u00e6sar,\nare equally distinct to-day. Catholicism, the religion of a priesthood,\na ritual, and authority, prevails among the Kelts; Protestantism among\nthe Germans. Ireland, being mainly Keltic, is Catholic, though a part\nof a Protestant nation. France, being mainly Keltic, is also Catholic,\nin spite of all its illumination, its science, and its knowledge of\n\"intellectual laws.\" But as France contains a large infusion of German\n(Frankish) blood, it is the most Protestant of Catholic nations; while\nScotland, containing the largest infusion of Keltic blood, is the\nmost priest-ridden of Protestant nations. This last fact, which Mr.\nBuckle asserts, and spends half a volume in trying to account for,\nis explained at once by ethnology. Wherever the Germans go to-day,\nthey remain the same people they were in the days of Tacitus; they\ncarry the same blue eyes and light hair, the same love of freedom and\nhatred of slavery, the same tendencies to individualism in thought\nand life, the same tendency to superstitious belief in supernatural\nevents, even when without belief in any religion or church; and even\nthe same love for beer, and \"lac concretum,\" now called \"schmeercase\"\nin our Western settlements. The Kelt, also, everywhere continues the\nsame. He loves equality more than freedom. He is a democrat, but not\nan abolitionist. Very social, clannish, with more wit than logic, very\nsensitive to praise, brave, but not determined, needing a leader, he\ncarries the spirit of the Catholic Church into Protestantism, and the\nspirit of despotism into free institutions. And that physical, no less\nthan mental qualities, continue under all climates and institutions is\nillustrated by the blue eyes and light hair which the traveller meets\namong the Genoese and Florentines, reminding him of their Lombard\nancestors; while their superior tendencies to freedom in church and\nstate suggest the same origin.\n\nNineteen hundred years have passed since Julius C\u00e6sar pointed out\nthese diversities of character then existing between the Germans and\nKelts. Since then they have passed from barbarism to civilization.\nInstead of living in forests, as hunters and herdsmen, they have built\ncities, engaged in commerce, manufactures, and agriculture. They have\nbeen converted to Christianity, have conquered the Roman empire,\nengaged in crusades, fought in a hundred different wars, developed\nliteratures, arts, and sciences, changed and changed again their forms\nof government, have been organized by Feudalism, by Despotism, by\nDemocracy, have gone through the Protestant reformation, have emigrated\nto all countries and climates; and yet, at the end of this long period,\nthe German everywhere remains a German, and the Kelt a Kelt. The\ndescriptions of Tacitus and C\u00e6sar still describe them accurately. And\nyet Mr. Buckle undertakes to write a history of civilization without\ntaking the element of race into account.\n\nPerhaps, however, the power of this element of race is illustrated\nstill more strikingly in the case of the wandering and dispersed\nfamilies, who, having ceased to be a nation, continue in their\ndispersions to manifest the permanent type of their original and\nineffaceable organization. Wherever the Jew goes, he remains a Jew.\nIn all climates, under all governments, speaking all languages, his\nphysical and mental features continue the same. This amazing fact\nhas been held by many theologians to be a standing miracle of Divine\nProvidence. But Providence works by law, and through second causes, and\nuses in this instance the laws of a specially stubborn organization\nand the force of a tenacious and persistent blood to accomplish its\nends. The same kind of blood in the kindred Semitic family of Arabs\nproduces a like result, though to a less striking degree. The Bedouins\nwander for thousands of miles away from their peninsula, but always\ncontinue Arabs in appearance and character. The light, sinewy body and\nbrilliant dark eye, the abstemious habit and roaming tendency, mark the\nArab in Hindostan or Barbary. It is a thousand years since these nomad\ntribes left their native home, but they continue the same people on the\nPersian Gulf or amid the deserts of Sahara.\n\nThe case of the Gypsies, however, may be still more striking, because\nthese seem, in their wanderings over the earth, to have gradually\ndivested themselves of every other common attribute except that of\nrace. Unlike the Jews and Arabs, they not only adopt the language, but\nalso the religion, of the country where they happen to be. Yet they\nalways remain unfused and unassimilated.\n\nThe Gypsies first appeared in Europe in 1417, in Moldavia, and thence\nspread into Transylvania and Hungary.[32] They afterward passed into\nall the countries of Europe, where their number, at the present time,\nis supposed to reach 700,000 or 800,000. Everywhere they adopt the\ncommon form of worship, but are without any real faith. Partially\ncivilized in some countries, they always retain their own language\nbeside that of the people among whom they live. This language, being\nevidently derived from the Sanskrit, settles the question of their\norigin. It is common to all their branches through the world; as\nare also the sweet voice of their maidens, and their habits of\nhorse-dealing, fortune-telling, and petty larceny. Without the bond\nof religion, history, government, literature, or mutual knowledge and\nintercourse, they still remain one and the same people in all their\ndispersions. What gives this unity and permanence, if not race? Yet\nrace, to Mr. Buckle, means nothing.\n\nIII. _Mr. Buckle's Theory concerning Skepticism._--One of the laws of\nhistory which Mr. Buckle considers himself to have established, if not\ndiscovered, is that a spirit of skepticism precedes necessarily the\nprogress of knowledge, and therefore of civilization. By skepticism he\nmeans a doubt of the truth of received opinions. He asserts that \"a\nspirit of doubt\" is the necessary antecedent to \"the love of inquiry.\"\n(Vol. I. p. 242, Am. ed.) \"Doubt must intervene before investigation\ncan begin. Here, then, we have the act of doubting as the originator,\nor at all events the necessary antecedent, of all progress.\"\n\nIf this were so, progress would be impossible. For the great groundwork\nof knowledge for each generation must be laid in the minds of children;\nand children learn, not by doubting, but by believing. Children\nare actuated at the same time by an insatiable curiosity and an\nunquestioning faith. They ask the reason of everything, and they accept\nevery reason which is given them. If they stopped to question and to\ndoubt, they would learn very little. But by not doubting at all, while\nthey are made to believe some errors, they acquire an immense amount of\ninformation. Kind Mother Nature understands the process of learning and\nthe principle of progress much better than Mr. Buckle, and fortunately\nsupplies every new generation of children with an ardent desire for\nknowledge, and a disposition to believe everything they hear.\n\nPerhaps, however, Mr. Buckle refers to men rather than children. He\nmay not insist on children's stopping to question everything they hear\nbefore they believe. But in men perhaps this spirit is essential to\nprogress. What great skeptics, then, have been also great discoverers?\nWhich was the greatest discoverer, Leibnitz or Bayle, Sir Isaac Newton\nor Voltaire? A faith amounting nearly to credulity is almost essential\nto discovery,--a faith which foresees what it cannot prove, which\nfollows suggestions and hints, and so traces the faintest impressions\nleft by the flying footsteps of truth. The attitude of the intellect in\nall discovery is not that of doubt, but of faith. The discoverer always\nappears to critical and skeptical men as a visionary.\n\n\"To skepticism,\" says Mr. Buckle, \"we owe the spirit of inquiry,\nwhich, during the last two centuries, has gradually encroached on\nevery possible subject, and reformed every department of practical\nand speculative knowledge.\" But this is plainly what logicians call\na \u1f55\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd {hysteron proteron}, or what common people call\n\"putting the cart before the horse.\" It is not skepticism which\nproduces the spirit of inquiry, but the spirit of inquiry which\nproduces skepticism. It was not a doubt concerning the Mosaic cosmogony\nwhich led to the study of geology; the study of geology led to the\ndoubt of the cosmogony. Skepticism concerning the authority of the\nChurch did not lead to the discovery of the Copernican system; the\ndiscovery of the Copernican system led to doubts concerning the\nauthority of the Church which denied it. People do not begin by\ndoubting, but by seeking. The love of knowledge leads them to inquire,\nand inquiry shows to them new truths. The new truths, being found to be\nopposed to received opinions, cause a doubt concerning those opinions\nto arise in the mind. Skepticism, therefore, may easily follow, but\ndoes not precede inquiry.\n\nSkepticism, being a negative principle, is necessarily unproductive\nand barren. To have no strong belief, no fixed opinion, no vital\nconviction for or against anything,--this is surely not a state of\nintellect favorable to any great creation or discovery. Goethe, who was\ncertainly no bigot, says, in a volume of his posthumous works, that\nskepticism is only an inverted superstition, and that this skepticism\nis one of the chief evils of the present age. \"It is worse,\" he adds,\n\"than superstition, for superstition is the inheritance of energetic,\nheroic, progressive natures; skepticism belongs to weak, contracted,\nshrinking men, who venture not out of themselves.\" Lord Bacon says\n(\"Advancement of Learning,\" Book II.) that doubts have their advantages\nin learning, of which he mentions two, but says that \"both these\ncommodities do scarcely countervail an inconvenience which will intrude\nitself, if it be not debarred; which is, that when a doubt is once\nreceived, men labor rather how to keep it a doubt than how to solve\nit.\" It will be seen, therefore, that Lord Bacon gives to skepticism\nscarcely more encouragement than is given it by Goethe.\n\nMr. Buckle says (Vol. I. p. 250) that \"Skepticism, which in physics\nmust always be the beginning of science, in religion must always be\nthe beginning of toleration.\" We have seen that in physics skepticism\nis rather the end of science than its beginning, and the same is true\nof toleration. Skepticism does not necessarily produce toleration. The\nRoman augurs, who laughed in each other's faces, were quite ready to\nassist at the spectacle of Christians thrown to the lions. Skeptics,\nnot having any inward conviction as a support, rest on established\nopinions, and are angry at seeing them disturbed. A strong belief is\nsufficient for itself, but a half-belief wishes to put down all doubts\nby force. This is well expressed by Thomas Burnet (Epistola 2, De Arch.\nPhil.): \"Non potui non in illam semper propendere opinionem, Neminem\nirasci in veritate defendenda, qui eandem plene possidet, viditque\nin claro lumine. Evidens enim, et indubitata ratio, sibi sufficit\net acquiescit: aliisque a scopo oberrantibus, non tam succenset,\nquam miseretur. Sed cum argumentorum adversantium aculeos sentimus,\net quodammodo periclitari causam nostram, tum demum \u00e6stuamus, et\neffervescimus.\"\n\nThe least firm believers have often been the most violent persecutors.\nNero persecuted the Christians; Marcus Antoninus persecuted them;\nbut neither Nero nor Antoninus had any religious reason for this\npersecution. Antoninus, the best head of his time, was a sufficient\nskeptic to suit Mr. Buckle, as regards all points of the established\nreligion, but his skepticism did not prevent him from being a\npersecutor. Unbelieving Popes, like Alexander VI. and Leo X., have\npersecuted. True toleration is not born of unbelief, as Mr. Buckle\nsupposes, but of a deeper faith. Religious liberty has not been given\nto the world by skeptics, but by such men as Milton, Baxter, Jeremy\nTaylor, and Roger Williams.\n\nSo far from general skepticism being the antecedent condition of\nintellectual progress and discovery, it is a sign of approaching\nintellectual stagnation and decay. A great religious movement usually\nprecedes and prepares the way for a great mental development. Thus the\nreligious activity born of Protestantism showed its results in England\nin the age of Elizabeth, and in a general outbreak of intellectual\nactivity over all Europe. On the other hand, the skepticism of the\neighteenth century was accompanied by comparative stagnation of thought\nthroughout Christendom.\n\nIV. _Mr. Buckle's View of the small Influence of Religion on\nCivilization._--Mr. Buckle thinks it is erroneous to suppose that\nreligion is one of the prime movers of human affairs. (Vol. I. p. 183.)\nReligion, according to him, has little to do with human progress.\nIn this opinion, he differs from nearly all other great historians\nand philosophical thinkers. In modern times, Hegel, Niebuhr, Guizot,\nArnold, and Macaulay, among others, have discussed the part taken by\nreligious ideas in the development of man, laying the greatest stress\non this element. But Mr. Buckle denies that religion is one of the\nprime movers in human affairs. The Crusades have been thought to have\nexercised some influence on European civilization. But religion was\ncertainly the prime mover of the Crusades. Mohammedanism exercised\nsome influence on the development of European life. But Mohammedanism\nwas an embodiment of religious ideas. The Protestant Reformation\nshook every institution, every nation, every part of social life, in\nChristendom, and Europe rocked to its foundations under the influence\nof this great movement. But religion was the prime mover of it all.\nThe English Revolution turned on religious ideas. The rise of the\nDutch Republic was determined by them. In one form they colonized South\nAmerica and Mexico; in another form, they planted New England. Such\ngreat constructive minds as those of Alfred and Charlemagne have been\nbenevolently inspired by rational religion; such dark, destructive\nnatures as those of Philip II. of Spain, Catharine de Medicis of\nFrance, and Mary Tudor of England have been malevolently inspired by\nfanatical religion.\n\nOn what grounds, then, does Mr. Buckle dispute the influence of\nreligion? On two grounds mainly. First, he tells us that moral ideas\nare not susceptible of progress, and therefore cannot have exercised\nany perceptible influence on the progress of civilization. For that\nwhich does not change, he argues, cannot influence that which changes.\nThat which has been known for thousands of years cannot be the cause\nof an event which took place for the first time only yesterday. \"Since\ncivilization is the product of moral and intellectual agencies,\"\nsays Mr. Buckle, \"and since that product is constantly changing, it\ncannot be regulated by the stationary agent; because when surrounding\ncircumstances are unchanged, a stationary agent can produce only a\nstationary effect.\" On this principle, gravitation could not be the\ncause of the appearance of Donati's comet in the neighborhood of the\nsun. For gravitation is a stationary and uniform agent; it cannot\ntherefore produce an accelerated motion. Mr. Buckle will answer, that\nthough the law of gravitation is one and the same in all ages, and\nuniform in its action, the result of its action may be different at\ndifferent times, according to the position in the universe of the\nobject acted upon. True; and in like manner we may say, that, though\nreligious ideas are immutable, the result of their action on the\nhuman mind may be different, according to the position of that mind\nin relation to them. The doctrine of one God, the Maker and Lord of\nall things, was not a new one, or one newly discovered in the seventh\ncentury. Yet when applied by Mohammed to the Arabian mind, it was like\na spark coming in contact with gunpowder. Those wandering sons of the\ndesert, unknown before in the affairs of the world, and a negative\nquantity in human history, sprang up a terrible power, capable of\noverrunning and conquering half the earth. Religion awakened them;\nreligion organized them; religion directed them. The fact that an idea\nis an old one is no proof, therefore, that it may not suddenly begin to\nact with awful efficiency on civilization and the destiny of man.\n\nThe other reason given by Mr. Buckle why religious ideas have little\ninfluence in history is, that the religion of a nation is symptomatic\nof its mental and moral state. Men take the religious ideas which\nsuit them. A religion not suited to a people cannot be accepted by\nit; or, if accepted, has no influence on it. This thought, argued at\nconsiderable length by Mr. Buckle, is so perfectly true as to be a\ntruism. The religion of a people is no doubt an effect. But may it\nnot also be a cause? It, no doubt, cannot be received by a people\nnot prepared for it. But does it therefore exercise no influence on\na people which it finds prepared? Fire cannot explode an unexplosive\nmaterial, nor inflame one not inflammable. But does it follow that it\neffects nothing when brought into contact with one which is inflammable\nor explosive? A burning coal laid on a rock or put into the water\nproduces no effect. But does this prove that the explosion of gunpowder\nis in no manner due to the contact of fire?\n\n\"The religion of mankind,\" says Mr. Buckle, \"is the effect of their\nimprovement, and not the cause of it.\" His proof is that missions and\nmissionaries among the heathen produce only a superficial change among\nbarbarous and unenlightened tribes. Knowledge, he says, must prepare\nthe way for it. There must, no doubt, be some kind of preparation for\nChristianity. But does it follow that Christianity, when its way is\nprepared, is _only_ an effect? Why may it not be also a cause? Judaism\nprepared the way for Christianity. But did not Christianity produce\nsome effect on Judaism? The Arab mind was prepared for Mohammedanism.\nBut did not Mohammedanism produce some effect on the Arab mind? Europe\nwas prepared by various influences for Protestantism. But did not\nProtestantism produce some effects on Europe?\n\nIt might, with equal truth, and perhaps with greater truth, be asserted\nthat intellectual ideas are the result of previous training, and that\nthey are therefore an effect, and by no means a cause. The intellectual\ntruths accepted by any period depend certainly on the advanced\ncondition of human culture. You cannot teach logarithms to Hottentots,\ntrigonometry to Digger Indians, or the differential calculus to the\nFeejee Islanders. Hence, according to our author's logic, those very\nintellectual ideas which he thinks the only great movers in human\naffairs are really no movers at all, but only symptoms of the actual\nintellectual condition of a nation.\n\nBut it is a curious fact, that, while Mr. Buckle considers religious\nideas of so little importance in the history of civilization, he\nnevertheless devotes a large part of both his volumes to proving\nthe great evil done to civilization by erroneous forms of religious\nopinion. Nearly the whole of his second volume is in fact given to\nshowing the harm done in Spain and Scotland by false systems of\nreligious thought. Why spend page after page in showing the evil\ninfluence of false religion on society, if religion, whether true or\nfalse, has scarcely any influence at all? Why search through all\nthe records of religious fanaticism and superstition, to bring up to\nthe day the ghosts of dead beliefs, if these beliefs are, after all,\npowerless either for good or evil?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe second volume, the recent publication of which has suggested this\nsecond review of Mr. Buckle's work, contains much of interest and\nvalue, but suffers from the imperfect method of which we complained at\nthe beginning of this article. It is chiefly devoted to a description\nof the evils resulting from priestcraft in the two countries of Spain\nand Scotland. It contains six chapters. The first is on the History of\nthe Spanish Intellect from the fifth to the middle of the nineteenth\ncentury. The other five chapters relate to Scotland.\n\nIn the chapter on Spain Buckle attempts to show how loyalty and\nsuperstition began in this nation, and what has been the result. Of\ncourse, according to his theory, he is obliged to trace their origin to\nexternal circumstances, and he finds the cause of the superstition in\nthe climate, which produced drought and famine, and in the earthquakes\nwhich alarmed the people. And here Mr. Buckle, following the philosophy\nof Lucretius, confounds religion and fear, and puts the occasion for\nthe cause. But, beside earthquakes, the Arian heresy helped to create\nthis superstition, by identifying the wars for national independence\nwith those for religion, and so giving a great ascendency to the\npriests. Hence the Church in Spain early acquired great power, and,\nnaturally allying itself with the government, gave rise to the\nsentiment of loyalty, which was increased by the Moorish invasion and\nthe long wars which followed. Loyalty and superstition thus became so\ndeeply rooted in the Spanish mind, that they could not be eradicated\nby the efforts of the government. Nothing but knowledge can cure this\nblind and servile loyalty and this abject superstition, and while Spain\ncontinues sunk in ignorance it must always remain superstitious and\nsubmissive.\n\nSome difficulties, however, suggest themselves in the way of this very\nsimple explanation. If superstitious loyalty to Church and king comes\nfrom earthquakes, why are not the earthquake regions of the West Indies\nand of South America more loyal, instead of being in a state of chronic\nrevolution? And how came Scotland to be so diseased with loyalty and\nsuperstition, when she is so free from earthquakes? And if knowledge is\nsuch a certain cure for superstition, why was not Spain cured by the\nflood of light which she, alone of all European countries, enjoyed in\nthe Middle Ages? Spain was for a long time the source of science and\nart to all Europe, whose Christian sons resorted to her universities\nand libraries for instruction. There was taught to English, French,\nand German students the philosophy of Aristotle, the Gr\u00e6co-Arabic\nliterature, mathematics, and natural history. The numerals, gunpowder,\npaper, and other inventions of the Arabs, passed into Europe from\nSpain. She possessed, therefore, that knowledge of physical laws which\nMr. Buckle declares to be the only cure for superstition. Yet she was\nnot cured. The nation which, according to his theory, ought to have\nbeen soonest delivered from superstition, according to his statements\nhas retained its yoke longer than any other.\n\nFrom Spain Mr. Buckle passes to Scotland, where he finds a still more\ncomplicated problem. Superstition and loyalty ought to go together, he\nthinks,--and usually do; but in Scotland they are divorced. The Scotch\nhave always been superstitious, but disloyal. To the explanation of\nthis fact Mr. Buckle bends his energies of thought, and of course is\nable to find a theory to account for it. This theory we shall not stop\nto detail; it is too complex, and at the same time too superficial,\nto dwell upon. Its chief point is that the Protestant noblemen and\nProtestant clergy quarreled about the wealth of the Catholic Church,\nand so there was in Scotland a complete rupture between the two classes\nelsewhere in alliance. Thus \"the clergy, finding themselves despised\nby the governing class, united themselves heartily with the people,\nand advocated democratic principles.\" Such is the explanation given\nto the course of history in a great nation. A quarrel between its\nnoblemen and its ministers (who are of course represented as mercenary\nself-seekers) determines its permanent character!\n\nMr. Buckle, to whom the love of plunder appears as the cause of what\nother men regard as loyalty or religion, explains by the same fact the\nloyalty of the Highlanders to King Charles. They thought that, if he\nconquered, he would allow them to plunder the Lowlanders once more.\nThis is Buckle's explanation. An ethnologist would have remembered the\nfact that the Gaels are pure-blooded Kelts, and that the Kelts _pur\nsang_ are everywhere distinguished for loyalty to their chiefs.\n\nMr. Buckle encounters another difficulty in Scottish history in this,\nthat though a new and splendid literature arose in Scotland at the\nbeginning of the eighteenth century, it was unable to diminish national\nsuperstition. It was thoroughly skeptical, and yet did not produce the\nappropriate effect of skepticism. So that at this point one of Mr.\nBuckle's four great laws of history seems to break down. For a moment\nhe appears discouraged, and laments, with real pathos, the limitations\nof the human intellect. But in the next chapter he addresses himself\nagain to the solution of his two-fold problem, viz.: \"1st, that the\nsame people should be liberal in their politics and illiberal in their\nreligion; and, 2d, that their free and skeptical literature in the\neighteenth century should have been unable to lessen their religious\nilliberality.\"\n\nIn approaching this part of his task, in the fifth chapter, our\nauthor gives a very elaborate and highly colored picture of the\nreligion of Scotland. It is _too_ well done. Like some of Macaulay's\ndescriptions, it is so very striking as to impress us almost inevitably\nas a caricature. Every statement in which the horrors and cruelties\nof Calvinism are described is indeed reinforced by ample citations\nor plentiful references in the footnotes. But some of these seem\ncapable of a different inference from that drawn in the text. For\ninstance, he charges the Scottish clergy with teaching, that, though\nthe arrangements originally made by the Deity to punish his creatures\nwere ample, \"they were insufficient; and hell, not being big enough\nto contain the countless victims incessantly poured into it, had in\nthese latter days been enlarged. There was now sufficient room.\" He\nsupports the charge by this reference to Abernethy,--\"Hell has enlarged\nitself,\"--apparently not being aware that Abernethy was merely quoting\nfrom Isaiah. He says that to write poetry was considered by the Scotch\nclergy to be a grievous offence, and worthy of special condemnation.\nHe supports his statement by this reference: \"A mastership in a\ngrammar school was offered in 1767 to John Wilson, the author of\n'Clyde'\" (a poet, by the by, not found among the twenty John Wilsons\ncommemorated by Watt). \"But, says his biographer, the magistrates and\nministers of Greenock thought fit, before they would admit Mr. Wilson\nto the superintendence of the grammar school, to stipulate that he\nshould abandon 'the profane and unprofitable art of poem-making.'\"\nThis fact, however, by no means proves that poetry was considered,\ntheologically, a sin, for perhaps it was regarded practically as only a\ndisqualification. It is to be feared that many of our school committees\nnow--country shopkeepers, perhaps, or city aldermen--would, apart from\nCalvinism, think that a poet must be necessarily a dreamer and an\nunpractical man.\n\nA few exaggerations of this kind there may be. But, on the whole, the\naccount seems to be correctly given; and it is one which will do good.\n\nIn the remaining portion of the second volume Mr. Buckle gives a very\nvigorous description of the intellectual progress of the Scotch during\nthe seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. His account of Adam Smith\nas a writer is peculiarly brilliant. His views of Hume and Reid are\nably drawn. Thence he proceeds to discuss the discoveries of Black\nand Leslie in natural philosophy, of Smith and Hutton in geology,\nof Cavendish in chemistry, of Cullen and Hunter in physiology and\npathology. These discussions are interesting, and show a great range of\nknowledge and power of study in the writer. Yet they are episodes, and\nhave little bearing on the main course of his thought.