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LECTUEES AND ESSAYS

VOL. II.

LECTURES AND ESSAYS

BY THE LATE

WILLIAM KINGDOX CLIFFOKD, F.R.S.

LATE PKOFESSOR OF APPLIED MATHEMATICS AXD MECHANICS IX UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LOXDOX
A\D SOMETIME FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE

EDITED BY

LESLIE STEPHEN AXD FREDERICK POLLOCK

WITH an INTRODUCTION bu F. POLLOCK

rerite est toute pout- tons'— PAUL-Lours COURIER

IN TWO VOLUMES

UNIVERSITY

MACMILLAN AND CO.

1879

r_ Thf i-ight of translation is reserved ]

CONTENTS

OF

THE SECOND VOLUME.
LECTURES AND ESS AYS -continued

PAGE

•

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT ..... 3

BODY AND MIND ........ 31

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES . . . .71

ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT INVOLVING FOUR

CLASSES 89

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS 106

BIGHT AND WRONG : THE SCIENTIFIC GROUND OF THEIR DIS-
TINCTION 124

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF 177

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION . . . . . . .212

THE INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY OF A DECLINE IN RELIGIOUS

BELIEF 244

COSMIC EMOTION ......... 253

VlRCIIOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE . . 286

LECTURES AND ESSAYS

(continued)

VOL. II. B

UNIVERSITY

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT*

BY Measurement^ for scientific purposes, is meant the
measurement of quantities. In each special subject
there are quantities to be measured ; and these are very
various, as may be seen from the following list of those
belonging to geometry and dynamics.

Geometrical Quantities.

Lengths

Areas

Volumes

Angles (plane and solid)

Curvatures (plane and solid)

Strains (elongation, torsion, shear).

Circumstances of Motion.

Time

Velocity

Momentum

Acceleration

Force

Work

Horse-power

Temperature

Heat.

Properties of Bodies.

Mass

Weight
Density

. Specific gravity
Elasticity (of form and

volume)
Viscosity
Diffusion
Surface tension
Specific heat.

1 [' Handbook to Loan Collection of Scientific Apparatus, 1876].

B 2

4 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

Notwithstanding the very different characters of these
quantities, they are all measured by reducing them to
the same kind of quantity, and estimating that in the
same way. Every quantity is measured by finding a
length proportional to the quantity, and then measuring
this length. This will, perhaps, be better understood if
we consider one or two examples.

The measurement of angles occurs in a very large
majority of scientific instruments. It is always effected
by measuring the length of an arc upon a graduated
circle ; the circumference of this circle being divided
not into inches or centimetres, but into degrees and
parts of a degree — that is, into aliquot parts of the
whole circumference.

As a step towards their final measurement, some
quantities, of which work is a good instance, are repre-
sented in the form of areas ; and there seems reason
to believe that this method is likely to be extended.
Instruments for measuring areas are called Planimeters ;
and one of the simplest of these is Amsler's, consisting
of two rods jointed together, the end of one being fixed
and that of the other being made to run round the area
which is to be measured. The second rod rests on a
wheel, which turns as the rod moves ; and it is proved
by geometry that the area is proportional to the distance
through which the wheel turns. Thus the measure-
ment of an area is reduced to the measurement of a
length.

Volumes are measured in various ways, but all
depending on the same principle. Quantities of earth
excavated for engineering purposes are estimated by a
rough determination of the shape of the cavity, and the

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 5

measurement of its dimensions ', namely, certain lengths
belonging to it. The contents of a vessel are some-
times gauged in the same way ; but the more accurate
method is to fill it with liquid and then pour the liquid
into a cylinder of known section, when the quantity
is measured by the height of the liquid in the cy Under,
that is, by a length. The volumes of irregular solids
are also measured by immersing them in liquid con-
tained in a uniform cylinder, and observing the height
to which the liquid rises ; that is, by measuring a length.
An apparatus for this purpose is called a Stereometer.
The liquid must be so chosen that no chemical action
takes place between it and the solid immersed, and that
it wets the solid, so that no air bubbles adhere to the
surface. Thus mercury is used in the case of metals
by the Standards Department.

Time is measured for ordinary purposes by the length
of the arc traced out by a moving hand on a circular
clock-face. For astronomical purposes it is sometimes
measured by counting the ticks of a clock which beats
seconds, and estimating mentally the fractions of a
second ; and in cases where the period of an oscillation

•

has to be found, it is determined by counting the
number of oscillations in a time sufficient to make the
number considerable, and then dividing that time by
the number. But by far the most accurate way of
measuring time is by means of the line traced by a
pencil on a sheet of paper rolled round a revolving
cylinder, or a spot of light moving on a sensitive surface.
If the pencil is made to move along the length of the
cylinder so as to indicate what is happening as time goes
along, the time of each event will be found when the

6 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

cylinder is unrolled by measuring the distance of the
mark recording it from the end of the unrolled sheet,
provided that the rate at which the cylinder goes round
is known. In this way Helmholtz measured the rate of
transmission of nerve-disturbance.