\n\nWe have thus given a cursory survey of these volumes. We do not think\nBuckle's philosophy sound, his method good, or his doctrines tenable.\nYet we cannot but sympathize with one who has devoted his strength and\nyouth with such untiring industry to such a great enterprise. And we\nmust needs be touched with the plaintive confession which breaks from\nhis wearied mind and exhausted hope in the last volume, when he accepts\nthe defeat of his early endeavor, and submits to the disappointment of\nhis youthful hope. We should be glad to quote the entire passage,[33]\nbecause it is the best in the book, and because he expresses in it, in\nthe most condensed form, his ideas and purposes as an historic writer.\nBut our limited space allows us only to commend it to the special\nattention of the reader.\n\n\n\n\nVOLTAIRE[34]\n\n\nMr. Parton has given us in these volumes[35] another of his interesting\nand instructive biographies. Not as interesting, indeed, as some\nothers,--for example, as his life of Andrew Jackson; nor as instructive\nas his lives of Franklin and of Jefferson. The nature of the case made\nthis impossible. The story of Jackson had never been told till Mr.\nParton undertook it. It was a history of frontier life, of strange\nadventures, of desperate courage, of a force of character which\nconquered all obstacles and achieved extraordinary results; a story\n\n    \"Of moving accidents by flood and field,\n    Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,\n    Of being taken by the insolent foe.\"\n\nNo such interest attaches to the \"Life of Voltaire.\" His most serious\nadventure was being shut up in the Bastille for a pasquinade, and\nbeing set free again on his solemn protestation, true or false,\nthat he never wrote it. It is an old story, told a thousand times,\nwith all its gloss, if it ever had any, quite worn off. The \"Life\nof Franklin,\" which, on the whole, we think the best of Parton's\nbiographies, was full of interest and instruction of another kind.\nIt was the life of a builder,--of one who gave his great powers to\nconstruction, to building up new institutions and new sciences, to the\ndiscovery of knowledge and the creation of national life. Voltaire was\na diffuser of knowledge already found, but he had not the patience\nnor the devotion of a discoverer. His gift was not to construct good\ninstitutions, but to destroy bad ones,--a work the interest of which is\nnecessarily ephemeral. No wonder, therefore, that Mr. Parton, with all\nhis practiced skill as a biographer, has not been able to give to the\nstory of Voltaire the thrilling interest which he imparted to that of\nFranklin and of Jackson.\n\nWe gladly take the present opportunity to add our recognition of Mr.\nParton's services to those which have come to him from other quarters.\nA writer of unequal merit, and one whose judgment is often biased by\nhis prejudices, he nevertheless has done much to show how biography\nshould be written. Of all forms of human writing there is none which\nought to be at once so instructive and so interesting as this, but in\nthe large majority of instances it is the most vapid and empty. The\ngood biographies, in all languages, are so few that they can almost be\ncounted on the fingers; but these are among the most precious books in\nthe literature of mankind. The story of Ruth, the Odyssey of Homer,\nPlutarch's lives, the Memorabilia of Xenophon, the life of Agricola,\nthe Confessions of Augustine, among the ancients; and, in modern times,\nBoswell's \"Johnson,\" the autobiographies of Alfieri, Benvenuto Cellini,\nFranklin, Goethe, Voltaire's \"Charles XII.,\" and Southey's \"Life of\nWesley\" are specimens of what may be accomplished in this direction. It\nhas been thought that any man can write a biography, but it requires\ngenius to understand genius. How much intelligence is necessary to\ncollect with discrimination the significant facts of a human life; to\npenetrate to the law of which they are the expression; to give the\npicturesque proportions to every part, to arrange the foreground, the\nmiddle distance, and the background of the panorama; to bring out\nin proper light and shadow the features and deeds of the hero! Few\nbiographers take this trouble. They content themselves with collecting\nthe letters written by and to their subject; sweeping together the\nfacts of his life, important or otherwise; arranging them in some kind\nof chronological order; and then having this printed and bound up in\none or two heavy volumes.\n\nTo all this many writers of biography add another fault, which is\nalmost a fatal one. They treat their subject _de haut en bas_,\npreferring to look down upon him rather than to look up to him. They\noccupy themselves in criticising his faults and pointing out his\ndeficiencies, till they forget to mention what he has accomplished to\nmake him worthy of having his life written at all. We lately saw a\nlife of Pope treated in this style. One unacquainted with Pope, after\nreading it, would say, \"If he was such a contemptible fellow, and his\nwritings so insignificant, why should we have to read his biography?\"\nThomas Carlyle has the great merit of leading the way in the opposite\ndirection, and of thus initiating a new style of biography. The old\nmethod was for the writer to regard himself as a judge on the bench,\nand the subject of his biography as a prisoner at the bar. Carlyle,\nin his \"Life of Schiller,\" showed himself a loving disciple, sitting\nat the feet of his master. We recollect that when this work first\nappeared there were only a few copies known to be in this country.\nOne was in the possession of an eminent professor in Harvard College,\nof whom the present writer borrowed it. On returning it, he was asked\nwhat he thought of it, and replied that he considered it written with\nmuch enthusiasm. \"Yes,\" responded the professor, \"I myself thought it\nrather extravagant.\" Enthusiasm in a biographer was then considered\nto be the same as extravagance. But this hero-worship, which is the\ncharm in Plutarch, Xenophon, and Boswell, inspired a like interest in\nCarlyle's portraits of Schiller, Goethe, Richter, Burns, and the actors\nin the French Revolution. So true is his own warning: \"Friend, if you\nwish me to take an interest in what you say, be so kind as to take some\ninterest in it yourself\"--a golden maxim, to be kept in mind by all\nhistorians, writers of travels, biographers, preachers, and teachers.\nA social success may sometimes be accomplished by assuming the _blas\u00e9_\nair of the Roman emperor who said, \"Omnia fui, nihil expedit;\" but this\ntone is ruinous for one who wishes the ear of the public.\n\nSince the days of Carlyle, others have written in the same spirit,\nallowing themselves to take more or less interest in the man whose life\nthey were relating. So Macaulay, in his sketches of Clive, Hastings,\nChatham, Pym, and Hampden; so Lewes, in his \"Life of Goethe;\" and so\nParton, in his various biographies.\n\nIn some respects Mr. Parton's biography reminds us of Macaulay's\nHistory. Both have been credited with the same qualities, both charged\nwith the same defects. Both are indefatigable in collecting material\nfrom all quarters,--from other histories and biographies, memoirs,\nletters, newspapers, broadsides, and personal communications gathered\nin many out-of-the-way localities. Both have the power of discarding\ninsignificant details and retaining what is suggestive and picturesque.\nBoth, therefore, have the same supreme merit of being interesting.\nBoth have strong prejudices, take sides earnestly, forget that they\nare narrators, and begin to plead as attorneys and advocates. Both\nhave been accused, rightly or wrongly, of grave inaccuracies. But their\ndefects will not prevent them from holding their place as teachers of\nthe English-speaking public. English and American readers will long\ncontinue to think of Marlborough as Macaulay represents him; of Jackson\nand Jefferson as Parton describes them. Such Rembrandt-like portraits\nfix the attention by their strange chiaro-oscuro. They may not be like\nnature, but they take the place of nature. The most remarkable instance\nof this kind is the representation of Tiberius by Tacitus, which has\ncaused mankind, until very recently, to consider Tiberius a monster\nof licentiousness and cruelty, in spite of the almost self-evident\nabsurdity and self-contradiction of this assumption.[36] Limners with\nsuch a terrible power of portraiture should be very careful how they\nuse it, and not abuse the faculty in the interest of their prejudices.\n\nIf Mr. Parton resembles Macaulay in some respects, in one point, at\nleast, he is like Carlyle: that is, that his last hero is the least\ninteresting. From Schiller and Goethe to Frederic the Great was a fall;\nand so from Franklin to Voltaire. Carlyle tells us what a weary task\nhe had with his Prussian king, and we think that Mr. Parton's labors\nover the patriarch of the eighteenth-century literature must have been\nequally distressing. At a distance, Voltaire is a striking phenomenon:\nthe most brilliant wit of almost any period; the most prolific\nwriter; a successful dramatist, historian, biographer, story-teller,\ncontroversialist, lyrical poet, student of science. \"Truly, a universal\ngenius, a mighty power!\" we say. But look more closely, and this genius\nturns into talent; this encyclop\u00e6dic knowledge becomes only superficial\nhalf knowledge; this royalty is a sham royalty; it does not lead the\nworld, but follows it. The work into which Voltaire put his heart was\ndestruction--the destruction of falsehoods, bigotries, cruelties, and\nshams. It was an important duty, and some one had to do it. But it was\ntemporary, and one of which the interest is soon over. If Luther and\nthe other reformers had aimed at only destroying the Church of Rome,\ntheir influence would have speedily ceased. But they rebuilt, as they\ndestroyed; the sword in one hand, and the trowel in the other. They\ndestroyed in order to build; they took away the outgrown house, to put\nanother in its place. Voltaire did not go so far as that; he wanted no\nnew church in the place of the old one.\n\nVoltaire and Rousseau are often spoken of as though they were\nfellow-workers, and are associated in many minds as sharing the same\nconvictions. Nothing can be more untrue. They were radically opposite\nin the very structure of their minds, and their followers and admirers\nare equally different. If all men can be divided into Platonists\nand Aristotelians, they may be in like manner classified as those\nwho prefer Voltaire to Rousseau, and _vice versa_. Both were indeed\ntheists, and both opposed to the popular religion of their time. Both\nwere brilliant writers, masters of the French language, listened to\nby the people, and with a vast popularity. Both were more or less\npersecuted for their religious heresies. So far they resemble each\nother. But these are only external resemblances; radically and inwardly\nthey were polar opposites. What attracted one repelled the other.\nVoltaire was a man of the world, fond of society and social pleasures;\nthe child of his time, popular, a universal favorite. Rousseau shrank\nfrom society, hated its fashions, did not enjoy its pleasures, and\nbelonged to another epoch than the eighteenth century. Rousseau\nbelieved in human nature, and thought that if we could return to our\nnatural condition the miseries of life would cease. Voltaire despised\nhuman nature; he forever repeated that the majority of men were knaves\nand fools. Rousseau distrusted education and culture as they are\ncommonly understood; but to Voltaire's mind they were the only matters\nof any value,--all that made life worth living. Rousseau was more like\nPascal than like Voltaire; far below Pascal, no doubt, in fixed moral\nprinciples and ascetic virtue. Yet he resembled him in his devotion\nto ideas, his enthusiasm for some better day to come. Both were out of\nplace in their own time; both were prophets crying in the wilderness.\nPut Voltaire between Pascal and Rousseau, and it would be something\nlike the tableau of Goethe between Basedow and Lavater.\n\n    \"Prophete rechts, Propliete links,\n    Das Weltkind in der Mitte.\"\n\nThe difference between Voltaire and Rousseau was really that between a\nman of talent and a man of genius. Voltaire, brilliant, adroit, full of\nresource, quick as a flash, versatile, with immense powers of working,\nwith a life full of literary successes, has not left behind him a\nsingle masterpiece. He comes in everywhere second best. As a tragedian\nhe is inferior to Racine; as a wit and comic writer far below Moli\u00e8re;\nand he is quite surpassed as a historian and biographer by many modern\nFrench authors. No germinating ideas are to be found in his writings,\nno seed corn for future harvests. He thought himself a philosopher,\nand was so regarded by others; but neither had his philosophy any\nroots to it. A sufficient proof of this is the fact that he shared the\nsuperficial optimism of the English deists, as expressed by Bolingbroke\nand Pope, until the Lisbon earthquake, by destroying thirty thousand\npeople, changed his whole mental attitude. Till then he could say with\nPope, \"Whatever is, is right.\" After that, most things which are,\nappeared to him fatally and hopelessly wrong. That thirty thousand\npersons should perish in a few minutes, in great suffering, he thought\ninconsistent with the goodness of God. But take the whole world over,\nthirty thousand people are continually perishing, in the course of a\nfew hours or days. What difference does it make, in a philosophical\npoint of view, if they die all at once in a particular place, or at\nlonger intervals in many places? Voltaire asks, \"What crime had those\ninfants committed who lie crushed on their mother's breasts?\" What\ncrime, we reply, have the infants committed who have been dying by\nmillions, in suffering, since the world began? \"Was Lisbon,\" he asks,\n\"more wicked than Paris?\" But had Voltaire never noticed before that\nwicked people often live on in health and pleasure, while the good\nsuffer and die? Voltaire did not see, what it requires very little\nphilosophy to discover, that a Lisbon earthquake really presents no\nmore difficulty to the reason than the suffering and death of a single\nchild.\n\nAnother fact which shows the shallow nature of Voltaire's way of\nthinking is his expectation of destroying Christianity by a combined\nattack upon it of all the wits and philosophers. Mr. Parton tells us\nthat \"l'Inf\u00e2me,\" which Voltaire expected to crush, \"was not religion,\nnor the Christian religion, nor the Roman Catholic Church. It was,\"\nhe says, \"_religion claiming supernatural authority, and enforcing\nthat claim by pains and penalties_.\" No doubt it was the spirit\nof intolerance and persecution which excited his indignation. But\nthe object of that indignation was not the abstraction which Mr.\nParton presents to us. It was something far more concrete. There is\nno doubt that Voltaire confounded Christianity with the churches\nabout him, and these with their abuses; and thus his object was to\nsweep away all positive religious institutions, and to leave in\ntheir place a philosophic deism. Else what meaning in his famous\nboast that \"it required twelve men to found a belief, which it would\nneed only one man to destroy\"? What meaning, otherwise, in his\nastonishment that Locke, \"having in one book so profoundly traced\nthe development of the understanding, could so degrade his own\nunderstanding in another\"?--referring, as Mr. Morley believes, to\nLocke's \"Reasonableness of Christianity.\" Voltaire saw around him\nChristianity represented by cruel bigots, ecclesiastics living in\nindolent luxury, narrow-minded and hard-hearted priests. That was all\nthe Christianity he saw with his sharp perceptive faculty; and he\nhad no power of penetrating into the deeper life of the soul which\nthese corruptions misrepresented. We do not blame him for this; he\nwas made so; but it was a fatal defect in a reformer. The first work\nof a reformer is to discover the truth and the good latent amid the\nabuses he wishes to reform, and for the sake of which men endure the\nevil. A Buddhist proverb says, \"The human mind is like a leech: it\nnever lets go with its tail till it has taken hold somewhere else with\nits head.\" Distinguish the good in a system from the evil; show how\nthe good can be preserved, though the evil is abandoned, and then you\nmay hope to effect a truly radical reform. Radicalism means going to\nthe roots of anything. Voltaire was incapable of becoming a radical\nreformer of the Christian Church, because he had in himself no faculty\nby which he could appreciate the central forces of Christianity. Mr.\nMorley says that Voltaire \"has said no word, nor even shown an indirect\nappreciation of any word said by another, which stirs and expands that\nindefinite exaltation known as the love of God,\" \"or of the larger word\nholiness.\" \"Through the affronts which his reason received from certain\npretensions, both in the writers and in some of those whose actions\nthey commemorated, this sublime trait in the Bible, in both portions\nof it, was unhappily lost to Voltaire. He had no ear for the finer\nvibrations of the spiritual voice.\" And so also speaks Carlyle: \"It is\na much more serious ground of offense that he intermeddled in religion\nwithout being himself, in any measure, religious; that he entered the\ntemple and continued there with a levity which, in any temple where\nmen worship, can beseem no brother man; that, in a word, he ardently,\nand with long-continued effort, warred against Christianity, without\nunderstanding beyond the mere superficies of what Christianity was.\"\nIn fact, in the organization of Voltaire, the organ of reverence, \"the\ncrown of the whole moral nature,\" seems to have been at its minimum. A\nsense of justice there was; an ardent sympathy with the oppressed, a\ngenerous hatred of the oppressor, a ready devotion of time, thought,\nwealth, to the relief of the down-trodden victim. Therefore, with\nsuch qualities, Voltaire, by the additional help of his indefatigable\nenergy, often succeeded in plucking the prey from the jaws of the lion.\nHe was able to defeat the combined powers of Church and State in his\nadvocacy of some individual sufferer, in his battle against some single\nwrong. But his long war against the Catholic Church in France left it\njust where it was when that war began. Its power to-day in France is\ngreater than it was then, because it is a purer and better institution\nthan it was then. That Sphinx still sits by the roadside propounding\nits riddle. Voltaire was not the \u0152dipus who could solve it, and so the\nlife of that mystery remains untouched until now.\n\nThe Henriade has often been considered the great epic poem of France.\nThis merely means that France has never produced a great epic poem. The\nHenriade is artificial, prosaic, and has no particle of the glow, the\nfire, the prolonged enthusiasm, which alone can give an epic poem to\nmankind. In this sentence all competent critics are agreed.\n\nVoltaire was busy with literature during his whole life. He not\nonly wrote continually himself, but he was a critic of the writings\nof others. His mind was essentially critical,--formed to analyze,\ndiscriminate sharply, compare, and judge by some universal standard\nof taste. Here, if anywhere, he ought to be at his best; here, if in\nany department, he should stand at the head of the world's board of\nliterary censors. But here, again, he is not even second-rate; here,\nmore than elsewhere, he shows how superficial are his judgments. He\ntests every writer by the French standard in the eighteenth century.\nEvery word which Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, have said of other\nwriters is full of value and interest to-day. But who would go to\nVoltaire for light on any book or author? We have an instinctive but\ncertain conviction that all his views are limited by his immediate\nenvironment, perverted by his personal prejudices. Thus, he prefers\nAriosto to the Odyssey, and Tasso's Jerusalem to the Iliad.[37] His\ninability to comprehend the greatness of Shakespeare is well known.\nHe is filled with indignation because a French critic had called\nShakespeare \"the god of the stage.\" \"The blood boils in my old veins,\"\nsays he; \"and what is frightful to think of, it was I myself who first\nshowed to Frenchmen the few pearls to be found in the dunghill.\"[38]\nChesterfield's Letters to his Son he considers \"the best book upon\neducation ever written.\"[39] This is the book in which a father teaches\nhis son the art of polite falsehood, of which Dr. Johnson says that \"it\nshows how grace can be united with wickedness,\"--the book whose author\nis called by De Vere the philosopher of flattery and dissimulation. He\nadmitted that there were some good things in Milton, but speaks of his\nconceptions as \"odd and extravagant.\"[40] He thought Condorcet much\nsuperior to Pascal. The verses of Helvetius he believed better than\nany but those of Racine. The era was what Villemain calls \"the golden\nage of mediocre writers;\" and Voltaire habitually praised them all.\nBut these writers mostly belonged to a mutual admiration society. The\nanatomist Tissot, in one of his physiological works, says that the\ngenius of Diderot came to show to mankind how every variety of talent\ncould be brought to perfection in one man. Diderot, in his turn, went\ninto frantic delight over the novels of Richardson. \"Since I have read\nthese works,\" he says, \"I make them my touchstone; those who do not\nadmire them are self-condemned. O my friends, what majestic dramas\nare these three, Clarissa, Sir Charles Grandison, and Pamela!\" Such\nwas the eighteenth century; and Voltaire belonged to it with all the\nintensity of his ardent nature. He may be said never to have seen or\nforeseen anything better. Living on the very verge of a great social\nrevolution, he does not appear to have suspected what its nature would\nbe, even if he suspected its approach. The cruelties of the Church\nexasperated him, but the political condition of society, the misery of\nthe peasants, the luxury of the nobles, the despotism of the king, left\nhim unmoved. He was singularly deficient in any conception of the value\nof political liberty or of free institutions. If he had lived to see\nthe coming of the Revolution, it would have utterly astounded him. His\nsympathies were with an enlightened aristocracy, not with the people.\nIn this, too, he was the man of his time, and belonged to the middle of\nhis century, not the end of it. He saw and lamented the evils of bad\ngovernment. He pointed out the miseries produced by war. He abhorred\nand denounced the military spirit. He called on the clergy, in the\nname of their religion, to join him in his righteous appeals against\nthis great curse of mankind. \"Where,\" he asks, \"in the five or six\nthousand sermons of Massillon, are there two in which anything is said\nagainst the scourge of war?\" He rebukes the philosophers and moralists,\nalso, for their delinquency in this matter, and replies forcibly to\nMontesquieu's argument that self-defense sometimes makes it necessary\nto begin the attack on a neighboring nation. But he does not go back\nto trace the evil to its root in the absence of self-government. In\na letter to the King of Prussia he says, \"When I asked you to become\nthe deliverer of Greece, I did not mean to have you restore the\ndemocracy. I do not love the rule of the rabble\" (_gouvernement de la\ncanaille_). Again, writing to the same, in January, 1757, he says,\n\"Your majesty will confer a great benefit by destroying this infamous\nsuperstition [Christianity]; I do not say among the _canaille_, who\ndo not deserve to be enlightened, and who ought to be kept down under\nall yokes, but among honest people, people who think. Give white bread\nto the children, but only black bread to the dogs.\" In 1762, writing\nto the Marquis d'Argens, he says, \"The Turks say that their Koran has\nsometimes the face of an angel, sometimes the face of a beast. This\ndescription suits our time. There are a few philosophers,--they have\nthe face of an angel; all else much resembles that of a beast.\" Again,\nhe says to Helvetius, \"Consider no man your neighbor but the man who\nthinks; look on all other men as wolves, foxes, and deer.\" \"We shall\nsoon see,\" he writes to D'Alembert, \"new heavens and a new earth,--I\nmean for honest people; for as to the _canaille_, the stupidest heaven\nand earth is all they are fit for.\" The real government of nations,\naccording to him, should be administered by absolute kings, in the\ninterest of freethinkers.\n\nIt is true that after Rousseau had published his trumpet-call in\nbehalf of democratic rights, Voltaire began to waver. It has been\nremarked that \"at the very time when he expressed an increasing\nill-will against the person of the author of 'Emile,' he was\nirresistibly attracted to the principal doctrines of Rousseau. He\nentered, as if in spite of himself, into paths toward which his feet\nwere never before directed. As if to revenge himself for coming under\nthis salutary influence, he pursued Rousseau with blind anger.\"[41] He\nharshly attacked the Social Contract, but accepted the sovereignty of\nthe people; saying that \"civil government is the will of all, executed\nby a single one, or by several, in virtue of the laws which all have\nenacted.\" He, however, speedily restricted this democratic principle\nby confining the right of making laws to the owners of real estate.\nHe declares that those who have neither house nor land ought not to\nhave any voice in the matter. He now began (in 1764) to look forward\nto the end of monarchies, and to expect a revolution. Nevertheless,\nhe plainly declares, \"The pretended equality of man is a pernicious\nchimera. If there were not thirty laborers to one master, the earth\nwould not be cultivated.\" But in practical and humane reforms Voltaire\ntook the lead, and did good work. He opposed examination by torture,\nthe punishment of death for theft, the confiscation of the property of\nthe condemned, the penalties against heretics; secret trials; praised\ntrial by jury, civil marriage, right of divorce, and reforms in the\ndirection of hygiene and education.\n\nAnd, above all, whatever fault may be found with Voltaire, let us never\ncease to appreciate his generous efforts in behalf of the unfortunate\nvictims of the atrocious bigotry which then prevailed in France. It\nis not necessary to dwell here on the cases of Calas, the Sirvens, La\nBarre, and the Count de Lally. They are fully told by Mr. Parton, and\nto his account we refer our readers. In 1762 the Protestant pastor\nRochette was hanged, by order of the Parliament of Toulouse, for\nhaving exercised his ministry in Languedoc. At the same time three\nyoung gentlemen, Protestants, were beheaded, for having taken arms to\ndefend themselves from being slaughtered by the Catholics. In 1762, the\nProtestant merchant Calas, an aged and worthy citizen of Toulouse, was\ntortured and broken on the wheel, on a wholly unsupported charge of\nhaving killed his son to keep him from turning Catholic. A Protestant\ngirl named Sirven was, about the same time, taken from her parents,\nand shut up in a convent, to compel her to change her religion. She\nescaped, and perished by accident during her flight. The parents were\naccused of having killed her to keep her from becoming a Catholic. They\nescaped, but the wife died of exposure and want. In 1766 a crucifix\nwas injured by some wanton persons. The Bishop of Amiens called out\nfor vengeance. Two young officers, eighteen years old, were accused.\nOne escaped; the other, La Barre, was condemned to have his tongue\ncut out, his right hand cut off, and to be burned alive. The sentence\nwas commuted to death by decapitation. Voltaire, seventy years old,\ndevoted himself with masterly ability and untiring energy to save\nthese victims; and when he failed in that, to show the falsehood of\nthe charges, and to obtain a revision of the judgments. He used all\nmeans: personal appeals to men in power and to female favorites,\neloquence, wit, pathos in every form of writing. He called on all his\nfriends to aid him. He poured a flood of light into these dark places\nof iniquity. His generous labors were crowned with success. He procured\na reversal of these iniquitous decisions; in some cases a restoration\nof the confiscated property, and a public recognition of the innocence\nof those condemned. Without knowing it, he was acting as a disciple of\nJesus. Perhaps he may have met in the other world with the great leader\nof humanity, whom he never understood below, and been surprised to hear\nhim say, \"Inasmuch as thou hast done it to the least of my little ones,\nthou hast done it unto me.\"\n\nCarlyle tells us that the chief quality of Voltaire was _adroitness_.\nHe denies that he was really a great man, and says that in one\nessential mark of greatness he was wholly wanting, that is,\nearnestness. He adds that Voltaire was by birth a mocker; that this\nwas the irresistible bias of his disposition; that the first question\nwith him was always not what is true but what is false, not what is to\nbe loved but what is to be contemned. He was shallow without heroism,\nfull of pettiness, full of vanity; \"not a great man, but only a great\n_persifleur_.\"\n\nBut certainly some other qualities than these were essential to\nproduce the immense influence which he exerted in his own time, and\nsince. Beside the extreme adroitness of which Carlyle speaks, he\nhad as exhaustless an energy as was ever granted to any of the sons\nof men. He was never happy except when he was at work. He worked at\nhome, he worked when visiting, he worked in his carriage, he worked at\nhotels. Amid annoyances and disturbances which would have paralyzed\nthe thought and pen of others, Voltaire labored on. Upon his sick bed,\nin extreme debility and in old age, that untiring pen was ever in\nmotion, and whatever came from it interested all mankind. Besides the\ninnumerable books, tracts, and treatises which fill the volumes of his\ncollected works, there are said to be in existence fourteen thousand\nof his letters, half of which have never been printed. But this was\nonly a part of the outcome of his terrible vitality. He was also an\nenterprising and energetic man of business. He speculated in the funds,\nlent money on interest, fitted out ships, bought and sold real estate,\nsolicited and obtained pensions. In this way he changed his patrimony\nof about two hundred thousand francs to an annual income of the same\namount,--equal to at least one hundred thousand dollars a year at the\npresent time. He was determined to be rich, and he became so; not\nbecause he loved money for itself, nor because he was covetous. He gave\nmoney freely; he used it in large ways. He sought wealth as a means of\nself-defense,--to protect himself against the persecution which his\nattacks on the Church might bring upon him. He also had, like a great\nwriter of the present century, Walter Scott, the desire of being a\nlarge landed proprietor and lord of a manor; and, like Scott, he became\none, reigning at Ferney as Scott ruled at Abbotsford.\n\nIn defending himself against his persecutors he used other means\nnot so legitimate. One of his methods was systematic falsehood. He\nfirst concealed, and then denied, the authorship of any works which\nwould expose him to danger. He took the tone of injured innocence.\nFor example, he had worked with delight, during twenty years, on his\nwretched \"Pucelle.\" To write new lines in it, or a new canto, was his\nrefreshment; to read them to his friends gave him the most intense\nsatisfaction. But when the poem found its way into print, with what\nan outcry he denies the authorship, almost before he is charged with\nit. He assumes the air of calumniated virtue. The charge, he declares,\nis one of the infamous inventions of his enemies. He writes to the\n\"Journal Encyclop\u00e9dique,\" \"The crowning point of their devilish\nman\u0153uvres is the edition of a poem called 'La Pucelle d'Orl\u00e9ans.'\nThe editor has the face to attribute this work to the author of the\n'Henriade,' the 'Za\u00efre,' the 'M\u00e9rope,' the 'Alzire,' the 'Si\u00e8cle de\nLouis XIV.' He dares to ascribe to this author the flattest, meanest,\nand most gross work which can come from the press. My pen refuses to\ncopy the tissue of silly and abominable obscenities of this work of\ndarkness.\" When the \"Dictionnaire Philosophique\" began to appear, he\nwrote to D'Alembert, \"As soon as any danger arises, I beg you will let\nme know, that I may disavow the work in all the public papers with\nmy usual candor and innocence.\" Mr. Parton tells us that he had _a\nhundred and eight_ pseudonyms. He signed his pamphlets A Benedictine,\nThe Archbishop of Canterbury, A Quaker, Rev. Josias Roussette, the Abb\u00e9\nLilladet, the Abb\u00e9 Bigorre, the Pastor Bourn. He was also ready to tell\na downright lie when it suited his convenience.\n\nWhen \"Candide\" was printed, in 1758, he wrote, as Mr. Parton tells\nus, to a friendly pastor in Geneva, \"I have at length read 'Candide.'\nPeople must have lost their senses to attribute to me that pack of\nnonsense. I have, thank God, better occupation. This optimism [of\nPangloss] obviously destroys the foundation of our holy religion.\" Our\nholy religion!\n\nAn excuse may be found for these falsehoods. A writer, it may be said,\nhas a right to his incognito; if so, he has a right to protect it by\ndenying the authorship of a book when charged with it. This is doubtful\nmorality, but Voltaire went far beyond this. He volunteered his\ndenials. He asserted in every way, with the most solemn asseverations,\nthat he was not the author of a book which he had written with delight.\nBut this was not the worst. He not only told these author's lies,\nbut he was a deliberate hypocrite, professing faith in Christianity,\nreceiving its sacraments, asking spiritual help from the Pope,\nand begging for relics from the Vatican, at the very time that he\nwas hoping by strenuous efforts to destroy both Catholicism and\nChristianity.\n\nWhen he was endeavoring to be admitted to a place in the French\nAcademy, he wrote thus to the Bishop of Mirepoix:[42] \"Thanks to\nHeaven, my religion teaches me to know how to suffer. The God who\nfounded it, as soon as he deigned to become man, was of all men the\nmost persecuted. After such an example, it is almost a crime to\ncomplain.... I can say, before God who hears me, that I am a good\ncitizen and a true Catholic.... I have written many pages sanctified by\nreligion.\" In this Mr. Parton admits that he went too far.\n\nWhen at Colmar, as a measure of self-protection, he resolved to\ncommune at Easter. Mr. Parton says that Voltaire had pensions and\nrents to the amount of sixty thousand livres annually, of which the\nking could deprive him by a stroke of the pen. So he determined to\nprove himself a good Catholic by taking the sacraments. As a necessary\npreliminary, he confessed to a Capuchin monk. He wrote to D'Argens\njust before, \"If I had a hundred thousand men, I know what I should\ndo; but as I have them not, I shall commune at Easter!\" But, writing\nto Rousseau, he thinks it shameful in Galileo to retract his opinions.\nMr. Parton too, who is disposed to excuse some of these hypocrisies\nin Voltaire, is scandalized because the pastors of Geneva denied the\ncharges of heresy brought against them by Voltaire; saying that \"we\nlive, as they lived, in an atmosphere of insincerity.\" In the midst\nof all this, Voltaire took credit to himself for his frank avowals of\nthe truth: \"I am not wrong to dare to utter what worthy men think. For\nforty years I have braved the base empire of the despots of the mind.\"\nMr. Parton elsewhere seems to think it would have been impossible for\nVoltaire to versify the Psalms; as it was \"asked him to give the lie\npublicly to his whole career.\" But if communing at Easter did not do\nthis, how could a versification of a few psalms accomplish it? Parton\nquotes Condorcet as saying that Voltaire could not become a hypocrite,\neven to be a cardinal. Could any one do a more hypocritical action\nthan to partake the sacraments of a Church which he despised in order\nto escape the danger of persecution?\n\nWhen building his house at Ferney, the neighboring Catholic cur\u00e9s\ninterfered with him. They prohibited the laborers from working for him.\nTo meet this difficulty he determined to obtain the protection of the\nPope himself. So he wrote to the Pope, asking for a relic to put in the\nchurch he had built, and received in return a piece of the hair-shirt\nof St. Francis. He went to mass frequently. Meantime, in his letters\nto his brother freethinkers, he added his usual postscript, \"Ecrasez\nl'Inf\u00e2me;\" begging their aid in crushing Catholicism and Christianity.\nYet it does not seem that he considered himself a hypocrite in thus\nconforming outwardly to a religion which he hated. He thinks that\nothers who do so are hypocrites, but not that he is one. In 1764 he\nwrites to Madame du Deffand, \"The worst is that we are surrounded by\nhypocrites, who worry us to make us think what they themselves do\nnot think at all.\" So singular are the self-deceptions of the human\nmind. He writes to Frederic ridiculing the sacrament of extreme\nunction, and then solemnly partakes of the eucharist. Certainly he\ndid not belong to the noble army of martyrs. He expected to overturn\na great religious system, not by the power of faith, but by ingenious\npamphlets, brilliant sarcasms, adroit deceptions. In thus thinking he\nwas eminently superficial.\n\nHis theory on this subject is given in an article in the \"Dictionnaire\nPhilosophique,\" quoted by Mr. Parton: \"Distinguish honest people who\nthink, from the populace who were not made to think. If usage obliges\nyou to perform a ridiculous ceremony for the sake of the canaille, and\non the road you meet some people of understanding, notify them by a\nsign of the head, or a look, that you think as they do.... If imbeciles\nstill wish to eat acorns, let them have acorns.\"\n\nMr. Parton describes in full (vol. ii. p. 410) the ceremony of the\neucharist of which Voltaire partook in his own church at Ferney. It was\nEaster Sunday, and Voltaire mounted the pulpit and preached a sermon\nagainst theft. Hearing of this, the bishop was scandalized, and forbade\nall the curates of the diocese from confessing, absolving, or giving\nthe sacrament to Voltaire. Upon this Voltaire writes and signs a formal\ndemand on the curate of Ferney to allow him to confess and commune\nin the Catholic Church, in which he was born, has lived, and wishes\nto die; offering to make all necessary declarations, all requisite\nprotestations, in public or private, submitting himself absolutely\nto all the rules of the Church, for the edification of Catholics and\nProtestants. All this was a mere piece of mystification and fun. He\npretended to be too sick to go to the church, and made a Capuchin come\nand administer the eucharist to him in bed; Voltaire saying, \"Having\nmy God in my mouth, I declare that I forgive all my enemies.\" No\nwonder that with all his marvelous ability and his long war upon the\nCatholic Church he was unable to make any lasting impression upon it.\nTalent is not enough to make revolutions of opinion. No serious faith\nwas ever destroyed by a jest.\n\nIf we return to Rousseau, and compare his influence with that of\nVoltaire, we shall find that it went far deeper. Voltaire was a man of\nimmense talent. Talent originates nothing, but formulates into masterly\nexpression what has come to it from the age in which it lives. Not\na new idea can be found, we believe, in all Voltaire's innumerable\nwritings. But genius has a vision of ideal truth. It is a prophet of\nthe future. Rousseau, with his many faults, weaknesses, follies, was\na man of genius. He was probably the most eloquent writer of French\nprose who has ever appeared. He was a man possessed by his ideas. He\nhad none of the adroitness, wit, ingenuity, of Voltaire. Instead of\namassing an enormous fortune, he supported himself by copying music.\nInstead of being surrounded by admirers and flatterers, he led a\nsolitary life, alone with his ideas. Instead of denying the authorship\nof his works, and so giving an excuse to the authorities to leave him\nquiet, he put his name to his writings. He worked for his bread with\nhis hands, and in his \"Emile\" he recommended that all boys should be\ntaught some manual craft. Voltaire ridiculed the _gentleman carpenter_\nof Rousseau; but before that generation passed away, many a French\nnobleman had reason to lament that he had not been taught to use the\nsaw and the plane.\n\nIf Voltaire belonged to the eighteenth century, and brought to a\nbrilliant focus its scattered rays, Rousseau belonged more to the\nnineteenth. Amidst the _persiflage_, the mockery, the light and easy\nphilosophy, of his day, he stood, \"among them, but not of them, in a\ncrowd of thoughts which were not their thoughts.\" This is the true\nexplanation of his weakness and strength, and of the intense dislike\nfelt for him by Voltaire and the school of Voltaire. They belonged to\ntheir time, Rousseau to a coming time.\n\nThe eighteenth century, especially in France, was one in which nature\nwas at its minimum and art at its maximum. All was art. But art\nseparated from nature becomes artificial, not to say artful. Decorum\nwas the law in morals; the _biens\u00e9ances_ and _convenances_ ruled in\nsociety. The stage was bound by conventional rules. Poetry walked\nin silk attire, and made its toilette with the elaborate dignity of\nthe _lev\u00e9e_ of the Grand Monarque. Against all this Rousseau led the\nreaction--the reaction inevitable as destiny. As art had been pushed\nto an extreme, so now naturalism was carried to the opposite extreme.\nRousseau was the apostle of nature in all things. Children were to be\neducated by the methods of nature, not according to the routine of old\ncustom. Governments were to go back to their origin in human nature;\nsociety was to be reorganized on first principles. This voice crying in\nthe wilderness was like the trumpet of doom to the age, announcing the\nage to come. It laid the axe at the root of the tree. Its outcome was\nthe French Revolution, that rushing, mighty flood, which carried away\nthe throne, the aristocracy, the manners, laws, and prejudices of the\npast.\n\nIn his first great work, the work which startled Europe, Rousseau\nrecalled man to himself. He said, \"The true philosophy is to commune\nwith one's self,\"--the greatest saying, thinks Henri Martin, that had\nbeen pronounced in that century. Rousseau condemned luxury, and uttered\na prophetic cry of woe over the tangled perplexities of the time.\n\"There is no longer a remedy, _unless through some great revolution,\nalmost as much to be feared as the evil it would cure,--which it is\nblamable to desire, impossible to foresee_.\"\n\n\"_Man is naturally good_,\" says Rousseau. Before the frightful words\n\"mine\" and \"thine\" were invented, how could there have been, he asks,\nany vices or crimes? He denounced all slavery, all inequality, all\nforms of oppression. His writings were full of exaggeration, but,\nsays the French historian, \"no sooner had he opened his lips than he\nrestored earnestness to the world.\" The same writer, after speaking\nof the faults of the \"Nouvelle H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\" adds that nevertheless \"a\nmultitude of the letters of his 'Julie' are masterpieces of eloquence,\npassion, and profundity; and the last portions are signalized by a\nmoral purity, a wisdom of views, and a religious elevation altogether\nnew in the France of the eighteenth century.\" Concerning \"Emile,\" he\nsays, \"It is the profoundest study of human nature in our language; it\nwas an ark of safety, launched by Providence on the waves of skepticism\nand materialism. If Rousseau had been stricken out of the eighteenth\ncentury, whither, we seriously ask, would the human mind have\ndrifted?\"[43]\n\nThe \"Social Contract\" appeared in 1762. In this work Rousseau swept\naway by his powerful eloquence the arguments which placed sovereignty\nelsewhere than in the hands of the people. This fundamental idea was\nthe seed corn which broke from the earth in the first Revolution, and\nbears its ripe fruit in republican France to-day. D'Alembert, who\ndisliked Rousseau, said of \"Emile\" that \"it placed him at the head of\nall writers.\" The \"Social Contract,\" illogical and unsound in many\nthings, yet tore down the whole framework of despotism. Van Laun, a\nmore recent historian, tells us that Rousseau was a man of the people,\nwho knew all their wants; that every vice he attacked was one that they\nsaw really present in their midst; that he \"opened the flood-gates of\nsuppressed desires, which gushed forth, overwhelming a whole artificial\nworld.\" Villemain writes that the words of Rousseau, \"descending like\na flame of fire, moved the souls of his contemporaries;\" and that \"his\nbooks glow with an eloquence which can never pass away.\" Morley, to\nwhom Rousseau is essentially antipathic, says of the \"Social Contract\"\nthat its first words, \"Man is born free, but is everywhere in chains,\"\nthrilled two continents,--that it was the gospel of the Jacobins; and\nthe action of the convention in 1794 can be explained only by the\ninfluence of Rousseau. He taught France to believe in a government of\nthe people, by the people, and for the people. Locke had already taught\nthis doctrine in England, where it produced no such violent outbreak,\nbecause it encountered no such glaring abuses.\n\nSuch is the striking contrast between these two greatest writers in\nmodern French literature. It is singular to observe their instinctive\nantagonism in every point of belief and character. The merits of one\nare precisely opposite to those of the other: their faults are equally\nopposed.\n\nThe events of Voltaire's life have been so often told that Mr. Parton\nhas not been able to add much to our knowledge of his biography. He\nwas born in 1694 and died in 1778, at the age of eighty-four, though\nat his birth he was so feeble that those who believe that the world's\nprogress depends on the survival of the fittest would have thought\nhim not fit to be brought up. This was also the case with Goethe and\nWalter Scott. His father was a notary, and the name Arouet had that\nof Voltaire added to it, it being a name in his mother's family. This\naffix was adopted by the lad when in the Bastille, at the age of\ntwenty-four. As a duck takes to water, so Voltaire took to his pen. In\nhis twelfth year he wrote verses addressed to the Dauphin, which so\npleased the famous Ninon de l'Enclos, then in her ninetieth year, that\nshe left the boy a legacy of two thousand francs. He went to a Jesuits'\nschool, and always retained a certain liking for the Jesuits. His\nfather wished to make him a notary, but he would \"pen a stanza when he\nshould engross;\" and the usual struggles between the paternal purpose\nand the filial instinct ended, as usual, in the triumph of the latter.\nHe led a wild career for a time, in the society of dissipated abb\u00e8s,\ndebauched noblemen, and women to whom pleasure was the only object.\nSuspected of having written a lampoon on the death of Louis XIV., he\nwas sent to the Bastille, and came forth not only with a new name,\nbut with literature as his aim for the rest of his life. His first\nplay appeared on the stage in 1718, and from that time he continued to\nwrite till his death. He traveled from the _ch\u00e2teau_ of one nobleman\nto another, pouring out his satires and sarcasms through the press;\nthreatened by the angry rulers and priests who governed France, but\nalways escaping by some adroit man\u0153uvre. In England he became a deist\nand a mathematician. His views of Christ and Christianity were summed\nup in a quatrain which may be thus translated. Speaking of Jesus, he\nsays,--\n\n    \"His actions are holy, his ethics divine;\n    Into hearts which are wounded he pours oil and wine.\n    And if, through imposture, those truths are received,\n    It still is a blessing to be thus deceived.\"\n\nHe lived many years at Cirey with the Marchioness of Ch\u00e2telet; the\nmarquis, her husband, accepting the curious relation without any\nobjection. Then followed the still stranger episode of his residence\nwith Frederic the Great, their love quarrels and reconciliations. After\nthis friendship came to an end, Voltaire went to live near Geneva in\nSwitzerland, but soon bought another estate just out of Switzerland,\nin France, and a third a short distance away, in the territory of\nanother power. Thus, if threatened in one state, he could easily pass\ninto another. Here he lived and worked till the close of his life,\nan untiring writer. He was a man of infinite wit, kind-hearted, with\nlittle malignity of any sort, wishing in the main to do good. His\nviolent attacks upon Christianity may be explained by the fact of the\ncorruptions of the Church which were around him. The Church of France\nin that day, in its higher circles, was a persecuting Church, yet\nwithout faith: greedy for wealth, living in luxury, careless of the\npoor, and well deserving the attacks of Voltaire. That he could not\nlook deeper and see the need of religious institutions of a better sort\nwas his misfortune.\n\nThis work is a storehouse of facts for the history of Voltaire and his\ntime. We do not think it will materially alter the judgment pronounced\non him by such critics as Carlyle, Morley, and the majority of French\nwriters in our day. Voltaire was a shining light in his age, but that\nage has gone by, and can never return.\n\n\n\n\nRALPH WALDO EMERSON[44]\n\nMATT. vi. 23.--_If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of\nlight._\n\n\nIt is natural and fit that many pulpits to-day should take for their\ntheme the character and influence of the great thinker and poet who has\njust left us; for every such soul is a new revelation of God's truth\nand love. Each opens the gateway between our lower world of earthly\ncare and earthly pleasure into a higher heavenly world of spirit. Such\nmen lift our lives to a higher plane, and convince us that we, also,\nbelong to God, to eternity, to heaven. And few, in our day, have been\nsuch mediators of heavenly things to mankind as Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\nLast Sunday afternoon, when the town of Concord was mourning through\nall its streets for the loss of its beloved and revered citizen; when\nthe humblest cottage had on its door the badge of sorrow; when great\nnumbers came from abroad to testify their affection and respect, that\nwhich impressed me the most was the inevitable response of the human\nheart to whatever is true and good. Cynics may tell us that men are\nduped by charlatans, led by selfish demagogues, incapable of knowing\nhonor and truth when set before them; that they always stone their\nprophets and crucify their saviors; that they have eyes, and do not\nsee; ears, and never hear. This is all true for a time; but inevitably,\nby a law as sure as that which governs the movements of the planets,\nthe souls of men turn at last toward what is true, generous, and noble.\nThe prophets and teachers of the race may be stoned by one generation,\nbut their monuments are raised by the next. They are misunderstood and\nmisrepresented to-day, but to-morrow they become the accredited leaders\nof their time. Jesus, who knew well that he would be rejected and\nmurdered by a people blind and deaf to his truth, also knew that this\ntruth would sooner or later break down all opposition, and make him\nmaster and king of the world. \"I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men\nunto me.\"\n\nLast Sunday afternoon, as the grateful procession followed their\nteacher to his grave in the Concord cemetery, the harshness of our\nspring seemed to relent, and Nature became tender toward him who had\nloved her so well. I thought of his words, \"The visible heavens and\nearth sympathized with Jesus.\" The town where \"the embattled farmers\nstood;\" where the musket was discharged which opened the War of the\nRevolution--the gun of which Lafayette said, \"It was the alarm-gun of\nthe world;\" the town of Hawthorne's \"Old Manse,\" and of his grave, now\nthat Emerson also sleeps in its quiet valley, has received an added\nglory. It has become one of the \"Meccas of the mind.\"\n\nLet me describe the mental and spiritual condition of New England\nwhen Emerson appeared. Calvinism, with its rigorous dogmatism, was\nslowly dying, and had been succeeded by a calm and somewhat formal\nrationalism. Locke was still the master in the realm of thought;\nAddison and Blair in literary expression. In poetry, the school of Pope\nwas engaged in conflict with that of Byron and his contemporaries.\nWordsworth had led the way to a deeper view of nature; but Wordsworth\ncould scarcely be called a popular writer. In theology a certain\nliteralism prevailed, and the doctrines of Christianity were inferred\nfrom counting and weighing texts on either side. Not the higher reason,\nwith its intuition of eternal ideas, but the analytic understanding,\nwith its logical methods, was considered to be the ruler in the world\nof thought. There was more of culture than of intellectual life, more\nof good habits than of moral enthusiasm. Religion had become very\nmuch of an external institution. Christianity consisted in holding\nrational or orthodox opinions, going regularly to church, and listening\nevery Sunday to a certain number of prayers, hymns, and sermons.\nThese sermons, with some striking exceptions, were rather tame and\nmechanical. In Boston, it is true, Buckminster had appeared,--that soul\nof flame which soon wore to decay its weak body. The consummate orator\nEdward Everett had followed him in Brattle Square pulpit. Above all,\nChanning had looked, with a new spiritual insight, into the truths of\nreligion and morality. But still the mechanical treatment prevailed in\na majority of the churches of New England, and was considered, on the\nwhole, to be the wisest and safest method. There was an unwritten creed\nof morals, literature, and social thought to which all were expected\nto conform. There was little originality and much repetition. On all\nsubjects there were certain formulas which it was considered proper\nto repeat. \"Thou art a blessed fellow,\" says one of Shakespeare's\ncharacters, \"to think as other people think. Not a man's thought in the\nworld keeps the roadway better than thine.\" The thought of New England\nkept the roadway. Of course, at all times a large part of the belief\nof the community is derived from memory, custom, and imitation; but\nin those days, if I remember them aright, it was regarded as a kind\nof duty to think as every one else thought; a sort of delinquency, or\nweakness, to differ from the majority.\n\nIf the movements of thought are now much more independent and\nspontaneous; if to-day traditions have lost their despotic power; if\neven those who hold an orthodox creed are able to treat it as a dead\nletter, respectable for its past uses, but by no means binding on us\nnow, this is largely owing to the manly position taken by Emerson. And\nyet, let it be observed, this influence was not exercised by attacking\nold opinions, by argument, by denial, by criticism. Theodore Parker\ndid all this, but his influence on thought has been far less than that\nof Emerson. Parker was a hero who snuffed the battle afar off, and\nflung himself, sword in hand, into the thick of the conflict. But,\nmuch as we love and reverence his honesty, his immense activity, his\ndevotion to truth and right, we must admit to-day, standing by these\ntwo friendly graves, that the power of Emerson to soften the rigidity\nof time-hardened belief was far the greater. It is the old fable of\nthe storm and sun. The violent attacks of the tempest only made the\ntraveler cling more closely to his cloak; the genial heat of the sun\ncompelled him to throw it aside. In all Emerson's writings there is\nscarcely any argument. He attacks no man's belief; he simply states\nhis own. His method is always positive, constructive. He opens the\nwindows and lets in more light. He is no man's opponent; the enemy\nof no one. He states what he sees, and that which he does not see he\npasses by. He was often attacked, but never replied. His answer was\nto go forward, and say something else. He did not care for what he\ncalled the \"bugbear consistency.\" If to-day he said what seemed like\nPantheism, and to-morrow he saw some truth which seemed to reveal a\ndivine personality, a supreme will, he uttered the last, as he had\ndeclared the first, always faithful to the light within. He left it to\nthe spirit of truth to reconcile such apparent contradictions. He was\nlike his own humble-bee--\n\n    \"Seeing only what is fair,\n      Sipping only what is sweet;\n    Thou dost mock at fate and care,\n      Leave the chaff and take the wheat.\"\n\nBy this method of positive statement he not only saved the time usually\nwasted in argument, attack, reply, rejoinder, but he gave us the\nsubstance of Truth, instead of its form. Logic and metaphysic reveal\nno truths; they merely arrange in order what the higher faculties of\nthe mind have made known. Hence the speedy oblivion which descends on\npolemics of all sorts. The great theological debaters, where are they?\nThe books of Horsley and McGee are buried in the same grave with those\nof Belsham and Priestley, their old opponents. The bitter attacks on\nChristianity by Voltaire and Paine are inurned in the same dark and\nforgotten vaults with the equally bitter defenses of Christianity by\nits numerous champions. Argument may often be necessary, but no truth\nis slain by argument; no error can be kept alive by it. Emerson is an\neminent example of a man who never replied to attacks, but went on\nhis way, and saw at last all opposition hushed, all hostility at an\nend. He devoted his powers to giving to his readers his insights,\nknowing that these alone feed the soul. Thus men came to him to be\nfed. His sheep heard his voice. Those who felt themselves better\nfor his instruction followed him. He collected around him thus an\never-increasing band of disciples, until in England, in Germany, in all\nlands where men read and think, he is looked up to as a master. Many of\nthese disciples were persons of rare gifts and powers, like Margaret\nFuller, Theodore Parker, George Ripley, Hawthorne. Many others were\nunknown to fame, yet deeply sensible of the blessings they had received\nfrom their prophet and seer of the nineteenth century. For this was his\noffice. He was a man who saw. He had the vision and the faculty divine.\nHe sat near the fountain-head, and tasted the waters of Helicon in\ntheir source.\n\nHis first little book, a duodecimo of less than a hundred pages, called\n\"Nature,\" published in 1836, indicates all these qualities. It begins\nthus:--\n\n\"Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It\nwrites biographies, histories, criticisms. The foregoing generations\nbeheld God and Nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should\nnot we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not\nwe have a poetry and philosophy of insight, and not of tradition, and\na religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs?... The\nsun shines to-day also.... Undoubtedly we have no questions to ask\nwhich are unanswerable.\"\n\nThis was his first doctrine, that of self-reliance. He taught that\nGod had given to every man the power to see with his own eyes, think\nwith his own mind, believe what seemed to him true, plant himself on\nhis instincts, and, as he says, \"call a pop-gun a pop-gun, though\nthe ancient and honorable of the earth declare it to be the crack of\ndoom.\" This was manly and wholesome doctrine. It might, no doubt, be\nabused, and lead some persons to think they were men of original genius\nwhen they were only eccentric. It may have led others to attack all\ninstitutions and traditions, as though, if a thing were old, it was\nnecessarily false. But Emerson himself was the best antidote to such\nextravagance. To a youth who brought to him a manuscript confuting\nPlato he replied, \"When you attack the king you ought to be sure to\nkill him.\" But his protest against the prevailing conventionalism was\nhealthy, and his call on all \"to be themselves\" was inspiring.\n\nThe same doctrine is taught in the introductory remarks of the editors\nof the \"Dial.\" They say they have obeyed with joy the strong current of\nthought which has led many sincere persons to reprobate that rigor of\nconventions which is turning them to stone, which renounces hope and\nonly looks backward, which suspects improvement, and holds nothing so\nmuch in horror as the dreams of youth. This work, the \"Dial,\" made a\ngreat impression, out of all proportion to its small circulation. By\nthe elders it was cordially declared to be unintelligible mysticism,\nand so, no doubt, much of it was. Those inside, its own friends, often\nmade as much fun of it as those outside. Yet it opened the door for\nmany new and noble thoughts, and was a wild bugle-note, a reveill\u00e9,\ncalling on all generous hearts to look toward the coming day.\n\nHere is an extract from one of Emerson's letters from Europe as early\nas March, 1833. It is dated Naples:--\n\n\"And what if it be Naples! It is only the same world of cakes and ale,\nof man, and truth, and folly. I will not be imposed upon by a name.\nIt is so easy to be overawed by names that it is hard to keep one's\njudgment upright, and be pleased only after your own way. Bai\u00e6 and\nPausilippo sound so big that we are ready to surrender at discretion,\nand not stickle for our private opinion against what seems the human\nrace. But here's for the plain old Adam, the simple, genuine self\nagainst the whole world.\"\n\nAgain he says: \"Nothing so fatal to genius as genius. Mr. Taylor,\nauthor of 'Van Artevelde,' is a man of great intellect, but by study of\nShakespeare is forced to reproduce Shakespeare.\"\n\nThus the first great lesson taught by Mr. Emerson was \"self-reliance.\"\nAnd the second was like it, though apparently opposed to it,\n\"God-reliance.\" Not really opposed to it, for it meant this: God is\nnear to your mind and heart, as he was to the mind and heart of the\nprophets and inspired men of the past. God is ready to inspire you also\nif you will trust in him. In the little book called \"Nature\" he says:--\n\n\"The highest is present to the soul of man; the dread universal\nessence, which is not wisdom, or love, or power, or beauty, but all\nin one, and each entirely, is that for which all things exist, and\nby which they are. Believe that throughout nature spirit is present;\nthat it is one, that it does not act upon us from without, but through\nourselves.... As a plant on the earth, so man rests on the bosom\nof God, nourished by unfailing fountains, and drawing at his need\ninexhaustible power.\"\n\nAnd so in his poem called \"The Problem\" he teaches that all religions\nare from God; that all the prophets and sibyls and lofty souls that\nhave sung psalms, written scripture, and built the temples and\ncathedrals of men, were inspired by a spirit above their own. He puts\naside the shallow explanation that any of the great religions ever came\nfrom priestcraft:--\n\n    \"Out from the heart of Nature rolled\n    The burdens of the Bible old;\n    The litanies of nations came,\n    Like the volcano's tongue of flame,\n    Up from the burning core below,\n    The canticles of love and woe.\n\n    \"The word unto the prophet spoken\n    Was writ on tables yet unbroken;\n    The word by seers or sibyls told,\n    In groves of oak or fanes of gold,\n    Still floats upon the moving wind,\n    Still whispers to the willing mind.\n    One accent of the Holy Ghost\n    The heedless world hath never lost.\"\n\nIn all that Emerson says of nature he is equally devout. He sees God\nin it all. It is to him full of a divine charm. \"In the woods,\" he\nsays, \"is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God a decorum\nand sanctity reigns, and we return to reason and faith.\" \"The currents\nof the Universal Being circulate through me. I am part and particle of\nGod.\" For saying such things as these he was accused of Pantheism. And\nhe was a Pantheist; yet only as Paul was a Pantheist when he said, \"In\nHim we live and move and have our being;\" \"From whom and through whom\nare all things;\" \"The fullness of him who filleth all in all.\" Emerson\nwas, in his view of nature, at one with Wordsworth, who said:--\n\n          \"The clouds were touched,\n    And in their silent faces he could read\n    Unutterable love. Sensation, soul, and form\n    All melted into him; they swallowed up\n    His animal being; in them did he live,\n    And by them did he live; they were his life.\n          In such high hour\n    Of visitation from the living God,\n    Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.\"\n\nEmerson has thus been to our day the prophet of God in the soul, in\nnature, in life. He has stood for spirit against matter. Darwin, his\ngreat peer, the serene master in the school of science, was like him\nin this,--that he also said what he saw and no more. He also taught\nwhat God showed to him in the outward world of sense, as Emerson what\nGod showed in the inward world of spirit. Amid the stormy disputes of\ntheir time, each of these men went his own way, his eye single and his\nwhole body full of light. The work of Darwin was the easier, for he\nfloated with the current of the time, which sets at present so strongly\ntoward the study of things seen and temporal. But the work of Emerson\nwas more noble, for he stands for things unseen and eternal,--for a\nlarger religion, a higher faith, a nobler worship. This strong and\ntender soul has done its work and gone on its way. But he will always\nfill a niche of the universal Church as a New England prophet. He had\nthe purity of the New England air in his moral nature, a touch of the\nshrewd Yankee wit in his speech, and the long inheritance of ancestral\nfaith incarnate and consolidated in blood and brain. But to this were\nadded qualities which were derived from some far-off realm of human\nlife: an Oriental cast of thought, a touch of medi\u00e6val mysticism, and\na vocabulary brought from books unknown to our New England literature.\nNo commonplaces of language are to be found in his writings, and though\nhe read the older writers, he does not imitate them. He, also, like\nhis humble-bee, has gathered contributions from remotest fields, and\nenriched our language with a new and picturesque speech all his own.\n\nLet us, then, be grateful for this best of God's gifts,--another soul\nsent to us filled with divine light. Thus we learn anew how full are\nnature and life of God:--\n\n    \"Ever fresh the broad creation,\n    A divine improvisation;\n    From the heart of God proceeds\n    A single will, a million deeds.\"\n\nOne word concerning Mr. Emerson's relation to Christ and to\nChristianity. The distinction which he made between Jesus and other\nteachers was, no doubt, one of degree and not one of kind. He put no\ngreat gulf of supernatural powers, origin, or office between Christ\nand the ethnic prophets. But his reverence for Jesus was profound and\ntender. Nor did he object to the word \"Christian\" or to the Christian\nChurch. In recent years, at least, he not unfrequently attended the\nservices of the Unitarian Church in his town, and I have met him at\nUnitarian conventions, a benign and revered presence.\n\nIn the cemetery at Bonn, on the Rhine, is the tomb of Niebuhr, the\nhistorian, a man of somewhat like type, as I judge, to our Emerson. At\nleast, some texts on his monument would be admirably appropriate for\nany stone which may be placed over the remains of the American prophet\nand poet in the sweet valley of tombs in Concord.\n\nOne of these texts was from Sirach xlvii. 14, 17:\n\n    \"How wise wast thou in thy youth, and as a flood filled with\n             understanding!\n    Thy soul covered the whole earth, and thou filledst it with dark\n             parables.\n    Thy name went far unto the islands, and for thy peace thou wast\n             beloved.\n    The countries marvelled at thee for thy songs and proverbs and\n             parables and interpretations.\"\n\nAnd equally appropriate would be this Horatian line, also on Niebuhr's\nmonument:--\n\n    \"Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus tam cari capitis.\"\n\nFrom a lifelong friend of Emerson I have just received a letter\ncontaining these words, which, better than most descriptions, give the\ncharacter of his soul:--\n\n\"And so the white wings have spread, and the great soul has left us.\n\n    ''Tis death is dead; not he.'\n\nHe had no vanity, no selfishness; no greed, no hate; none of the\nweights that drag on common mortals. His life was an illumination; a\nlarge, fair light; the Pharos of New England, as in other days our dear\nbrother called him. And this light shone further and wider the longer\nit burned.\"\n\n\n\n\nHARRIET MARTINEAU[45]\n\n\nThe whole work[46] is very interesting. How could it be otherwise, in\ngiving the history of so remarkable a life? The amount of literary work\nwhich Miss Martineau performed is amazing. She began to write for the\npress when she was nineteen, and continued until she could no longer\nhold her pen. The pen was her sword, which she wielded with a warrior's\njoy, in the conflict of truth with error, of right with wrong. She\nwrote many books; but her articles in reviews and newspapers were\ninnumerable. We find no attempt in either part of this biography to\ngive a complete list of her writings. Perhaps it would be impossible.\nShe never seems to have thought of keeping such a record herself, any\nmore than a hero records the number of the blows he strikes, in battle.\nNo sooner had she dismissed one task than another came; and sometimes\nseveral were going on together. Like other voluminous writers, she\nenjoyed the exercise of her productive powers; and, as she somewhere\ntells us, her happiest hours were those in which she was seated at her\ndesk with her pen.\n\nHer principal works cover a large range of thought and study. One of\nher first books, \"The Traditions of Palestine,\" she continued to regard\nlong after with more affection than any other of her writings, except\n\"Eastern Life.\" But her authorship began when she was nineteen, in an\narticle contributed to a Unitarian monthly. Afterwards she obtained\nthree separate prizes offered by the Central Unitarian Association\nfor three essays on different topics. About the same time she wrote\n\"Five Years of Youth,\" a tale which she never looked at afterward. But\nher first great step in authorship, and that which at once made her a\npower in politics and in literature, was taken when she commenced her\nseries of tales on \"Political Economy.\" She began, however, to write\nthese stories, not knowing that she was treating questions of Political\nEconomy, \"the very name of which,\" she says, \"was then either unknown\nto me, or conveyed no meaning.\" She was then about twenty-five years\nold. She had the usual difficulties with various publishers which\nunknown authors are sure to experience, and these tales, which became\nso popular, were rejected by one firm after another. One of them was\nrefused by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, as being\ntoo dull. The president of that Society, Lord Brougham, afterward\nvented his rage on the sub-committee which rejected the offered story,\nand so had permitted their Society, \"instituted for that very purpose,\nto be driven out of the field by a little deaf woman at Norwich.\"\nAt last a publisher was found who agreed to take the books on very\nunsatisfactory terms. As soon as the first number appeared, the success\nof the series was established. A second edition of five thousand copies\nwas immediately called for,--the entire periodical press came out in\nfavor of the tales,--and from that hour Miss Martineau had only to\nchoose what to write, sure that it would at once find a publisher.\n\nShe was at this time thirty years old. She was already deaf, her health\npoor; but she then began a career of intellectual labor seldom equaled\nby the strongest man through the longest life. She began to write every\nmorning after breakfast; and, unless when traveling, seldom passed a\nmorning during the rest of her life without writing,--working from\neight o'clock until two. Her method was, after selecting her subject,\nto procure all the standard works upon it, and study them. She then\nproceeded to make the plan of her work, and to draw the outline of her\nstory. If the scene was laid abroad, she procured books of travels and\ntopography. Then she drew up the contents of each chapter in detail,\nand, after this preliminary labor, the story was written easily and\nwith joy.\n\nOf these stories she wrote thirty-four in two years and a half. She\nwas then thirty-two. She received \u00a32,000 for the whole series,--a\nsufficiently small compensation,--but she established her position\nand her fame. Her principal books published afterward were her two\nworks on America, the novels \"Deerbrook\" and \"The Hour and the Man;\"\nnine volumes of tales on the Forest and Game Laws; four stories in the\n\"Playfellow;\" \"Life in the Sick-Room;\" \"Letters on Mesmerism;\" \"Eastern\nLife, Past and Present;\" \"History of England during the Thirty Years'\nPeace;\" \"Letters on the Laws of Man's Social Nature and Development;\"\n\"Translation and Condensation of Comte's Positive Philosophy;\" besides\nmany smaller works, making fifty-two titles in Allibone. In addition\nto this, she wrote many articles in reviews and magazines; and Mrs.\nChapman mentions that she sent to a single London journal, the \"Daily\nNews,\" sixteen hundred articles, at the rate sometimes of six a week.\nSurely Harriet Martineau was one who worked faithfully while her day\nendured.\n\nBut, if we would do her justice, we must consider also the motive and\nspirit in which she worked. Each thing she did had for its purpose\nnothing merely personal, but some good to mankind. Though there was\nnothing in her character of the sentimentalism of philanthropy, she was\nfilled with the spirit of philanthropy. A born reformer, she inherited\nfrom her Huguenot and her Unitarian ancestors the love of truth and the\nhatred of error, with the courage which was ready to avow her opinions,\nhowever unpopular. Thus, her work was warfare, and every article or\nbook which she printed was a blow delivered against some flagrant\nwrong, or what she believed such,--in defense of some struggling truth,\nor something supposed to be truth. She might be mistaken; but her\npurposes through life were, in the main, noble, generous, and good.\n\nAnd there can be no question of her ability, moral and intellectual.\nNo commonplace mind could have overcome such obstacles and achieved\nsuch results. Apparently she had no very high opinion of her own\nintellectual powers. She denies that she possesses genius; but\nshe asserts her own power. She criticises \"Deerbrook\" with some\nseverity. And, in fact, Harriet Martineau's mind is analytic rather\nthan creative; it is strong rather than subtle; and, if it possesses\nimagination, it is of rather a prosaic kind. Her intellect is of\na curiously masculine order; no other female writer was ever less\nfeminine. With all her broad humanity she has little sympathy for\nindividuals. A large majority of those whom she mentions in her memoirs\nshe treats with a certain contempt.\n\nHer early life seems to have been very sad. We are again and again\ntold how she was misunderstood and maltreated in her own home. Her\nhealth was bad until she was thirty; partly owing, as she supposed, to\nill-treatment. She needed affection, and was treated with sternness.\nJustice she did not receive, nor kindness, and her heart was soured\nand her temper spoiled, so she tells us, by this mismanagement. As she\ndoes not specify, or give us the details of this ill-treatment, the\nstory is useless as a warning; and we hardly see the reason for thus\npublishing the wrongs of her childhood. As children may be sometimes\nunjust to parents, no less than parents to children, the facts and the\nmoral are both left uncertain. And, on the whole, her chief reason for\ntelling the story appears to be the mental necessity she was under of\njudging and sentencing those from whom she supposes herself to have\nreceived ill-treatment in any part of her life.\n\nThis is indeed the most painful feature of the work before us. Knowing\nthe essentially generous and just spirit of Harriet Martineau, it is\nstrange to see how carefully she has loaded this piece of artillery\nwith explosive and lacerating missiles, to be discharged after her\ndeath among those with whom she had mingled in social intercourse or\nliterary labors. Some against whom she launches her sarcasms are still\nliving; some are dead, but have left friends behind, to be wounded\nby her caustic judgments. Is it that her deficiency in a woman's\nsensibility, or the absence of a poetic imagination, prevented her from\nrealizing the suffering she would inflict? Or is it the habit of mind\nfrom which those are apt to suffer who devote themselves to the reform\nof abuses? As each kind of manual occupation exposes the workman to\nsome special disease,--as those who dig canals suffer from malaria,\nand file-grinders from maladies of the lungs,--so it seems that each\nmoral occupation has its appropriate moral danger. Clergymen are apt\nto be dogmatic or sectarian; lawyers become sharp and sophistical;\nmusicians and artists are irritable; and the danger of a reformer is of\nbecoming a censorious critic of those who cannot accept his methods, or\nwho will not join his party. That Harriet Martineau did not escape this\nrisk will presently appear.\n\nWhile writing her politico-economical stories she moved to London,\nand there exchanged the quiet seclusion of her Norwich life for\nsocial triumphs of the first order, and intercourse with every kind\nof celebrity. All had read her books, from Victoria, who was then a\nlittle girl perusing them with her governess, to foreign kings and\nsavants of the highest distinction. So this young author--for she was\nonly thirty--was received at once into the most brilliant circles of\nLondon society. But it does not appear that she lost a single particle\nof her dignity or self-possession. Among the great she neither asserted\nherself too much nor showed too much deference. Vanity was not her\nfoible; and her head was too solidly set upon her shoulders to be\nturned by such successes. She enjoyed the society of these people of\nsuperior refinement, rank, and culture, but did not come to depend upon\nit; and in all this Harriet Martineau sinned not in her spirit.\n\nBut why, in writing about these people long afterward, should she have\nthought it necessary to produce such sharp and absolute sentences on\neach and all? Into this judgment-hall of Osiris-Martineau, every one\nwhom she has ever known is called up to receive his final doom. The\npoor Unitarian ministers, who had taught the child as they best could,\nare dismissed with contemptuous severity. This religious instruction\nhad certainly done her some good. Religion, she admits, was her best\nresource till she wrought her way to something better. Ann Turner,\ndaughter of the Unitarian minister, gave her piety a practical turn,\nand when afraid of every one she saw, she was not at all afraid of God;\nand, on the whole, she says religion was a great comfort and pleasure\nto her. Nevertheless, she is astonished that Unitarians should believe\nthat they are giving their children a Christian education. She accuses\nthese teachers of her childhood of altering the Scripture to suit their\nown notions; being apparently ignorant that most of the interpolations\nor mistranslations of which they complained have since been conceded\nas such by the best Orthodox critics. But she does not hesitate to\ngive her opinion of all her old acquaintances in the frankest manner,\nand for the most part it is unfavorable. Mrs. Opie and Mrs. John\nTaylor are among the \"mere pedants.\" William Taylor, from want of\ntruth and conviction, talked blasphemy. She speaks with contempt of a\nphysician who politely urged her to come and dine with him, because\nhe had neglected her until she became famous. Lord Brougham was\n\"vain and selfish, low in morals, and unrestrained in temper.\" Lord\nCampbell was \"flattering to an insulting degree;\" Archbishop Whately,\n\"odd and overbearing,\" \"sometimes rude and tiresome,\" and \"singularly\noverrated;\" Stanley, Bishop of Norwich, \"timid,\" \"sensitive,\"\n\"heedless,\" \"without courage or dignity.\" Macaulay \"talked nonsense\"\nabout the copyright bill, and \"set at naught every principle of\njustice in regard to authors' earnings.\" Macaulay's opposition to that\nbill was based on such grounds of perfect justice that he defeated\nit single-handed. But Harriet Martineau decided then and there that\nMacaulay was a failure, and that \"he wanted heart,\" and that he \"never\nhas achieved any complete success.\" The poet Campbell had \"a morbid\ncraving for praise.\" As to women, Lady Morgan, Lady Davy, Mrs. Jameson,\nMrs. Austin, \"may make women blush and men be insolent\" with their\n\"gross and palpable vanities.\" Landseer was a toady to great people.\nMorpeth had \"evident weaknesses.\" Sir Charles Bell showed his ignorance\nby relying on the argument for Design. The resources of Eastlake were\nvery _born\u00e9s_. John Sterling \"rudely ignored me.\" Lady Mary Shepherd\nwas \"a pedant.\" Coleridge, she asserts, will only be remembered as a\nwarning; though twenty years ago she, Miss Martineau, \"regarded him\nas a poet.\" Godwin was \"timid.\" Basil Montagu was \"cowardly;\" and Lord\nMonteagle \"agreeable enough to those who were not particular about\nsincerity.\" Urquhart had \"insane egotism and ferocious discontent.\" The\nHowitts made \"an unintelligible claim to my friendship,\" their \"tempers\nare turbulent and unreasonable.\" It may be some explanation of this\nunintelligible claim that it was heard through her trumpet. Fredrika\nBremer is accused of habits of \"flattery\" and \"a want of common sense.\"\nMiss Mitford is praised, but then accused of a \"habit of flattery,\"\nand blamed for her \"disparagement of others.\" And it is Miss Martineau\nwho brings this charge! She also tells us that Miss Bremer \"proposes\nto reform the world by a floating religiosity,\" whatever that may be.\nBut perhaps her severest sentence is pronounced on the Kembles, who\nare accused of \"incurable vulgarity\" and \"unreality.\" In this case,\nas in others, Miss Martineau pronounces this public censure on those\nwhom she had learned to know in the intimacy of private friendship and\npersonal confidence. She thus violates the rules rather ostentatiously\nlaid down in her Introduction. For she claims there that she practices\nself-denial in interdicting the publication of her letters,[47] and\ngives her reasons thus: \"Epistolary conversation is written speech;\nand the _onus_ rests with those who publish it to show why the laws of\nhonor, which are uncontested in regard to conversation, may be violated\nwhen the conversation is written instead of spoken.\" Most of her sharp\njudgments above quoted are pronounced on those whom she learned to\nknow in the private intercourse of society. Sometimes she recites the\nsubstance of what she heard (or supposed that she heard; for she used\nan ear-tube when she first went to live in London). Thus she tells\nabout a conversation with Wordsworth, and reports his complaints of\nJeffrey and other reviewers, and quotes him as saying about one of his\nown poems, that it was \"a chain of very _valooable_ thoughts.\" \"You\nsee, it does not best fulfill the conditions of poetry; but it is\"\n(solemnly) \"a chain of extremely valooable thoughts.\" She then proceeds\nto pronounce her sentence on Wordsworth as she did on Coleridge. She\nfelt at once, she says, in Wordsworth's works, \"the absence of sound,\naccurate, weighty thought, and of genuine poetic inspiration.\" She\nalso informs us that \"the very basis of philosophy is absent in him,\"\nand that it is only necessary \"to open Shelley, Tennyson, or even poor\nKeats ... to feel that, with all their truth and all their charm, few\nof Wordsworth's pieces are poems.\" \"_Even poor Keats!_\" This is her\n_de haut en bas_ style of criticism on Wordsworth, one of whose poems\nis generally accepted as the finest written in the English language\nduring the last hundred years. And this is her way of respecting \"the\ncode of honor\" in regard to private conversation!\n\nIn 1834, at the age of thirty-two, Harriet Martineau sailed for the\nUnited States, where she remained two years. She went for rest; but\nthe quantity of work done in those two years would have been enough\nto fill five or six years of any common life. At this point she began\na new career; forming new ties, engaging in new duties, studying new\nproblems, and beginning a new activity in another sphere of labor. The\nsame great qualities which she had hitherto displayed showed themselves\nhere again; accompanied with their corresponding defects. Her wonderful\npower of study enabled her to enter into the very midst of the\nphenomena of American life; her noble generosity induced her to throw\nherself heart, hand, and mind into the greatest struggle then waging\non the face of the earth. The antislavery question, which the great\nmajority of people of culture despised or disliked, took possession\nof her soul. She became one of the party of Abolitionists, of which\nMr. Garrison was the chief, and lived to see that party triumph in the\ndownfall of slavery. She took her share of the hatred or the scorn\nheaped on that fiery body of zealous propagandists, and was counted\nworthy of belonging to what she herself called \"the Martyr Age of the\nUnited States.\"\n\nFortunately for herself, before she visited Boston, and became\nacquainted with the Abolitionists, she went to Washington, and traveled\nsomewhat extensively in the Southern States. At Washington she saw many\neminent Southern senators, who cordially invited her to visit them at\ntheir homes. In South Carolina she was welcomed or introduced by Mr.\nCalhoun, Governor Hayne, and Colonel Preston. Judge Porter took charge\nof her in Louisiana. In Kentucky she was the guest of Mrs. Irwin, Henry\nClay's daughter and neighbor. Without fully accepting Mrs. Chapman's\nsomewhat sweeping assertion that there was no eminent statesman, man\nof science, politician, partisan, philanthropist, jurist, professor,\nmerchant, divine, nor distinguished woman, in the whole land, who did\nnot pay her homage, there is no doubt that she received the respect\nand good-will of many such. She was deeply impressed, she says, on\narriving in the United States, with a society basking in one bright\nsunshine of good-will. She thought the New Englanders, perhaps, the\nbest people in the world. Many well-known names appear in these pages,\nas soon becoming intimate acquaintances or friends; among these were\nJudge Story, John G. Palfrey, Stephen C. Phillips, the Gilmans of South\nCarolina, Mr. and Mrs. Furness of Philadelphia, and in Massachusetts\nthe Sedgwicks, the Follens, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Gray Loring, Mr. and\nMrs. Charles G. Loring, Dr. Channing, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Ware, Dr.\nFlint of Salem, and Ephraim Peabody.\n\nWhen Miss Martineau had identified herself with Mr. Garrison and his\nfriends by taking part in their meetings, those who had merely sought\nher on account of her position and reputation naturally fell away. But\nit may be doubted whether she was in such danger of being mobbed or\nmurdered as she and her editor suppose. She seems to think that Mr.\nHenry Ware did a very brave deed in driving to Mr. Francis Jackson's\nhouse to take her home from an antislavery meeting. She speaks of\nthe reign of terror which existed in Boston at that time. No doubt\nshe, and other Abolitionists, had their share of abuse; but it is not\nprobable that any persons were, as she thought, plotting against her\nlife. She and her friends were deterred from taking a proposed journey\nto Cincinnati and Louisville by being informed that it was intended\nto mob her in the first city and to hang her in the second. Now, the\nwriter of this article was at that time residing in Louisville, and\nthough antislavery discussions and antislavery lectures had taken\nplace there about that period, and though antislavery articles not\nunfrequently appeared in the city journals, no objection or opposition\nwas made to all this by anybody in that place. In fact, it was easier\nat that time to speak against slavery in Louisville than in Boston. The\nleading people in Kentucky of all parties were then openly opposed\nto slavery, and declared their hope and purpose of making Kentucky a\nfree State. A year later, Dr. Channing published his work on slavery,\nwhich was denounced for its abolitionism by the \"Boston Statesman,\" and\nsharply criticised in a pamphlet by the Massachusetts attorney-general.\nBut copious extracts from this work, especially of the parts which\nexposed the sophisms of the defenders of slavery, were published in\na Louisville magazine, and not the least objection was made to it in\nthat city. At a later period it might have been different, though an\nantislavery paper was published in Louisville as late as 1845, one of\nthe editors being a native Kentuckian.\n\nAfter her return from the United States she published her two works,\n\"Society in America,\" and \"Retrospect of Western Travel;\" and then\nwrote her first novel, \"Deerbrook.\" The books on America were perhaps\nthe best then written by any foreigner except De Tocqueville. They\nwere generous, honest, kind, and utterly frank,--they were full of\ncapital descriptions of American scenery. She spoke the truth to us,\nand she spoke it in love. The chief fault in these works was her tone\nof dogmatism, and her _ex cathedr\u00e2_ judgments; which, as we have before\nhinted, are among the defects of her qualities.\n\nIn 1838, when thirty-six years old, she was taken with serious illness,\nwhich confined her to her room for six years. She attributes this\nillness to her anxiety about her aged aunt and mother. Her mother,\nshe tells us, was irritable on account of Miss Martineau's fame and\nposition in society; in short, she was jealous of her daughter's\nsuccess. Miss Martineau was obliged to sit up late after midnight to\nmend her own clothes, as she was not allowed to have a maid or to hire\na working-woman, even at her own expense. How she could have been\nprevented is difficult to see, especially as she was the money-making\nmember of the family. It seems hardly worth while to give us this\nglimpse into domestic difficulties. But, no doubt, she is quite correct\nin adding, as another reason for her illness, the toils which were\nbreaking her down. The strongest men could hardly bear such a strain on\nthe nervous system without giving way.\n\nAnd here comes in the important episode of Mr. Atkinson, mesmerism,\nand the New Philosophy. She believes that she was cured of a disease,\npronounced incurable by the regular physicians, by mesmerism. By this\nshe means the influence exerted upon her by certain manipulations\nfrom another person. And as long as we are confessedly so ignorant\nof nervous diseases, there seems no reason to question the facts to\nwhich Miss Martineau testifies. She was, there is little doubt, cured\nby these manipulations; what the power was which wrought through them\nremains to be ascertained.\n\nIn regard to Mr. Atkinson and his philosophy, accepted by her with\nsuch satisfaction, and which henceforth became the master-light of\nall her seeing, our allotted space will allow us only to speak very\nbriefly. The results of this new mental departure could not but disturb\nand afflict many of her friends, to whom faith in God, Christ, and\nimmortality was still dear. To Miss Martineau herself, however, her\ndisbelief in these seemed a happy emancipation. She carried into the\nassertion of her new and unpopular ideas the same honesty and courage\nshe had always shown, and also the same superb dogmatism and contempt\nfor those who differed from her. Apparently it was always to her an\nabsolute impossibility to imagine herself wrong when she had once\ncome to a conclusion. In theory she might conceive it possible to be\nmistaken, but practically she felt herself infallible. The following\nexamples will show how she speaks, throughout her biography, of those\nwho held the opinions she had rejected.\n\nMiss Martineau, being a Necessarian, says, \"All the best minds I know\nare Necessarians; all, indeed, who are qualified to discuss the subject\nat all.\" \"The very smallest amount of science is enough to enable any\nrational being to see that the constitution and action of will are\ndetermined by the influences beyond the control of the possessor of\nthe faculty.\" She adds, that for more than thirty years she has seen\nhow awful \"are the evils which arise from that monstrous remnant of\nold superstition,--the supposition of a self-determining power, etc.\"\nNow, among those she had intimately known were Dr. Channing and James\nMartineau, neither of them believing in the doctrine of Necessity.\n\nSpeaking of Christianity, after she had rejected it, she calls it\n\"a monstrous superstition.\" Elsewhere she speaks of \"the Christian\nsuperstition of the contemptible nature of the body;\" says that\n\"Christians deprave their moral sense;\" talks of \"the selfish\ncomplacencies of religion,\" and of \"the atmosphere of selfishness which\nis the very life of Christian doctrine and of every other theological\nscheme;\" speaks of \"the Christian mythology as a superstition which\nfails to make happy, fails to make good, fails to make wise, and\nhas become as great an obstacle in the way of progress as the prior\nmythologies it took the place of.\" \"For three centuries it has been\nundermined, and its overthrow completely decided.\" Thus easily does she\nsettle the question of Christianity.\n\nMiss Martineau ceased to believe in immortality; and immediately all\nbelievers in immortality became, to her mind, selfish or stupid, or\nboth. \"I neither wish to live longer here,\" she says, \"nor to find\nlife again elsewhere. It seems to me simply absurd to expect it, and\na mere act of restricted human imagination and morality to conceive\nof it.\" There is \"a total absence of evidence for a renewed life.\"\n\"I myself utterly disbelieve in a future life.\" She would submit,\nthough reluctantly, to live again, if compelled to. \"If I find myself\nconscious after the lapse of life, it will be all right, of course;\nbut, as I said, the supposition appears to me absurd.\"\n\nUnder the instructions of Mr. Atkinson, Miss Martineau ceased to\nbelieve in a personal God, or any God but an unknown First Cause,\nidentical with the Universe. The argument for Design, on which Mr. John\nStuart Mill, for instance, lays such stress, seemed to her \"puerile\nand unphilosophical.\" The God of Christians she calls an \"invisible\nidol.\" He \"who does justice to his own faculties\" must give up \"the\npersonality of the First Cause.\" She considered the religion in her\n\"Life in the Sick-Room\" to have been \"insincere;\" which we, who know\nthe perfect honesty of Harriet Martineau, must take the liberty to\ndeny. Though declaring herself to be no Atheist, because she believes\nin an unknown and unknowable First Cause, she regards philosophical\nAtheists as the best people she had ever known, and was delighted in\nfinding herself unacquainted with God, and so at peace.\n\nIt is curious to read these \"Letters on the Laws of Man's Nature and\nDevelopment,\" of which Harriet Martineau and Mr. Atkinson are the joint\nauthors. The simple joy with which they declare themselves the proud\ndiscoverers of this happy land of the unknowable is almost touching.\nAll that we know, say they, is matter or its manifestation. \"Mind\nis the product of the brain,\" and \"the brain is not, as even some\nphrenologists have asserted, the instrument of the mind.\" The brain\nis the source of consciousness, will, reason. Man is \"a creature of\nnecessity.\" \"It seems certain that mind, or the conditions essential\nto mind, is evolved from gray vesicular matter.\" \"Nothing in nature\nindicates a future life.\" \"Knowledge recognizes that nothing can be\nfree, or by chance; no, not even God,--God is the substance of Law.\"\nWhereupon Miss Martineau inquires whether Mr. Atkinson, in speaking of\nGod, did not merely use another name for Law. \"We know nothing beyond\nlaw, do we?\" asks this meek disciple, seeking for information. Mr.\nAtkinson replies that we must assume some fundamental principle \"as a\nthing essential, though unknown; and it is this which I wrongly enough\nperhaps termed God.\" But if it is wrong to call this principle God,\nand if they know nothing else behind phenomena, why do they complain\nso bitterly at being charged with Atheism? And directly Mr. Atkinson\nasserts that \"Philosophy finds no God in nature; no personal being or\ncreator, nor sees the want of any.\" \"A Creator after the likeness of\nman\" he affirms to be \"an impossibility.\" For, though he professes to\nknow _nothing_ about God, he somehow contrives to know that God is\n_not_ what others believe him to be. Eternal sleep after death he\nprofesses to be the only hope of a wise man. The idea of free-will\nis so absurd that it \"would make a Democritus fall on his back and\nroar with laughter.\" \"Christianity is neither reasonable nor moral.\"\nMiss Martineau responds that \"deep and sweet\" is her repose in the\nconviction that \"there is no theory of God, of an author of Nature,\nof an origin of the Universe, which is not utterly repugnant to my\nfaculties; which is not (to my feelings) so irreverent as to make me\nblush, so misleading as to make me mourn.\" And thus do the apostle and\nthe disciple go on, triumphantly proclaiming their own limitations to\nthe end of the volume.\n\nAnd yet the effect of this book is by no means wholly disagreeable. To\nbe sure, in their constant assertions of the \"impossibility\" of any\nbelief but their own being true, their honest narrowness may often be\na little amusing. They seem like two eyeless fish in the recesses of\nthe darkness of the Mammoth Cave talking to each other of the absurdity\nof believing in any sun or upper world. But they are so honest, so\nsincere, so much in love with Truth, and so free from any self-seeking,\nthat we find it easy to sympathize with their na\u00efve sense of discovery,\nas they go sounding on their dim and perilous way. Only we cannot\nbut think what a disappointment it must be to Harriet Martineau to\nfind herself alive again in the other world. In her case, as Mr.\nWentworth Higginson acutely remarks, we are deprived of the pleasure\nof sympathizing with her gladness at discovering her mistake, since\nanother life will be to her a disagreeable as well as an unforeseen\nevent.\n\nNor is it extraordinary, to those who trace Harriet Martineau's\nintellectual history, that she should have fallen into these melancholy\nconclusions. In her childhood and youth, most of the Unitarians of\nEngland, followers of Priestley, adopted his philosophy of materialism\nand necessity. Priestley did not believe in a soul, but trusted for\na future life to the resurrection of the body. He was also a firm\nbeliever in philosophical necessity. An active and logical mind like\nMiss Martineau's, destitute of the keenness and profundity which\nbelonged to that of her brother James, might very naturally arrive at\na disbelief in anything but matter and its phenomena. From ignorance\nof these facts, Mrs. Chapman expresses surprise that the inconsistency\nof Harriet Martineau's belief in necessity, with other parts of\nher Unitarianism, \"should not have struck herself, her judges, or\nthe denomination at large.\" It _would_ have been inconsistent with\nAmerican Unitarianism, but it was not foreign from the views of English\nUnitarians at that time.\n\nThe publication of these \"Letters\" naturally caused pain to religious\npeople, and especially to those of them who had known and honored Miss\nMartineau for her many past services in the cause of human freedom and\nprogress. Many of these were Unitarians and Unitarian ministers, who\nhad been long proud of her as a member of their denomination and one of\ntheir most valued co-workers. It seemed necessary for them to declare\ntheir dissent from her new views, and this dissent was expressed in an\narticle in the \"Prospective Review,\" written by her own brother, James\nMartineau. Mrs. Chapman now makes known, what has hitherto been only\na matter of conjecture, that this review gave such serious offense\nto Miss Martineau that she from that time refused to recognize her\nbrother or to have any further communication with him. Mrs. Chapman,\nwho seldom or never finds her heroine in the wrong, justifies and\napproves her conduct also here, quoting a passage from the review in\nsupport of Miss Martineau's conduct in treating her brother as one of\n\"the defamers of old times whom she must never again meet.\" In this\npassage Mr. Martineau only expresses his profound grief that his sister\nshould sit at the feet of such a master as Mr. Atkinson, and lay down\nat his bidding her early faith in moral obligation, in the living God,\nin the immortal sanctities. He calls this \"an inversion of the natural\norder of nobleness,\" implying that Mr. Atkinson ought to have sat at\nher feet instead; and, turning to the review itself, we find this the\nonly passage in which a single word is said which could be regarded as\na censure on Miss Martineau. But Mr. Atkinson is indeed handled with\nsome severity. His language is criticised, and his logic is proved\nfallacious. Much the largest part of the review is, however, devoted to\na refutation of his philosophy and doctrines. Now, as so large a part\nof the \"Letters\" is pervaded with denunciations of the bigotry which\nwill not hear the other side of a question, and filled with admiration\nof those who prefer truth to the ties of kindred, friendship, and old\nassociation, we should have thought that Miss Martineau would rejoice\nin having a brother who could say, \"Amica Harriet, sed magis amica\nveritas.\" Not at all. It was evident that he had said nothing about\nherself at which she could take offense; but in speaking against\nher new philosophy and her new philosopher he had committed the\nunpardonable sin. And Mrs. Chapman allows herself to regard it as a\nnatural inference that this honest and manly review resulted from\n\"masculine terror, fraternal jealousy of superiority, with a sectarian\nand provincial impulse to pull down and crush a world-wide celebrity.\"\nShe considers it \"incomprehensible in an advocate of free thought\" that\nhe should express his thoughts freely in opposition to a book which\nargued against all possible knowledge of God and against all faith in\na future life. It is, however, only just to Miss Martineau to say that\nshe herself has brought no such charges against her brother, but left\nthe matter in silence. We cannot but think that it would have been\nbetter for Miss Martineau's reputation if her biographer had followed\nher example.\n\nBut, though we must object to Mrs. Chapman's views on this point, and\non some others, we must add that her part of the second volume is\nprepared with much ability, and is evidently the result of diligent\nand loyal friendship. Miss Martineau could not have selected a more\nfaithful friend to whom to confide the history of her life. On two\nsubjects, however, we are obliged to dissent from her statements.\nOne is in regard to Dr. Channing, whom she, for some unknown reason,\nsystematically disparages. He was a good man, Mrs. Chapman admits,\n\"but not in any sense a great one. With benevolent intentions, he\ncould not greatly help the nineteenth century, for he knew very little\nabout it, or, indeed, of any other. He had neither insight, courage,\nnor firmness. In his own Church had sprung up a vigorous opposition to\nslavery, which he innocently, in so far as ignorantly, used the little\nstrength he had to stay.\" Certainly it is not necessary to defend the\nmemory of Dr. Channing against such a supercilious judgment as this.\nBut we might well ask why, if he is not a great man, and did not help\nthe nineteenth century, his works should continue to be circulated all\nover Europe? Why should such men in France as Laboulaye and R\u00e9musat\noccupy themselves in translating and diffusing them? Why should\nBunsen class him among the five prophets of the Divine Consciousness\nin Human History,--speaking of \"his fearless speech,\" his \"unfailing\ngood sense,\" and \"his grandeur of soul, which makes him a prophet\nof the Christianity of the Future\"? Bunsen calls him a Greek in his\nmanly nature, a Roman in his civic qualities, and an apostle in his\nChristianity. And was that man deficient in courage or firmness who\nnever faltered in the support of any opinions, however unpopular,\nwhether it was to defend Unitarianism in its weak beginnings, to appear\nin Faneuil Hall as the leader against the defenders of the Alton mob,\nto head the petition for the pardon of Abner Kneeland, and to lay on\nthe altar of antislavery the fame acquired by past labors? Is he to be\naccused of repressing the antislavery movement in his own church, when\nthere is on record the letter in which he advocated giving the use of\nthe church building to the society represented by Mrs. Chapman herself;\nand when the men of influence in his society refused it? Nor, in those\ndays of their unpopularity, did Mrs. Chapman and her friends count\nDr. Channing's aid so insignificant. In her article on \"The Martyr\nAge,\" Miss Martineau describes the profound impression caused by Dr.\nChanning's sudden appearance in the State House to give his countenance\nand aid to Garrison and the Abolitionists, in what, she says, was a\nmatter to them of life and death. And she adds, \"He was thenceforth\nconsidered by the world an accession to their principles, though not to\ntheir organized body.\"\n\nNor do we quite understand Mrs. Chapman's giving to Miss Martineau\nthe credit of being the cause of the petition for the pardon of Abner\nKneeland; as his conviction, and the consequent petition, did not take\nplace until she had been nearly two years out of the country. And why\ndoes Mrs. Chapman select for special contempt, as unfaithful to their\nduty to mankind, the Unitarian ministers? Why does she speak of \"the\ncowardly ranks of American Unitarians\" with such peculiar emphasis? It\nis not our business here to defend this denomination; but we cannot\nbut recall the \"Protest against American Slavery\" prepared and signed\nin 1845 by one hundred and seventy-three Unitarian ministers, out of\na body containing not more than two hundred and fifty in all. And it\nwas this body which furnished to the cause some of its most honored\nmembers. Of those who have belonged to the Unitarian body, we now\nrecall the names of such persons as Samuel J. May, Samuel May, Josiah\nQuincy, John Quincy Adams, John Pierpont, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Gray\nLoring, John G. Palfrey, John P. Hale, Dr. and Mrs. Follen, Theodore\nParker, John Parkman, John T. Sargent, James Russell Lowell, Wm. H.\nFurness, Charles Sumner, Caleb Stetson, John A. Andrew, Lydia Maria\nChild, Dr. S. G. Howe, Horace Mann, T. W. Higginson. So much for the\n\"cowardly ranks of American Unitarians.\"\n\nThe last years of Miss Martineau were happy and peaceful. She had a\npleasant home at Ambleside, on Lake Windermere. She had many friends,\nwas conscious of having done a good work, and if she had no hopes in\nthe hereafter, neither had she any fears concerning it. She was a\nstrong, upright, true-hearted woman; one of those who have helped to\nvindicate \"the right of women to learn the alphabet.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE RISE AND FALL OF THE SLAVE POWER IN AMERICA[48]\n\n\nOn the first day of January, 1832, when the American Antislavery\nSociety was formed in the office of Samuel E. Sewall in Boston, the\nabolition of slavery through any such agency seemed impossible. Almost\nall the great interests of the country were combined to defend and\nsustain the system. The capital invested in slaves amounted to at\nleast one thousand millions of dollars. This vast pecuniary interest\nwas rapidly increasing by the growing demand for the cotton crop\nof the Southern States--a demand which continually overlapped the\nsupply. The whole political power of the thirteen slave States was in\nthe hands of the slaveholders. No white man in the South, unless he\nwas a slaveholder, was ever elected to Congress, or to any important\npolitical position at home. The two great parties, Whig and Democrat,\nwere pledged to the support of slavery in all its constitutional\nrights, and vied with each other in giving to these the largest\ninterpretation. By a constitutional provision, which could not be\naltered, the slave States had in Congress, in 1840, twenty-five more\nRepresentatives in proportion to their number of voters than the free\nStates. By the cohesion of this great political and pecuniary interest\nthe slaveholders, though comparatively few in number, were able to\ngovern the nation. The Presidents, both houses of Congress, the Supreme\nCourt of the United States, the two great political parties, the press\nof the country, the mercantile interest, and that mysterious force\nwhich we call society, were virtually in the hands of the slaveholders.\nWhenever their privileges were attacked, all these powers rallied to\ntheir defense. Public opinion, in the highest circles of society and in\nthe lowest, was perfectly agreed on this one question. The saloons of\nthe Fifth Avenue and the mob of the Five Points were equally loyal to\nthe sacred cause of slavery. Thus all the great powers which control\nfree states were combined for its defense; and the attempt to assail\nthis institution might justly be regarded as madness. In fact, all\ndanger seemed so remote, that even so late as 1840 it was common for\nslaveholders to admit that property in man was an absurdity and an\ninjustice. The system itself was so secure, that they could afford to\nconcede its principle to their opponents. Just as men formerly fought\nduels as a matter of course, while frankly admitting that it was wrong\nto do so,--just as at the present time we concede that war is absurd\nand unchristian, but yet go to war continually, because we know no\nother way of settling international disputes,--so the slaveholders used\nto say, \"Slavery is wrong; we know that: but how is it to be abolished?\nWhat can we do about it?\"\n\nSuch was the state of things in the United States less than half a\ncentury ago. On one side was an enormous pecuniary interest, vast\npolitical power, the weight of the press, an almost unanimous public\nopinion, the necessities of commerce, the authority of fashion, the\nteachings of nearly every denomination in the Christian church, and the\nmoral obligations attributed to the sacred covenants of the fathers of\nthe Republic. On the other side there were only a few voices crying in\nthe wilderness, \"It is unjust to claim property in man.\" The object of\nthe work before us is to show how, after the slave power had reached\nthis summit of influence, it lost it all in a single generation; how,\nless by the zeal of its opponents than by the madness of its defenders,\nthis enormous fabric of oppression was undermined and overthrown; and\nhow, in a few years, the insignificant handful of antislavery people\nbrought to their side the great majority of the nation.\n\nCertainly a work which should do justice to such a history would be\none of the most interesting books ever written. For in this series of\nevents everything was involved which touches most nearly the mind, the\nconscience, the imagination, and the heart of man. How many radical\nproblems in statesmanship, in political economy, in ethics, in\nphilosophy, in theology, in history, in science, came up for discussion\nduring this long controversy! What pathetic stories of suffering, what\nseparation of families, what tales of torture, what cruelty grown into\na custom, what awful depths of misery, came continually to light, as\nthough the judgment-day were beginning to dawn on the dark places of\nthe earth! What romances of adventure, what stories of courage and\nendurance, of ingenuity in contrivance, of determination of soul, were\nlistened to by breathless audiences as related by the humble lips\nof the fugitives from bondage! How trite and meagre became all the\ncommonplaces of oratory before the flaming eloquence of these terrible\nfacts! How tame grew all the conventional rhetoric of pulpit and\nplatform, by the side of speech vitalized by the immediate presence of\nthis majestic argument! The book which should reproduce the antislavery\nhistory of those thirty years would possess an unimagined charm.\n\nWe cannot say that Mr. Wilson's volumes do all this, nor had we any\nright to expect it. He proposes to himself nothing of the sort. What\nhe gives us is, however, of very great value. It is a very carefully\ncollected, clearly arranged, and accurate account of the rise and\nprogress, decline and catastrophe, of slavery in the United States.\nMr. Wilson does not attempt to be philosophical like Bancroft and\nDraper; nor are his pages as picturesque as are those of Motley and\nCarlyle. He tells us a plain unvarnished tale, the interest of which\nis to be found in the statement of the facts exactly as they occurred.\nConsidering that it is a story of events all of which he saw and a\nlarge part of which he was, there is a singular absence of prejudice.\nHe is no man's enemy. He has passed through the fire, and there is no\nsmell of smoke on his garments. An intelligent indignation against\nthe crimes committed in defense of the system he describes pervades\nhis narrative. His impartiality is not indifference, but an absence\nof personal rancor. Individuals and their conduct are criticised only\nso far as is necessary to make clear the course of events and the\ncondition of public feeling. The defenders of slavery at the North and\nSouth are regarded not as bad men, but as the outcome of a bad system.\n\nMr. Wilson's book is a treasury of facts, and will never be superseded\nso far as this peculiar value is concerned. In this respect it somewhat\nresembles Hildreth's \"History of the United States.\" Taking little\nspace for speculation, comment, or picturesque coloring, there is all\nthe more room left for the steady flow of the narrative.\n\nWith a few unimportant omissions, the two volumes now published\ncontain a full history of slavery and antislavery from the Ordinance\nof 1787 and the compromises of the Constitution down to the election\nof Lincoln and the outbreak of the civil war. As a work of reference\nthey are invaluble, for each event in the long struggle for freedom\nis distinctly and accurately told, while the calm story advances\nthrough its various stages. Instead of following this narrative in\ndetail, which our space will not allow, we prefer to call our readers'\nattention to some of the more striking incidents of this great\nrevolution.\n\nOur fathers, when they founded the nation, had little thought that\nslavery was ever to attain such vast extension. They supposed that it\nwould gradually die out from the South, as it had disappeared from\nthe North. Yet the whole danger to their work lay here. Slavery, if\nanything, was the wedge which was to split the Union asunder. When the\nConstitution was formed, in 1787, the slaveholders, by dint of great\neffort, succeeded in getting the little end of the wedge inserted.\nIt was very narrow, a mere sharp line, and it went in only a very\nlittle way; so it seemed to be nothing at all. The slaveholders\nat that time did not contend that slavery was right or good. They\nadmitted that it was a political evil. They confessed, many of them,\nthat it was a moral evil. All the great Southern revolutionary bodies\nhad accustomed themselves to believe in the rights of man, in the\nprinciples of humanity, in the blessings of liberty; and they could\nnot _defend_ slavery. Mason of Virginia, in the debates in the Federal\nConvention, denounced slavery and the slave-trade. \"The evil of\nslavery,\" said he, \"affects the whole Union. Slavery discourages arts\nand manufactures. The poor despise labor when done by slaves. They\nprevent the immigration of whites, who really enrich a country. They\nproduce the most pernicious effects on the manners. Every master of\nslaves is born a petty tyrant. They bring the judgment of Heaven on a\ncountry.\" Williamson of North Carolina declared himself in principle\nand practice opposed to slavery. Madison \"thought it wrong to admit\nin the Constitution the idea that there could be property in man.\"\nBut the extreme Southern States, South Carolina and Georgia, insisted\non the right of importing slaves, at least for a little while; and so\nthey were allowed to import them for twenty years. They also insisted\non having their slaves represented by themselves in Congress, and so\nthey were allowed to count three fifths of the slaves in determining\nthe ratio. This seemed a small thing, but it was the entering of the\nwedge. It was tolerating the principle of slavery; not admitting it,\nbut tolerating it. At the same time that this Convention was forming,\nthe Federal Constitution Congress was prohibiting slavery in all the\nterritory northwest of the Ohio. This prohibition of slavery was\nadopted by the unanimous votes of the eight States present, including\nVirginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia. Two years later it was recognized\nand confirmed by the first Congress under the Constitution. Jefferson,\na commissioner to revise the statute law of Virginia, prepared a\nbill for gradual emancipation in that State. In 1790 a petition was\npresented to Congress, signed by Benjamin Franklin, the last public act\nof his life, declaring equal liberty to be the birthright of all, and\nasking Congress to \"devise means for restoring liberty to the slaves,\nand so removing this inconsistency from the character of the American\npeople.\" In 1804 the people of Virginia petitioned Congress to have\nthe Ordinance of 1787 suspended, that they might hold slaves; but a\ncommittee of Congress, of which John Randolph of Virginia was chairman,\nreported that it would be \"highly dangerous and inexpedient to impair a\nprovision wisely calculated to promote the happiness and prosperity of\nthe Northwest Territory.\"\n\nBut in 1820 the first heavy blow came on the wedge to drive it into the\nlog. The Union is a tough log, and the wedge could be driven a good way\nin without splitting it; but the first blow which drove it in was the\nadopting the Missouri Compromise, allowing slavery to come North and\ntake possession of Missouri.\n\nThe thirty years of prosperity which had followed the adoption of the\nConstitution had changed the feelings of men both North and South. The\nideas of the Revolution had receded into the background; the thirst\nfor wealth and power had taken their place. So the Southern States,\nwhich had cordially agreed thirty years before to prohibit the\nextension of slavery, and had readily admitted it to be a political\nevil, now demanded as a right the privilege of carrying slaves into\nMissouri. They threatened to dissolve the Union, talked of a fire only\nto be extinguished by seas of blood, and proposed to hang a member\nfrom New Hampshire who spoke of liberty. Some of the Northern men\nwere not frightened by these threats, and valued them at their real\nworth. But we know that the result was a compromise. Slavery was to\ntake possession of Missouri, on condition that no other State as far\nnorth as Missouri should be slave-holding. Slavery was to be excluded\nfrom the rest of the territory forever. This bargain was applauded and\njustified by Southern politicians and newspapers as a great triumph\non their part; and it was. That fatal compromise was a surrender of\nprinciple for the sake of peace, bartering conscience for quiet; and we\nwere soon to reap the bitter fruits.\n\nFace to face, in deadly opposition, each determined on the total\ndestruction of his antagonist, stood this Goliath of the slave power\nand the little David of antislavery, at the beginning of the ten years\nwhich extended from 1830 to 1840. The giant was ultimately to fall\nfrom the wounds of his minute opponent, but not during this decade or\nthe next. For many years each of the parties was growing stronger,\nand the fight was growing fiercer. Organization on the one side was\ncontinually becoming more powerful; enthusiasm on the other continually\nbuilt up a more determined opinion. The slave power won repeated\nvictories; but every victory increased the number and ardor of its\nopponents.\n\nThe first attempt to destroy antislavery principles was by means of\nmobs. Mobs seldom take place in a community unless where the upper\nstratum of society and the lower are in sympathetic opposition to\nsome struggling minority. Then the lower class takes its convictions\nfrom the higher, and regards itself as the hand executing what the\nhead thinks ought to be done. Respectability denounces the victim,\nand the rabble hastens to take vengeance on him. Even a mob cannot\nact efficiently unless inspired by ideas; and these it must receive\nfrom some higher source. So it was when Priestley was mobbed at\nBirmingham; so it was when Wesley and his friends were mobbed in\nall parts of England. So it was also in America when the office of\nthe \"Philanthropist\" was destroyed in Cincinnati; when halls and\nchurches were burned in Philadelphia; when Miss Crandall was mobbed in\nConnecticut; when Lovejoy was killed at Alton. Antislavery meetings\nwere so often invaded by rioters, that on one occasion Stephen S.\nFoster is reported to have declared that the speakers were not doing\ntheir duty, because the people listened so quietly. \"If we were doing\nour duty,\" said he, \"they would be throwing brick-bats at us.\"\n\nThese demonstrations only roused and intensified the ardor of the\nAbolitionists, while bringing to their side those who loved fair play,\nand those in whom the element of battle was strong. Mobs also were an\nexcellent advertisement for the Antislavery Society; and this is what\nevery new cause needs most for its extension. Every time that one of\ntheir meetings was violently broken up, every time that any outrage\nor injury was offered to the Abolitionists, all the newspapers in the\nland gave them a gratuitous advertisement by conspicuous notices of the\nevent. So the public mind was directed to the question, and curiosity\nwas excited. The antislavery conventions were more crowded from day to\nday, their journals were more in demand, and their plans and opinions\nbecame the subject of conversation everywhere.\n\nAnd certainly there could be no more interesting place to visit than\none of these meetings of the Antislavery Society. With untiring\nassiduity the Abolitionists brought to their platform everything which\ncould excite and impress their audience. Their orators were of every\nkind,--rough men and shrill-voiced women, polished speakers from the\nuniversities, stammering fugitives from slavery, philosophers and\nfanatics, atheists and Christian ministers, wise men who had been made\nmad by oppression, and babes in intellect to whom God had revealed\nsome of the noblest truths. They murdered the King's English, they\nuttered glaring fallacies, the blows aimed at evildoers often glanced\naside and hit good men. Invective was, perhaps, the too frequent\nstaple of their argument, and any difference of opinion would be apt\nto turn their weapons against each other. This church-militant often\nbecame a church-termagant. Yet, after all such abatement for errors of\njudgment or bad taste, their meetings were a splendid arena on which\nwas fought one of the greatest battles for mankind. The eloquence\nwe heard there was not of the schools, and had nothing artificial\nabout it. It followed the rule of Demosthenes, and was all directed\nto action. Every word was a blow. There was no respect for dignities\nor authorities. The Constitution of the United States, the object of\nsuch unfeigned idolatry to the average American, was denounced as\n\"a covenant with hell.\" The great men of the nation, Webster, Clay,\nJackson, were usually selected as the objects of the severest censure.\nThe rule was to strike at the heads which rose above the crowd, as\ndeserving the sternest condemnation. Presidents and governors, heads of\nuniversities, eminent divines, great churches and denominations, were\nconvicted as traitors to the right, or held up to unsparing ridicule.\nNo conventional proprieties were regarded in the terrible earnestness\nof this enraged speech. It was like the lava pouring from the depths\nof the earth, and melting the very rocks which opposed its resistless\ncourse.\n\nOf course this fierce attack roused as fierce a defense. One extreme\ngenerated the other. The cry for \"immediate abolition\" was answered by\nlabored defenses of slavery itself. Formerly its advocates only excused\nit as a necessary evil; now they began to defend it as a positive good.\nThen was seen the lamentable sight of Christian ministers and respected\ndivines hurrying to the support of the \"sum of all villanies.\" The\nEpiscopal bishop of a New England State defended with ardor the system\nof slavery as an institution supported by the Bible and commanded by\nGod himself. The president of a New England college declared slavery to\nbe a positive institution of revealed religion, and not inconsistent\nwith the law of love. The minister of a Boston church, going to the\nSouth for his health, amused his leisure by writing a book on slavery,\nin which it is made to appear as a rose-colored and delightful\ninstitution, and its opposers are severely censured. One of the most\nlearned professors in a Massachusetts theological school composed a\ntreatise to refute the heresy of the higher law, and to maintain the\nduty of returning fugitive slaves to bondage. Under such guidance it\nwas natural that the churches should generally stand aloof from the\nAbolitionists and condemn their course. It was equally natural that\nthe Abolitionists should then denounce the churches as the bulwark of\nslavery. Nevertheless, from the Christian body came most of those who\ndevoted their lives to the extirpation of this great evil and iniquity.\nAnd Mr. Garrison, at least, always maintained that his converts were\nmost likely to be made among those whose consciences had been educated\nby the Church and the Bible.\n\nFrom public meetings in the North, the conflict of ideas next extended\nitself to the floor of Congress, where it continued to rage during\nnearly thirty years, until \"the war of tongue and pen\" changed to\nthat of charging squadrons, the storm of shot and the roll of cannon.\nThe question found its way into the debates of Congress in the form\nof petitions for the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade in the\nDistrict of Columbia. If the slaveholders had allowed these petitions\nto be received and referred, taking no notice of them, it seems\nprobable that no important results would have followed. But, blinded by\nrage and fear, they opposed their reception, thus denying a privilege\nbelonging to all mankind,--that of asking the government to redress\ntheir grievances. Then came to the front a man already eminent by his\ndescent, his great attainments, his long public service, his great\nposition, and his commanding ability. John Quincy Adams, after having\nbeen President of the United States, accepted a seat in the House of\nRepresentatives, and was one of the most laborious and useful of\nits members. He was not then an Abolitionist, nor in favor even of\nabolishing slavery in the District of Columbia. But he believed that\nthe people had the right to petition the government for anything they\ndesired, and that their respectful petitions should be respectfully\nreceived. Sixty-five years old in 1832, when he began this conflict,\nhis warfare with the slave power ended only when, struck with death\nwhile in his seat, he saw the last of earth and was content. With what\nenergy, what dauntless courage, what untiring industry, what matchless\npowers of argument, what inexhaustible resources of knowledge, he\npursued his object, the future historian of the struggle who can fully\npaint what Mr. Wilson is only able to indicate, will take pleasure in\ndescribing. One scene will remain forever memorable as one of the most\nstriking triumphs of human oratory; and this we must describe a little\nmore fully.\n\nFebruary 6, 1837, being the day for presenting petitions, Mr. Adams had\nalready presented several petitions for the abolition of slavery in the\nDistrict of Columbia (a measure to which he was himself then opposed),\nwhen he proceeded to state[49] that he had in his possession a paper\nupon which he wished the decision of the Speaker. The paper, he said,\ncame from twenty persons declaring themselves to be slaves. He wished\nto know whether the Speaker would consider this paper as coming under\nthe rule of the House.[50] The Chair said he would take the advice of\nthe House on that question. And thereupon began a storm of indignation\nwhich raged around Mr. Adams during four days.[51] Considering that\nthe House had ordered, less than three weeks before, that all papers\nrelating _in any way_ to slavery should be laid on the table without\nany action being taken on them, this four days' discussion about such\na paper, ending in the passing of several resolutions, was rather an\namusing illustration of the irrepressible character of the antislavery\nmovement. The Southern members seemed at first astonished at what they\nhastily assumed to be an attempt of Mr. Adams to introduce a petition\nfrom slaves. One moved that it be not received. Another, indignant\nat such a tame way of meeting the question, declared that any one\nattempting to introduce such a petition should be immediately punished;\nand if that was not done at once, all the members from the slave States\nshould leave the House. Loud cries arose, \"Expel him! expel him!\"\nMr. Alfred declared that the petition ought to be burned. Mr. Waddy\nThompson of South Carolina, who soon received a castigation which he\nlittle anticipated, moved that John Quincy Adams, having committed a\ngross disrespect to the House in attempting to introduce a petition\nfrom slaves, ought to be instantly brought to the bar of the House\nto receive the severe censure of the Speaker. Similar resolutions\nwere offered by Mr. Haynes and Mr. Lewis, all assuming that Mr. Adams\nhad attempted to introduce this petition. He at last took the floor,\nand said that he thought the time of the House was being consumed\nneedlessly, since all these resolutions were founded on an error. He\nhad _not_ attempted to present the petition,--he had only asked the\nSpeaker a question in regard to it. He also advised the member from\nAlabama to amend his resolution, which stated the petition to be for\nthe abolition of slavery in the District, whereas it was the very\nreverse of that. It was a petition for something which would be very\nobjectionable to himself, though it might be the very thing for which\nthe gentleman from Alabama was contending. Then Mr. Adams sat down,\nleaving his opponents more angry than ever, but somewhat confused in\ntheir minds. They could not very well censure him for doing what he\nhad not done, but they wished very much to censure him. So Mr. Waddy\nThompson modified his resolution, making it state that Mr. Adams, \"by\ncreating the impression, and leaving the House under the impression,\nthat the petition was for the abolition of slavery,\" had trifled with\nthe House, and should receive its censure. After a multitude of other\nspeeches from the enraged Southern chivalry, the debate of the first\nday came to an end.\n\nOn the next day (February 7), in reply to a question, Mr. Adams stated\nagain that he had not attempted to present the petition, though his\nown feelings would have led him to do so, but had kept it in his\npossession, out of respect to the House. He had said nothing to lead\nthe House to infer that this petition was for the abolition of slavery.\nHe should consider before presenting a petition from slaves; though,\nin his opinion, slaves had a right to petition, and the mere fact of\na petition being from slaves would not of itself prevent him from\npresenting it. If the petition were a proper one, he should present\nit. A petition was a prayer, a supplication to a superior being.\nSlaves might pray to God; was this House so superior that it could not\ncondescend to hear a prayer from those to whom the Almighty listened?\nHe ended by saying that, in asking the question of the Speaker, he had\nintended to show the greatest respect to the House, and had not the\nleast purpose of trifling with it.\n\nThese brief remarks of Mr. Adams made it necessary for the slaveholders\nagain to change their tactics. Mr. Dromgoole of Virginia now brought\nforward his famous resolution, which Mr. Adams afterwards made so\nridiculous, accusing him of having \"given color to an idea\" that\nslaves had a right to petition, and that he should be censured by\nthe Speaker for this act. Another member proposed, rather late in the\nday, that a committee be appointed to inquire whether any attempt had\nbeen made, or not, to offer a petition from slaves. Another offered a\nseries of resolutions, declaring that if any one \"hereafter\" should\noffer petitions from slaves he ought to be regarded as an enemy of the\nSouth, and of the Union; but that \"as John Quincy Adams had stated\nthat he meant no disrespect to the House, that all proceedings as to\nhis conduct should now cease.\" And so, after many other speeches, the\nsecond day's debate came to an end.\n\nThe next day was set apart to count the votes for President, and so\nthe debate was resumed February 9. It soon become more confused than\never. Motions were made to lay the resolutions on the table; they were\nwithdrawn; they were renewed; they were voted down; and, finally, after\nmuch discussion, and when at last the final question was about being\ntaken, Mr. Adams inquired whether he was to be allowed to be heard in\nhis own defense before being condemned. So he obtained the floor, and\nimmediately the whole aspect of the case was changed. During three days\nhe had been the prisoner at the bar; suddenly he became the judge on\nthe bench. Never, in the history of forensic eloquence, has a single\nspeech effected a greater change in the purpose of a deliberative\nassembly. Often as the Horatian description has been quoted of the\njust man, tenacious of his purpose, who fears not the rage of citizens\nclamoring for what is wrong, it has never found a fitter application\nthan to the unshaken mind of John Quincy Adams, standing alone, in the\nmidst of his antagonists, like a solid monument which the idle storms\nbeat against in vain.\n\nHe began by saying that he had been waiting during these three days\nfor an answer to the question which he had put to the Speaker, and\nwhich the Speaker had put to the House, but which the House had not\nyet answered, namely, whether the paper he held in his hand came under\nthe rule of the House or not. They had discussed everything else, but\nhad not answered that question. They had wasted the time of the House\nin considering how they could censure him for doing what he had not\ndone. All he wished to know was, whether a petition from slaves should\nbe received or not. He himself thought that it ought to be received;\nbut if the House decided otherwise, he should not present it. Only one\ngentleman had undertaken to discuss that question, and his argument\nwas, that if slavery was abolished by Congress in any State, the\nConstitution was violated; and, _therefore_, slaves ought not to be\nallowed to petition for anything. He, Mr. Adams, was unable to see the\nconnection between the premises and the conclusion.\n\nHereupon poor Mr. French, the author of this argument, tried to\nexplain what he meant by it, but left his meaning as confused as before.\n\nThen Mr. Adams added, that if you deprived any one in the community of\nthe right of petition, which was only the right of offering a prayer,\nyou would find it difficult to know where to stop; one gentleman had\nobjected to the reception of one petition, because offered by women of\na bad character. Mr. Patton of Virginia says he _knows_ that one of the\nnames is of a woman of a bad character. _How does he know it?_\n\nHereupon Mr. Patton explained that he did not himself know the woman,\nbut had been told that her character was not good.\n\nSo, said Mr. Adams, you first deny the right of petition to slaves,\nthen to free people of color, and then you inquire into the moral\ncharacter of a petitioner before you receive his petition. The next\nstep will be to inquire into the political belief of the petitioners\nbefore you receive your petition. Mr. Robertson of Virginia had said\nthat no petitions ought to be received for an object which Congress\nhad no power to grant. Mr. Adams replied, with much acuteness, that\non most questions the right of granting the petition might be in\ndoubt: a majority must decide that point; it would therefore follow,\nfrom Mr. Robertson's rule, that no one had a right to petition unless\nhe belonged to the predominant party. Mr. Adams then turned to Mr.\nDromgoole, who had charged him with the remarkable crime of \"giving\ncolor to an idea,\" and soon made that Representative of the Old\nDominion appear very ridiculous.\n\nMr. Adams then proceeded to rebuke, with dignity but severity, the\nconduct of those who had proposed to censure him without any correct\nknowledge of the facts of the case. His criticisms had the effect\nof compelling these gentlemen to excuse themselves and to offer\nvarious explanations of their mistakes. These assailants suddenly\nfound themselves in an attitude of self-defense. Mr. Adams graciously\naccepted their explanations, advising them in future to be careful when\nthey undertook to offer resolutions of censure. He then informed Mr.\nWaddy Thompson of South Carolina that he had one or two questions to\nput to him. By this time it had become a pretty serious business to\nreceive the attentions of Mr. Adams; and Mr. Waddy Thompson immediately\nrose to explain. But Mr. Adams asked him to wait until he had fully\nstated the question which Mr. Thompson was to answer. This Southern\nstatesman had threatened the ex-President of the United States with an\nindictment by the grand jury of the District for words spoken in debate\nin the House of Representatives, and had added that, if the petition\nwas presented, Mr. Adams would be sent to the penitentiary. \"Sir,\"\nsaid Mr. Adams, \"the only answer I make to such a threat from that\ngentleman is, to invite him, when he returns to his constituents, to\nstudy a little the first principles of civil liberty.\" He then called\non the gentlemen from the slave States to say how many of them indorsed\nthat sentiment. \"_I_ do not,\" said Mr. Underwood of Kentucky. \"_I_ do\nnot,\" said Mr. Wise of Virginia. Mr. Thompson was compelled to attempt\nanother explanation, and said he meant that, in _South Carolina_, any\nmember of the legislature who should present a petition from slaves\ncould be indicted. \"Then,\" replied Mr. Adams, and this produced a great\nsensation, \"if it is the law of South Carolina that members of her\nLegislature may be indicted by juries for words spoken in debate, God\nAlmighty receive my thanks that I am not a citizen of South Carolina.\"\n\nMr. Adams ended his speech by declaring that the honor of the\nHouse of Representatives was always regarded by him as a sacred\nsentiment, and that he should feel a censure from that House as the\nheaviest misfortune of a long life, checkered as it had been by many\nvicissitudes.\n\nWhen Mr. Adams began his defense, not only was a large majority of\nthe House opposed to his course, but they had brought themselves by\na series of violent harangues into a condition of bitter excitement\nagainst him. When he ended, the effect of this extraordinary speech\nwas such, that all the resolutions were rejected, and out of the whole\nHouse only twenty-two members could be found to pass a vote of even\nindirect censure. The victory was won, and won by Mr. Adams almost\nsingle-handed. We count Horatius Cocles a hero for holding the Roman\nbridge against a host of enemies; but greater honors belong to him\nwho successfully defends against overwhelming numbers the ancient\nsafeguards of public liberty. For this reason we have repeated here at\nsuch length the story of three days, which the people of the United\nStates ought always to remember. It took ten years to accomplish the\nactual repeal of these gag-laws. But the main work was done when the\nright of speech was obtained for the friends of freedom in Congress;\nand John Quincy Adams was the great leader in this warfare. He was\njoined on that arena by other noble champions,--Giddings, Mann,\nPalfrey, John P. Hale, Chase, Seward, Slade of Vermont, Julian of\nIndiana. Others no less devoted followed them, among whom came from\nMassachusetts Charles Sumner and Henry Wilson, the author of the\npresent work. What he cannot properly say of himself should be said\nfor him. Though an accomplished and eager politician, Henry Wilson has\nnever sacrificed any great principle for the sake of political success.\nHis services to the antislavery cause have been invaluable, his labors\nin that cause unremitting. Personal feelings and personal interests he\nhas been ready to sacrifice for the sake of the cause. Loyal to his\nfriends, he has not been bitter to his opponents; and if any man who\nfought through that long struggle were to be its historian, no one will\ndeny the claims of Mr. Wilson to that honor.\n\nUnder the lead of John Quincy Adams, the power to discuss the whole\nsubject of slavery in the National Legislature was won, and never\nagain lost. This was the second triumph of the antislavery movement;\nits first was the power won by Garrison and his friends of discussing\nthe subject before the people. The wolfish mob in the cities and in\nCongress might continue to howl, but it had lost its claws and teeth.\nBut now came the first great triumph of the slave power, in the\nannexation of Texas. This was a cruel blow to the friends of freedom.\nIt was more serious because the motive of annexation was openly\nannounced, and the issue distinctly presented in the Presidential\nelection. Mr. Upshur, Tyler's Secretary of State, in an official\ndispatch, declared that the annexation of Texas was necessary to secure\nthe institution of slavery. The Democratic Convention which nominated\nMr. Polk for the Presidency deliberately made the annexation of Texas\nthe leading feature of its platform. Nor was the slave power in this\nmovement opposed merely by the antislavery feeling of the country.\nSouthern senators helped to defeat the measure when first presented in\nthe form of a treaty by Mr. Tyler's administration. Nearly the whole\nWhig party was opposed to it. The candidate of the Whigs, Henry Clay,\nhad publicly declared that annexation would be a great evil to the\nnation. Twenty members of Congress, with John Quincy Adams at their\nhead, had proclaimed in an address to their constituents that it would\nbe equivalent to a dissolution of the Union. Dr. Channing, in 1838, had\nsaid that it would be better for the nation to perish than to commit\nsuch an outrageous wrong. Edward Everett, in 1837, spoke of annexation\nas \"an enormous crime.\" Whig and Democratic legislatures had repeatedly\ndenounced it. In 1843, when the Democrats had a majority in the\nMassachusetts legislature, they resolved that \"under no circumstances\nwhatever\" could the people of Massachusetts approve of annexation.\nMartin Van Buren opposed it as unjust to Mexico. Senator Benton, though\npreviously in favor of the measure, in a speech in Missouri declared\nthat the object of those who were favoring the scheme was to dissolve\nthe Union, though he afterward came again to its support. And yet when\nthe Presidential campaign was in progress, a Democratic torchlight\nprocession miles long was seen marching through the streets of Boston,\nand flaunting the lone star of Texas along its whole line. And when\nPolk was elected, and the decision of the nation virtually given for\nthis scheme, it seemed almost hopeless to contend longer against such\na triumph of slavery. If the people of the North could submit to this\noutrage, it appeared as if they could submit to anything.\n\nSuch, however, was not the case. On one side the slave power was\ngreatly strengthened by the admission of Texas to the Union as a slave\nState; but, on the other hand, there came a large accession to the\nantislavery body. And this continued to be the case during many years.\nThe slave power won a succession of political victories, each of which\nwas a moral victory to its opponents. Many who were not converted to\nantislavery by the annexation of Texas in 1845 were brought over by\nthe defeat of the Wilmot Proviso and the passage of the Fugitive Slave\nLaw in 1850. Many who were not alarmed by these successes of slavery\nwere convinced of the danger when they beheld the actual working of\nthe Fugitive Slave Act. How many Boston gentlemen, before opposed to\nthe Abolitionists, were brought suddenly to their side when they saw\nthe Court House in chains, and were prevented by soldiers guarding\nAnthony Burns from going to their banks or insurance offices in State\nStreet! All those bitter hours of defeat and disaster planted the seeds\nof a greater harvest for freedom. Others who remained insensible to\nthe disgrace of the slave laws of 1850 were recruited to the ranks of\nfreedom by the repeal of the Missouri Compromise in 1854. This last\nact, Mr. Wilson justly says, did more than any other to arouse the\nNorth, and convince it of the desperate encroachments of slavery. Men\nwho tamely acquiesced in _this_ great wrong were startled into moral\nlife by the murderous assault on Charles Sumner by Preston Brooks in\n1856. Those who could submit to this were roused by the border ruffians\nfrom Missouri who invaded Kansas, and made the proslavery Constitution\nfor that State. The Dred Scott decision in 1857, which declared slavery\nto be no local institution, limited to a single part of the land, but\nhaving a right to exist in the free States under the Constitution,\nalarmed even those who had been insensible to the previous aggressions\nof slavery. This series of political successes of the slave power was\nappalling. Every principle of liberty, every restraint on despotism,\nwas overthrown in succession, until the whole power of the nation had\nfallen into the hands of an oligarchy of between three and four hundred\nthousand slaveholders. But every one of their political victories was a\nmoral defeat; every access to their strength as an organization added\nan immense force to the public opinion opposed to them; and each of\ntheir successes was responded to by some advance of the antislavery\nmovement. The annexation of Texas in 1845 was answered by the\nappearance of John P. Hale, in 1847, in the United States Senate,--the\nfirst man who was elected to that body on distinctly antislavery\ngrounds and independent of either of the great parties. The response\nto the defeat of the Wilmot Proviso and passage of the Fugitive Slave\nLaw in 1850 was the election of Charles Sumner to the Senate in April,\n1851, and the establishment of the underground railroad in all the\nfree States. When the South abrogated the Missouri Compromise, the\nNorth replied by the initiation of the Republican party. The Kansas\noutrages gave to freedom John Brown of Osawatomie. And the answer to\nthe Dred Scott decision was the nomination of Abraham Lincoln. Till\nthat moment the forces of freedom and slavery had stood opposed, like\ntwo great armies, each receiving constant recruits and an acccession of\nnew power. On one side, hitherto, had been all the political triumphs,\nand on the other all the moral. But with this first great political\nsuccess of their opponents the slave power became wholly demoralized,\ngave up the conflict, threw away the results of all its former\nvictories, and abandoned the field to its enemies, plunging into the\ndark abyss of secession and civil war.\n\nAnd yet, what was the issue involved in that election? It was simply\nwhether slavery should or should not be extended into new Territories.\nAll that the Republican party demanded was that slavery should not be\nextended. It did not dream of abolishing slavery in the slave States.\nWe remember how, long after the war began, we refused to do this. The\nSoutherners had every guaranty they could desire that they should not\nbe interfered with at home. If they had gracefully acquiesced in the\ndecision of the majority, their institution might have flourished for\nanother century. The Fugitive Slave Law would have been repealed; or,\nat all events, trial by jury would have been given to the man claimed\nas a fugitive. But no attempt would have been made by the Republican\nparty to interfere with slavery in the slave States, for that party did\nnot believe it had the right so to do.\n\nBut, in truth, the course of the Southern leaders illustrated in a\nstriking way the distinction between a politician and a statesman. They\nwere very acute politicians, trained in all the tactics of their art;\nbut they were poor statesmen, incapable of any large strategic plan\nof action. As statesmen, they should have made arrangements for the\ngradual abolition of slavery, as an institution incapable of sustaining\nitself in civilized countries in the nineteenth century. Or, if they\nwished to maintain it as long as possible, they ought to have seen\nthat this could only be accomplished by preserving the support of\nthe interests and the public opinion of the North. Alliance with the\nNorthern States was their only security; and, therefore, they ought to\nhave kept the Northern conscience on their side by a loyal adherence to\nall compacts and covenants. Instead of this, they contrived to outrage,\none by one, every feeling of honor, every sentiment of duty, and every\nvested right of the free States, until, at last, it became plain to all\nthat it was an \"irrepressible conflict,\" and must be settled definitely\neither for slavery or for freedom. When this point was reached by the\nAmerican people, they saw also that it could not be settled in favor\nof slavery, for no concession would satisfy the slaveholders, and no\ncontract these might make could be depended on. The North gave them, in\n1850, the Fugitive Slave Law for the sake of peace. Did it gain peace?\nNo. It relinquished, for the sake of peace, the Wilmot Proviso. Was the\nSouth satisfied? No. In 1853 Mr. Douglas offered it the Nebraska Bill.\nWas it contented? By no means. Mr. Pierce and Mr. Buchanan did their\nbest to give it Kansas. Did they content the South by their efforts?\nNo. Mr. Douglas, Mr. Pierce, and Mr. Buchanan were all set aside by\nthe South. The Lecompton Bill was not enough. The Dred Scott decision\nwas not enough. The slaveholders demanded that slavery should be\nestablished by a positive act of Congress in all the Territories of the\nUnion. Even Judge Douglas shrank aghast from the enterprise of giving\nthem such a law as that; and so Judge Douglas was immediately thrown\naside. Thus, by the folly of the Southern leaders themselves, more than\nby the efforts of their opponents, the majority was obtained by the\nRepublicans in the election of 1860.\n\nBut during this conflict came many very dark days for freedom. One\nof these was after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law in 1850.\nThat law was one of a series of compromises, intended to make a final\nsettlement of the question and to silence all antislavery agitation.\nAlthough defended by great lawyers, who thought it necessary to save\nthe Union, there is little doubt that it was as unconstitutional as\nit was cruel. The Constitution declares that \"no person shall be\ndeprived of his liberty without due process of law,\" and also that\n\"in suits at common law, when the value in controversy shall exceed\ntwenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved.\" Anthony\nBurns was in full possession of his liberty; he was a self-supporting,\ntax-paying citizen of Massachusetts; and in ten days, by the action of\nthe Fugitive Slave Law, he was turned into a slave under the decision\nof a United States commissioner, without seeing a judge or a jury.\nThe passage of this law, and its actual enforcement, caused great\nexcitement among the free colored people at the North, as well as among\nthe fugitives from slavery. No one was safe. It was evident that it was\nmeant to be enforced,--it was not meant to be idle thunder. But instead\nof discouraging the friends of freedom, it roused them to greater\nactivity. More fugitives than ever came from the slave States, and the\nunderground railroad was in fuller activity than before. The methods\nemployed by fugitives to escape were very various and ingenious. One\nman was brought away in a packing-box. Another clung to the lower side\nof the guard of a steamer, washed by water at every roll of the vessel.\nOne well-known case was that of Ellen Crafts, who came from Georgia\ndisguised as a young Southern gentleman, attended by her husband as\nbody-servant. She rode in the cars, sitting near Southerners who knew\nher, but did not recognize her in this costume, and at last arrived\nsafe in Philadelphia. In one instance a slave escaped from Kentucky,\nwith all his family, walking some distance on stilts, in order to leave\nno scent for the pursuing blood-hounds. When these poor people reached\nthe North, and told their stories on the antislavery platform, they\nexcited great sympathy, which was not confined to professed antislavery\npeople. A United States commissioner, who might be called on to return\nfugitives to bondage, frequently had them concealed in his own house,\nby the action of his wife, whose generous heart never wearied in this\nwork, and who was the means of saving many from bondage. A Democratic\nUnited States marshal, in Boston, whose duty it was to arrest fugitive\nslaves, was in the habit of telling the slave-owner who called on him\nfor assistance that he \"did not know anything about niggers, but he\nwould find out where the man was from those who did.\" Whereupon he\nwould go directly to Mr. Garrison's office and tell him he wanted to\narrest such or such a man, a fugitive from slavery. \"But,\" said he,\n\"curiously enough, the next thing I heard would be, that the fellow was\nin Canada.\" And when a colored man was actually sent back to slavery,\nas in the case of Burns, the event excited so much sympathy with\nthe fugitive, and so much horror of the law, that its effects were\ndisastrous to the slave power. Thomas M. Simms was arrested in Boston\nas a fugitive from slavery, April 3, 1851, and was sent to slavery by\nthe decision of George Ticknor Curtis, a United States commissioner.\nThe answer to this act, by Massachusetts, was the election of Charles\nSumner, twenty-one days after, to the United States Senate. Anthony\nBurns was returned to slavery by order of Edward G. Loring, in May,\n1854; and Massachusetts responded by removing him from his office as\nJudge of Probate, and refusing his confirmation as a professor in\nHarvard University.\n\nThe passage of what were called the compromise measures of 1850,\nincluding the Fugitive Slave Law, had, it was fondly believed, put an\nend to the whole antislavery agitation. The two great parties, Whig and\nDemocrat, had agreed that such should be the case. The great leaders,\nHenry Clay and Daniel Webster, Cass and Buchanan, were active in\ncalling on the people to subdue their prejudices in favor of freedom.\nSouthern fire-eaters, like Toombs and Alexander Stephens, joined these\nUnion-savers, and became apostles of peace. Agitation was the only\nevil, and agitation must now come to an end. Public meetings were held\nin the large cities,--one in Castle Garden in New York, another in\nFaneuil Hall in Boston. In these meetings the lion and the lamb lay\ndown together. Rufus Choate and Benjamin Hallet joined in demanding\nthat all antislavery agitation should now cease. The church was called\nupon to assist in the work of Union-saving, and many leading divines\nlent their aid in this attempt to silence those who desired that\nthe oppressed should go free, and who wished to break every yoke.\nMany seemed to suppose that all antislavery agitation was definitely\nsuppressed. President Fillmore called the compromise measures \"a final\nadjustment.\" All the powers which control human opinion--the two great\npolitical parties, the secular and the religious newspapers, the large\nchurches and popular divines, the merchants and lawyers--had agreed\nthat the antislavery agitation should now cease.[52]\n\nBut just at that moment, when the darkness was the deepest, and all\nthe great powers in the church and state had decreed that there should\nbe no more said concerning American slavery, the voice of a woman broke\nthe silence, and American slavery became the one subject of discussion\nthroughout the world. \"Uncle Tom's Cabin\" was written by Mrs. Stowe\nfor the \"National Era,\" Dr. Bailey's paper in Washington. It was\nintended to be a short story, running through two or three numbers of\nthe journal, and she was to receive a hundred dollars for writing it.\nBut, as she wrote, the fire burned in her soul, a great inspiration\ncame over her, and, not knowing what she was about to do, she moved\nthe hearts of two continents to their very depths. After her story\nhad appeared in the newspaper, she offered it as a novel to several\npublishers, who refused it. Accepted at last, it had a circulation\nunprecedented in the annals of literature. In eight weeks its sale had\nreached one hundred thousand copies in the United States, while in\nEngland a million copies were sold within the year. On the European\nContinent the sale was immense. A single publisher in Paris issued five\neditions in a few weeks, and before the end of 1852 it was translated\ninto Italian, Spanish, Danish, Swedish, Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish,\nand Magyar. To these were afterward added translations into Portuguese,\nWelsh, Russian, Arabic, and many other languages. For a time, it\nstopped the publication and sale of all other works; and within a\nyear or two from the day when the politicians had decided that no more\nshould be said concerning American slavery, it had become the subject\nof conversation and discussion among millions.\n\n\"Uncle Tom's Cabin\" was published in 1852. Those were very dark hours\nin the great struggle for freedom. Who that shared them can ever\nforget the bitterness caused by the defection of Daniel Webster, and\nhis 7th of March speech in 1850; by the passage of the Fugitive Slave\nLaw, which made the whole area of the free States a hunting-ground for\nthe slaveholders; and by the rejection of the Wilmot Proviso, which\nabandoned all the new territory to slavery? This was followed by the\nelection of Franklin Pierce as President in 1852, on a platform in\nwhich the Democratic party pledged itself to resist all agitation of\nthe subject of slavery in Congress or outside of it. And in December,\n1853, Stephen A. Douglas introduced his Nebraska Bill, which repealed\nthe Missouri Compromise of 1820, and opened all the territory\nheretofore secured to freedom to slaveholders and their slaves. This\noffer on the part of Mr. Douglas was a voluntary bid for the support\nof the slaveholders in the next Presidential election. And in spite\nof all protests from the North, all resistance by Democrats as well\nas their opponents, all arguments and appeals, this solemn agreement\nbetween the North and the South was violated, and every restriction on\nslavery removed. Nebraska and Kansas were organized as Territories,\nand the question of slavery left to local tribunals, or what was called\n\"squatter sovereignty.\"\n\nThe passage of this measure showed the vast political advance of the\nslave power in the country, and how greatly it had corrupted the\npolitical conscience of the nation. It also showed, to those who had\neyes, that slavery was the wedge which was to split the Union asunder.\nBut there were in the North many persons who still thought that danger\nto the Union came rather from the _discussion_ of slavery than from\nslavery itself. They supposed that if all opposition to slavery should\ncease, then there would be no more danger. The Abolitionists were the\ncause of all the peril; and the way to save the Union was to silence\nthe Abolitionists. That, however, had been tried ineffectually when\nthey were few and weak; and now it was too late, as these Union-savers\nought to have seen.\n\nMr. Douglas and his supporters defended their cause by maintaining\nthat the Missouri Compromise was not a contract, but a simple act of\nlegislation, and they tauntingly asked, \"Why, since antislavery men had\nalways thought that Compromise a bad thing, should they now object to\nits being repealed?\" Even this sophism had its effect with some, who\ndid not notice that Douglas's resolutions only repealed that half of\nthe Compromise which was favorable to freedom, while letting the other\nhalf remain. One part of the Act of 1820 was that Missouri should be\nadmitted as a slave State; the other part was that all the rest of the\nTerritory should be forever free. Only the last part was now repealed.\nMissouri was left in the Union as a slave State.\n\nThe political advance now made by slavery will appear from the\nfollowing facts:--\n\nIn 1797 the slave power asked for only life; it did not wish to extend\nitself; it united with the North in prohibiting its own extension into\nthe Northwest Territory.\n\nIn 1820 it did wish to extend itself; it refused to be shut out of\nMissouri, but was willing that the rest of the Territory should be\nalways free.\n\nIn 1845 it insisted on extending itself by annexing Texas, but it\nadmitted that it had no right to go into any Territory as far north as\nMissouri.\n\nIn 1850 it refused to be shut out of any of the new territory, and\nresisted the Wilmot Proviso; but still confessed that it had no right\nto go into Kansas or Nebraska.\n\nFive years after, by the efforts of Stephen A. Douglas and Franklin\nPierce, it refused to be shut out of Kansas, and repealed the part of\nthe Missouri Compromise which excluded it from that region. But, in\norder to accomplish this repeal, it took the plausible name of \"popular\nsovereignty,\" and claimed that the people should themselves decide\nwhether they would have a slave State or a free State.\n\nOne additional step came. The people decided or were about to decide\nfor freedom; and then the slave power set aside its own doctrine\nof popular sovereignty and invaded the Territory with an army of\nMissourians, chose a legislature for the people of Kansas composed of\nMissourians, who passed laws establishing slavery and punishing with\nfine and imprisonment any who should even speak against it.\n\nThe people of Kansas refused to obey these laws. They would have been\nslaves already if they had obeyed them. Then their own governor,\nappointed by our President, led an army of Missourians to destroy\ntheir towns and plunder and murder their people. Nothing was left\nthem but to resist. They did resist manfully but prudently, and by a\nremarkable combination of courage and caution the people of the little\nFree-State town of Lawrence succeeded in saving themselves from this\ndanger without shedding a drop of blood. Men, women, and children were\nanimated by the same heroic spirit. The women worked by the side of the\nmen. The men were placed on the outposts as sentinels and ordered by\ntheir general not to fire as long as they could possibly avoid it. And\nthese men stood on their posts, and allowed themselves to be shot at by\nthe invaders, and did not return the fire. One man received two bullets\nthrough his hat, and was ready to fire if the enemy came nearer, but\nneither fired nor quitted his post. The men were brave and obedient\nto orders; the women were resolute, sagacious, and prudent. So they\nescaped their first great danger.\n\nBut slavery does not give up its point so easily after one defeat.\nPreparations were made along the Missouri frontier for another\ninvasion, conducted in a more military manner and by troops under\nbetter discipline. The Free-State people of Kansas were to be\nexterminated. From week to week they were expecting an attack, and had\nto watch continually against it. After having worked all day the men\nwere obliged to do military duty and stand guard all night. Men who\nlived four and five miles out from Lawrence got wood and water for\ntheir wives in the morning, left them a revolver with which to defend\nthemselves, and went to Lawrence to do military duty, returning at\nnight again.\n\nIf we had a writer gifted with the genius of Macaulay to describe the\nresistance of Kansas to the Federal authorities on one side and the\nMissouri invaders on the other, it would show as heroic courage and\nendurance as are related in the brilliant pages which tell of the\ndefense of Londonderry. The invaders were unscrupulous, knowing that\nthey had nothing to fear from the government at Washington. Senator\nAtchison, formerly the presiding officer of the United States Senate,\nopenly advised the people of Missouri to go and vote in Kansas. General\nStringfellow told them to take their bowie-knives and exterminate\nevery scoundrel who was tainted with Free-soilism or Abolitionism.\nThe orders were obeyed. The first legislature was elected by armed\ninvaders from Missouri, and Buford with a regiment of Southern soldiers\nentered the Territory in 1856, and surrounded Lawrence. These troops,\nunder Atchison, Buford, and Stringfellow, burned houses and hotels,\nand stole much property. Osawatomie was sacked and burned, Leavenworth\ninvaded and plundered, and Free-State men were killed. A proslavery\nconstitution formed by Missouri slaveholders was forced through\nCongress, but rejected by the people of Kansas, who at last gained\npossession of their own State by indomitable courage and patience.\nFour territorial governors, appointed by the President, selected from\nthe Democratic party and favorable to the extension of slavery, were\nall converted to the cause of freedom by the sight of the outrages\ncommitted by the Missouri invaders.\n\nAmid this scene of tumult arose a warrior on the side of freedom\ndestined to take his place with William Wallace and William Tell among\nthe few names of patriots which are never forgotten. John Brown of\nOsawatomie was one of those who, in these later days, have reproduced\nfor us the almost forgotten type of the Jewish hero and prophet. He was\na man who believed in a God of justice, who believed in fighting fire\nwith fire. He was one who came in the spirit and power of Elijah, an\naustere man, a man absorbed in his ideas, fixed as fate in pursuing\nthem. Yet his heart was full of tenderness, he had no feeling of\nrevenge toward any, and he really lost his own life rather than risk\nthe lives of others. While in Kansas he become a leader of men, a\ncaptain, equal to every exigency. The ruffians from Missouri found to\ntheir surprise that, before they could conquer Kansas, they had some\nreal fighting to do, and must face Sharpe's rifles; and as soon as they\nunderstood this, their zeal for their cause was very much abated. In\nthis struggle John Brown was being educated for the last scene of his\nlife, which has lifted up his name, and placed it in that body which\nDaniel O'Connell used to call \"The order of Liberators.\"[53]\n\nOut of these persecutions of Free-State men in Kansas came the assault\non Charles Sumner, for words spoken in debate. Charles Sumner was\nelected to the United States Senate in 1851. He found in Congress some\nstrong champions of freedom. John Quincy Adams was gone; but Seward\nwas there, and Chase, and John P. Hale, in the Senate; and Horace\nMann, Giddings, and other true men in the House. Henry Wilson himself,\nalways a loyal friend to Sumner, did not come till 1855. These men all\ndiffered from one another, and each possessed special gifts for his\narduous work. They stood face to face with an imperious majority,\naccustomed to rule. They had only imperfect support at home,--people\nand press at the North had been demoralized by slavery. They must watch\ntheir words, be careful of what they said, control their emotions,\nmaintain an equal temper. Something of the results of this discipline\nwe think we perceive in the calm tone of Mr. Wilson's volumes, and the\nabsence of passion in his narration. These men must give no occasion to\nthe enemy to blaspheme, but be careful of their lips and their lives.\nTheir gifts, we have said, were various. Seward was a politician,\ntrained in all the intricate ways of New York party struggles; but\nhe was also a thinker of no small power of penetration. He could see\nprinciples, but was too much disposed to sacrifice or postpone them\nto some supposed exigency of the hour. In his orations, when he spoke\nfor mankind, his views were large; but in his politics he sometimes\ngave up to party his best-considered convictions. Thought and action,\nhe seemed to believe, belonged to two spheres; in his thought he was\noften broader in his range than any other senator, but in action he was\nfrequently tempted to temporize. Mr. Chase was a man of a different\nsort. He had no disposition to concede any of his views. A cautious\nman, he moved slowly; but when he had taken his position, he was not\ndisposed to leave it. John P. Hale was admirable in reply. His retorts\nwere rapid and keen, and yet were uttered so good-naturedly, and\nwith so much wit, that it was difficult for his opponents to take\noffense. But Charles Sumner was \"the noblest Roman of them all.\" With\na more various culture, a higher tone of moral sentiment, he was also\na learned student and a man of implacable opinions. He never could\ncomprehend Mr. Seward's diplomacy, and probably Mr. Seward could never\nunderstand Sumner's inability to compromise. He was deficient in\nimagination and in tact; therefore he could not enter into the minds of\nothers, and imperfectly understood them. But the purity of his soul and\nlife, the childlike simplicity of his purposes, and the sweetness of\nhis disposition, were very charming to those who knew him well. Add to\nthis the resources of a mind stored with every kind of knowledge, and a\nmemory which never forgot anything, and his very presence in Washington\ngave an added value to the place. He had seen men and cities, and was\nintimate with European celebrities, but yet was an Israelite indeed\nin whom was no guile. Fond of the good opinions of others, and well\npleased with their approbation, he never sacrificed a conviction to win\ntheir praise or to avoid their censure. Certainly, he was one of the\npurest men who ever took part in American politics.\n\nIt was such a man as this, so gifted and adorned, so spotless and\nupright, who by the wise providence of God was permitted to be the\nvictim of a brutal assassin. It was this noble head, the instrument of\nlaborious thought for the public welfare, which was beaten and bruised\nby the club of a ruffian, on May 22, 1856. Loud was the triumph through\nthe South, great the joy of the slave power. They had disabled, with\ncruel blows, their chief enemy. Little did they foresee--bad men never\ndo foresee--that Charles Sumner was to return to his seat, and become a\ngreat power in the land, long after their system had been crushed, and\ntheir proud States trampled into ruin by the tread of Northern armies.\nThey did not foresee that he was to be the trusted counselor of Lincoln\nduring those years of war; and that, after they had been conquered, he\nwould become one of their best friends in their great calamity, and\nrepay their evil with good.\n\nThis murderous assault on Mr. Sumner cannot be considered as having\nstrengthened the political position of the slave power. It was a great\nmistake in itself, and it was a greater mistake in being indorsed by\nsuch multitudes in the slave States. In thus taking the responsibility\nof the act, they fully admitted that brutality, violence, and cowardly\nattempts at assassination are natural characteristics of slavery. A\nthrill of horror went through the civilized world on this occasion. All\nthe free States felt themselves outraged. That an attempt should be\nmade to kill in his seat a Northern man, for words spoken in debate,\nwas a gross insult and wrong to the nation, and deepened everywhere the\ndetestation felt for the system.\n\nBut madness must have its perfect work. One more step remained to be\ntaken by the slave power, and that was to claim the right, under the\nConstitution, and protected by the general government, to carry slaves\nand slavery into all the Territories. It was not enough that they were\nnot prohibited by acts of Congress. They must not allow the people of\nthe Territories to decide for themselves whether slavery should exist\namong them or not. It had a right to exist there, in spite of the\npeople. A single man from South Carolina, going with his slaves into\nNebraska, should have the power of making that a slave State, though\nall the rest of its inhabitants wished it to be free. And if he were\ntroubled by his neighbors, he had a right to call on the military power\nof the United States to protect him against them. Such was the doctrine\nof the Dred Scott case, such the doctrine accepted by the majority\nof the United States Senate under the lead of Jefferson Davis in the\nspring of 1859. Such was the doctrine demanded by the Southern members\nof the Democratic Convention in Charleston, S. C., in May, 1860,\nand, failing to carry it, they broke up that convention. And it was\nbecause they were defeated in this purpose of carrying slavery into the\nTerritories that they seceded from the Union, and formed the Southern\nConfederacy.\n\nThey had gained a long succession of political triumphs, which we\nhave briefly traced in this article. They had annexed Texas, and\nmade another slave State of that Territory. They had established the\nprinciple that slavery was not to be excluded by law from any of the\nTerritories of the nation. They had repealed the Missouri Compromise,\npassed the Fugitive Slave Law, obtained the Dred Scott decision from\nthe Supreme Court. In all this they had been aided by the Democratic\nparty, and were sure of the continued help of that party. With these\nallies, they were certain to govern the country for a long period of\nyears. The President, the Senate, the Supreme Court, were all on their\nside. As regarded slavery in the States, there was nothing to threaten\nits existence there. The Republicans proposed only to restrict it to\nthe region where it actually existed, but could not and would not\nmeddle with it therein. If the slave power had been satisfied with\nthis, it seems probable that it might have retained its ascendency in\nthe country for a long period. An immense region was still open to its\ncolonies. Cotton was still king, and the slaveholders possessed all\nthe available cotton-growing regions. They were wealthy, they were\npowerful, they governed the nation. They threw all this power away by\nseceding from the Union. Why did they do this?\n\nThe frequent answer to this question is contained in the proverb,\n\"Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.\" No doubt this act\nwas one of madness, and no doubt it was providential. But Providence\nworks not by direct interference, but by maintaining the laws of cause\nand effect. Why did they become so mad? Why this supreme folly of\nrelinquishing actual enormous power, in order to set their lives and\nfortunes on the hazard of a die?\n\nIt seems to be the doom of all vaulting ambition to overleap itself,\nand to fall on the other side. When Macbeth had gained all his ends,\nwhen he had become Thane of Cawdor and Glamis, and king, he had no\npeace, because the succession had been promised to Banquo:--\n\n    \"Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,\n    And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,\n    Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,\n    No son of mine succeeding. If't be so,\n    For _Banquo's_ issue have I filed my mind,\n    For _them_ the gracious Duncan have I murthered,\n    Put rancors in the vessel of my peace.\n    ... To make _them_ kings, the seed of Banquo kings!\n    Rather than so, come fate into the list,\n    And champion me to the utterance.\"\n\nWhen Napoleon the First was master of nearly all Europe, he could not\nbe satisfied while England resisted his power, and Russia had not\nsubmitted to it. So _he_ also said,--\n\n    \"Rather than so, come fate into the list,\n    And champion me to the utterance.\"\n\nHe also threw away all his immense power because he could not arrest\nhis own course or limit his own demands on fate. Such ambitions cannot\nstop, so long as there is anything unconquered or unpossessed. \"All\nthis avails me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at\nthe king's gate.\" The madness which seizes those greedy of power is\nlike the passion of the gamester, who is unable to limit his desire\nof gain. By this law of insatiable ambition Providence equalizes\ndestinies, and power is prevented from being consolidated in a few\nhands.\n\nThe motive which actuates these ambitions, and makes them think that\nnothing is gained so long as anything remains to be gained, seems to\nbe a secret fear that they are in danger of losing all unless they can\nobtain more.\n\nThis inward dread appears to have possessed the hearts of the Southern\nslaveholders. Since slavery has been abolished, many of them admit that\nthey have more content in their present poverty than they formerly\nhad in their large possessions. They were then sensitive to every\nsuggestion which touched their institution. Hence their persecution\nof Abolitionists, hence their cruelty to the slaves themselves,--for\ncruelty is often the child of fear. Hence the atrocity of the slave\nlaws. Hence the desire to secure more and larger guaranties from the\nUnited States for their institution. Every rumor in the air troubled\nthem. The fact that antislavery opinion existed at the North, that it\nwas continually increasing, that a great political party was growing\nup which was opposed to their system, that such men as Garrison and\nWendell Phillips existed in Boston, that Seward and Sumner were in\nthe Senate,--all this was intolerable. The only way of accounting for\nSouthern irritability, for Southern aggressions, for its perpetual\ndemand for more power, is to be found in this latent terror. They\ndoubted whether the foundations of their whole system were not rotten;\nthey feared that it rested on falsehood and lies; they secretly felt\nthat it was contrary to the will of God; an instinct in their souls\ntold them that it was opposed to the spirit of the age and the laws of\nprogress; and this fear made them frantic.\n\nWhen men's minds are in this state, they are like the glass toy called\na Rupert's bubble. A single scratch on the surface causes it to fly\nin pieces. The scratch on the surface of the slave system which\ncaused it to rush into secession and civil war was the attempt of\nJohn Brown on Harper's Ferry. It seemed a trifle, but it indicated a\ngreat deal. It was the first drop of a coming storm. When one man was\nable to lay down his life, in a conflict with their system, with such\ncourage and nobleness, in a cause not his own, a shudder ran through\nthe whole South. To what might this grow? And so they said, \"Let us\ncut ourselves wholly off from these dreadful fanaticisms, from these\nterrible dangers. Let us make a community of our own, and shut out from\nit entirely all antislavery opinion, and live only with those who think\nas we do.\" And so came the end.\n\nIn reviewing Mr. Wilson's work, we have thus seen how it describes\nthe gradual and simultaneous growth in the United States of two\nhostile powers,--one political, the other moral. The one continued to\naccumulate the outward forces which belong to the organization; the\nother, the inward forces which are associated with enthusiasm. The one\nadded continually to its external strength by the passage of new laws,\nthe addition of new territory, the more absolute control of parties,\ngovernment, courts, the press, and the street. The other increased its\npower by accumulating an intenser conviction, a clearer knowledge, a\nfirmer faith, and a more devoted consecration to its cause. The weapons\nof the one were force, adroitness, and worldly interest; those of the\nother, faith in God, in man, and in truth.\n\nGreat truths draw to their side noble auxiliaries. So it was with the\nantislavery movement. The heroism, the romance, the eloquence, the\nbest literature, the grandest forms of religion, the most generous\nand purest characters,--all were brought to it by a sure affinity.\nAs Wordsworth said to Toussaint l'Ouverture, so it might be declared\nhere:--\n\n        \"Thou hast great allies;\n    Thy friends are exaltations, agonies,\n    And love, and man's unconquerable mind.\"\n\nThe best poets of America, Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, were\nin full sympathy with this cause, and their best poetry was their songs\nfor freedom. Shall we ever forget the caustic humor of \"Hosea Biglow\"\nand \"Birdofredum Sawin\"? And how lofty a flight of inspiration did the\nsame bard take, when he chanted in verses nobler, as it seems to us,\nthan anything since Wordsworth's \"Ode to Immortality,\" the Return of\nthe Heroes who had wrought salvation for the dear land \"bright beyond\ncompare\" among the nations! What heroism, what tenderness, what stern\nrebuke, what noble satire, have attended every event in this long\nstruggle, from the lyre of Whittier! Nothing in Campbell excels the\nring of some of his trumpet-calls, nothing in Cowper the pathos of his\nelegies over the martyrs of freedom. The best men and the best women\nwere always to be found at the meetings of the Antislavery Society.\nThere were to be seen such upright lawyers as Ellis Gray Loring and\nSamuel E. Sewall and John A. Andrew, such eminent writers as Emerson,\nsuch great preachers as Theodore Parker and Beecher, such editors as\nBryant and Greeley. To this cause did William Ellery Channing devote\nhis last years and best thoughts. If the churches as organizations\nstood aloof, being only \"timidly good,\" as organizations are apt\nto be, the purest of their body were sure to be found in this great\ncompany of latter-day saints.\n\nAntislavery men had their faults. They were often unjust to their\nopponents, though unintentionally so. They were sometimes narrow and\nbitter; and with them, as with all very earnest people, any difference\nof opinion as to methods seemed to involve moral obliquity. But they\nwere doing the great work of the age,--the most necessary work of\nall,--and much might be pardoned to their passionate love of justice\nand humanity. In their meetings could be heard many of the ablest\nspeakers of the time, and one, the best of all. He held the silver bow\nof Apollo, and dreadful was its clangor when he launched its shafts\nagainst spiritual wickedness in high places. Those deadly arrows were\nsometimes misdirected, and occasionally they struck the good men who\nwere meaning to do their duty. Such errors, we suppose, are incident\nto all who are speaking and acting in such terrible earnest; in the\ngreat day of accounts many mistakes will have to be rectified. But\nsurely among the goodly company of apostles and prophets, and in the\nnoble army of martyrs there assembled, few will be found more free from\nthe sins of selfish interest and personal ambition than those who in\nCongress, in the pulpit, on the platform, or with the pen, fought the\ngreat battle of American freedom.\n\nOne great moral must be drawn from this story before we close. It\ndemonstrates, by a great historical proof, that no evil however\nmighty, no abuse however deeply rooted, can resist the power of truth\nfaithfully uttered and steadily applied. If this great institution of\nslavery, resting on such a foundation of enormous pecuniary interest,\nbuttressed by such powerful supports, fell in the life of a single\ngeneration before the unaided power of truth, why should we ever\ndespair? Henceforth, whenever a mighty evil is to be assailed, or\na cruel despotism overthrown, men will look to this history of the\ngreatness and decadence of slavery; and, so encouraged, will believe\nthat God is on the side of justice, and that truth will always prevail\nagainst error.\n\nBut to this we must add, that it is only where free institutions exist\nthat truth has full power in such a conflict. We need free speech,\na free press, free schools, and free churches, in order that truth\nmay have a free course. The great advantage of a republic like ours\nis, that it gives to truth a fair chance in its conflict with error.\nThe Southern States would long ago have abolished slavery if it had\npossessed such institutions. But, though republican in form, the\nSouthern States were in reality an oligarchy, in which five millions\nof whites and three millions of slaves were governed by the absolute\nand irresponsible power of less than half a million of slaveholders.\nFreedom was permitted by them except when this institution was\nconcerned, then it was absolutely forbidden. No book written against\ntheir peculiar institution could be printed on any Southern press or\nsold in any Southern bookstore. No newspaper attacking slavery was\nallowed to be circulated through Southern mails. No public meeting\ncould be held to discuss the right and wrong of slavery. No minister\ncould preach against the system. No man could express, even in\nconversation, his hostility to it, without risk of personal injury.\nAn espionage as sharp, and an inquisition as relentless as those of\nVenice or Spain, governed society, at least in the cotton and sugar\nStates of the Union. But at the North opinion was free, and therefore\nslavery fell. Fisher Ames compressed in an epigram the evil and good of\nrepublican institutions. \"In a monarchy,\" said he, \"we are in a ship,\nvery comfortable while things go well; but strike a rock, and we go to\nthe bottom. In a republic, we are on a raft; our feet are wet, and it\nis not always agreeable, but we are safe.\" It is a lasting proof of the\nconservative power of free institutions, that they were able to uproot\nsuch a system as slavery by creating a moral force capable of putting\nit down; that they could carry us through a civil war, still leaving\nthe press and speech free: that they stood the strain of a presidential\nelection without taking from the voters a single right; and so, at\nlast, conquered a rebellion on so vast a scale that every European\nmonarchy, with its immense standing army, would have been powerless in\nits presence. Let those Americans who are disposed to disparage their\nown institutions bear this history in mind. We have evils here, and\ngreat ones; but they come at once to the surface, and therefore can be\nmet and overcome by the power of intelligent opinion. So it has always\nbeen in the past; so it will be, God aiding us, in the future. We are\nabout to meet the Centennial Anniversary of our national life; and on\nthat day we can look back to our fathers, the founders of the Republic,\nand say to them,--\"You gave us the inestimable blessing of free\ninstitutions; we have used those institutions to destroy the only great\nevil which you transmitted to us untouched. We now can send down the\nRepublic to our children, pure from this stain, and capable of enduring\nIN SECULA SECULORUM.\"\n\n\n    The Riverside Press\n\n    CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A.\n    ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY\n    H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[1] See the argument to prove that it would not be difficult to climb\nto heaven.\n\n[2] Simon Peter's attitude expresses astonishment and perplexity. He\nholds out both hands, and seems to say, \"It cannot be!\"\n\nIn Thaddeus we see suspicion, doubt, distrust. \"I always suspected him.\"\n\nMatthew is speaking to Peter and Thomas, his hand held out toward\nJesus: \"But I heard him say so.\"\n\nThomas: \"What can it mean? What will be the end?\"\n\nJames: (Hands spread wide apart in astonished perplexity:) \"Is it\npossible?\"\n\nPhilip has laid both hands on his breast, and leaning toward Jesus\nsays, \"Lord, is it I?\"\n\nAt the other end, one is leaning forward, his hands resting on the\ntable, to catch the next words; one starting back, confused and\nconfounded.\n\n[3] _The North American Review_, February, 1881.\n\n[4] _The Independent_, 1882.\n\n[5] _The North American Review_, May, 1883.\n\n[6] _Buddha and Early Buddhism_. Tr\u00fcbner & Co., 1881.\n\n[7] _Hibbert Lectures_, 1882, page 291.\n\n[8] A. R\u00e9ville: _Prol\u00e9gom\u00e8nes de l'Histo\u00ecre des Religions_.\n\n[9] _Le Bouddha et sa Religion_, page 149, par J. Barth\u00e9lemy\nSaint-Hilaire, Paris.\n\n[10] Senart: _Essai sur la L\u00e9gende du Buddha_. Paris, 1875.\n\n[11] Oldenberg: _Buddha, sein Leben, seine Lehre, seine Gemeinde_.\nBerlin, 1881. This is one of the latest and best books on our subject.\n\n[12] _Three Lectures on Buddhism_: \"Romantic Legend of Buddha,\" by\nSamuel Beal. London, 1875. Eitel.\n\n[13] _Hibbert Lectures_: \"Origin and Growth of Buddhism,\" by T. W. Rhys\nDavids. 1881.\n\n[14] _Ibid._, page 143.\n\n[15] _Buddhistisch-Christliche Harmonie._\n\n[16] P. E. Lucius: _Die Therapeuten und ihre Stellung_, &c. Strassburg,\n1880.\n\n[17] _The North American Review_, October, 1887.\n\n[18] _The Atlantic Monthly_, October, 1874.\n\n[19] _The Intelligence and Perfectibility of Animals_, by C. G. Leroy.\nTranslated into English in 1870. _De l'Instinct et l'Intelligence des\nAnimaux_, par P. Flourens. Paris, 1864.\n\n[20] It is a mistake to say that the Tasmanians do not use fire.\n\n[21] _The Galaxy_, December, 1874.\n\n[22] Symposium in the _North American Review_, May, 1879.\n\n[23] In this brief paper it is not possible even to allude to the\nobjections which have been brought against the doctrine of final\ncauses. For these objections, and the answers to them, I would refer\nthe reader to the work of Janet, before mentioned.\n\n[24] _The Christian Examiner_, September, 1864.\n\n[25] _History of Friedrich the Second, called Frederick the Great_, by\nThomas Carlyle. In four volumes. Harper and Brothers, 1864.\n\n[26]\n\n    \"Tu se' lo mio maestro, e 'l mio autore,\n    O degli altri poeti onore e lume.\"\n\n[27] _Frederick the Great_, vol. ii. p. 223.\n\n[28] _The Christian Examiner_, November, 1861.\n\n[29] _History of Civilization in England._ By Henry Thomas Buckle.\nVols. I. and II. New York: D. Appleton and Company.\n\n[30] _Comm._ VI. 11, _et seq._\n\n[31] _Germania._\n\n[32] George Borrow, _The Zincali_. See also an excellent article by A.\nG. Paspati, translated from Modern Greek by Rev. C. Hamlin, D. D., in\n_Journal of American Oriental Society_, 1861.\n\n[33] See Vol. II. pp. 255-259, American edition.\n\n[34] _The Atlantic Monthly_, August, 1881.\n\n[35] _Life of Voltaire_, by James Parton. In two vols. Boston:\nHoughton, Mifflin & Co. 1886.\n\n[36] Voltaire himself, with his acute perception, seems to have been\none of the first to discover the absurdity of the representation of\nTiberius by Tacitus.\n\n[37] _Essai sur les M\u0153urs_, ch. cxxi.\n\n[38] Parton, ii. 549.\n\n[39] _Ibid._, ii. 551.\n\n[40] _Ibid._, i. 232.\n\n[41] Martin's _History of France_.\n\n[42] Parton, i. 461.\n\n[43] Martin's _History of France_.\n\n[44] A sermon preached May 7, 1882.\n\n[45] _The North American Review_, May, 1877.\n\n[46] _Harriet Martineau's Autobiography._ Edited by Maria Weston\nChapman. 2 vols.\n\n[47] For some reason she afterward saw fit partially to abandon this\nself-denial, and allowed Mrs. Chapman to print any letters written to\nherself by Miss Martineau.\n\n[48] \"History of the Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America,\" by\nHenry Wilson, _North American Review_, January, 1875.\n\n[49] _Congressional Globe_ for February 6, 1837.\n\n[50] Rule adopted January 18, that all petitions relating to slavery be\nlaid on the table without any action being taken on them.\n\n[51] February 6, 7, 9, 11.\n\n[52] The writer of this article recalls a scene which occurred in\nhis presence in the United States Senate early in 1851. Mr. Clay was\nspeaking of the antislavery agitators and of the Free-Soil party, and\nsaid, with much bitterness, \"We have put them down,--down,--down, where\nthey will remain; down to a place so low, that they can never get up\nagain.\" John P. Hale, never at a loss for a reply, immediately arose\nand said, \"The Senator from Kentucky says that I and my friends have\nbeen put down,--down,--down, where we shall have to stay. It may be\nso. Indeed, if the Senator says so, I am afraid it _must_ be so. For,\nif there is any good authority on this subject, any man who knows by\nhis own personal and constant experience what it is to be put down,\nand to be kept down, it is the honorable Senator from Kentucky.\" Mr.\nClay's aspirations had been so often baffled, that this was a very keen\nthrust. The writer spoke to Mr. Hale shortly after, and he said, \"I do\nnot think Mr. Clay will forgive me that hit; but I could not help it.\nThey may have got us down, but they shall not trample upon us.\"\n\n[53] O'Connell, in an album belonging to John Howard Payne, writes this\nsentence after his name.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nPunctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant\npreference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.\n\nSimple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced\nquotation marks retained.\n\nAmbiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.\n\nPage 39: \"Appeltons' Journal\" was punctuated that way in the original\nbook and on the masthead of the Journal itself.\n\nPage 46: \"generalties\" was spelled that way in the original book and in\nsome copies of \"The Poestaster\" itself.\n\nPage 220: Greek transliteration in curly braces was added by\nTranscriber.\n\nPage 309: Opening quotation mark before \"unfailing good sense\" was\nadded by Transcriber.","title":"Nineteenth Century Questions","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":85708}