A very common case of the measurement of force
is the barometer, which measures the pressure of the
atmosphere per square inch of surface. This is deter-
mined by finding the height of the column of mercury
which it will support (mercurial barometer), or the
strain which it causes in a box from which the air has
been taken out (aneroid barometer). The height in the
former case may be measured directly, or it may first
be converted into the quantity of turning of a needle,
and then read off as length of arc on a graduated circle ;
in the latter case the strain is always indicated by a
needle turning on a graduated circle.

The mass, and (what is proportional to it) the weight,
of different bodies at the same place, are measured by
means of a balance ; and at first sight this mode of
measurement seems different from those which we
have hitherto considered. For we put the body to be
weighed in one scale, and then put known weights into
the other until equilibrium is obtained or the scale
turns, and then we count the weights. But in a steel-
yard the weight is determined directly by means of a
length ; and in a balance which is accurate enough for
scientific purposes, both methods are employed. We get
as near as we can with the weights, and then the remain-
der is measured by a small rider of wire which is moved
along the beam, and which determines the weight by
its position ; that is, by the measurement of a length.

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. '7

For the measurement of weight in different places a
spring-balance has to be used, and the weight is deter-
mined by the alteration it produces in the length of the
spring ; or else the length of the seconds pendulum is
measured, from which the force of gravity on a given
mass can be calculated. This last is an example of a
very common and useful mode of measuring forces
called into play by displacement or strain ; namely, by
measuring the period of the oscillations which they
produce.

It seems unnecessary to consider any further
examples, as all other quantities are measured by means
of some simple geometrical or dynamical quantity which
is proportional to them ; as temperature by the height
of mercury in a thermometer, heat by the quantity of
ice it will melt (the volume of the resulting water),
electric resistance by the length of a standard wire
which has an equivalent resistance. It only remains to
show how, when a length has been found proportional
to the quantity to be measured, this length itself is
measured.

For rough purposes, as for example in measuring
the length of a room with a foot-rule, we apply the rule
end on end, and count the number of times. For the
piece left, we should apply the rule to it and count the
number of inches. Or if we wanted a length expressed
roughly for scientific purposes, we should describe it in
metres or centimetres. But if it has to be expressed
with greater accuracy, it must be described in
hundredth, or thousandth, or millionth parts of a milli-
metre ; and this is still done by comparing it with a
scale.

8 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

But in order to estimate a length in terms of these
very small quantities, it must be magnified ; and this is
done in three ways. First, geometrically, by what is
called a vernier scale. This is a movable scale, which
gains on the fixed one by one-tenth in each division.
To measure any part of a division, we find how many
divisions it takes the vernier to gain so much as that
part ; this is how many tenths the part is. The quantity
to be measured is here geometrically multiplied by ten.
Next, optically, by looking at the length and scale with
a microscope or telescope. Third, mechanically, by a
screw with a disc on its head, on which there is a
graduated rim, called a micrometer screw. If the pitch
of the screw is one-tenth and the radius of the disc ten
times that of the screw, the motion is multiplied by one
hundred. The two latter modes are combined together
in an instrument called a micrometer-microscope.
Another mechanical multiplier is a mirror which turns
round and reflects light on a screen at some distance, as
in Thomson's reflecting galvanometer.

Properly speaking, however, any description of a
length by counting of standard lengths is imperfect and
merely approximate. The true way of indicating a
length is to draw a straight line which represents it on
a fixed scale. And this is done by means of self-record-
ing instruments, which measure lengths from time to
time on a cylinder in the manner described above. It
is only by this graphical representation of quantities
that the laws of their variation become manifest, and
that higher branch of measurement becomes possible
which determines the nature of the connexion between
two simultaneously varying quantities.

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INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT *y U V$E ft £T „,

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;

INSTRUMENTS ILLUSTRATING KINEMATICS, STATICS,
AND DYNAMICS.

Science of Motion.

GEOMETRY teaches us about the sizes, the shapes, and
the distances of things ; . to know sizes and distances
we have to measure lengths, and to know shapes we
have to measure angles. The science of Motion, which
is the subject of the present sketch, tells us about the
changes in these sizes, shapes, and distances which take
place from time to time. A body is said to move when
it changes its place or position ; that is to say, when
it changes its distance from surrounding objects. And
when the parts of a body move relatively to one another,
i.e. when they alter their distance from one another,
the body changes^in size, or shape, or both. All these
changes are considered in the science of motion.

Kinematics.

The science of motion is divided into two parts : the
accurate description of motion, and the investigation of
the circumstances under which particular motions take
place. The description of motion may again be divided
into two parts, namely, that which tells us what changes
of position take place, and that which tells us when
and how fast they take place. We might, for example,
describe the motion of the hands of a clock, and say
that they turn round on their axes at the centre of the
clock-face in such a way" that the minute-hand always
moves twelve times as much as the hour-hand ; this is

10 INSTBUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

the first part of the description of the motion. We
might go on to say that when the clock is going
correctly, this motion takes place uniformly, so that the
minute-hand goes round once in each hour ; and this
would be the second part of the description. The first
part is what was called Kinematics by Ampere : it tells
us how the motions of the different parts of a machine
depend on each other in consequence of the machinery
which connects them. This is clearly an application of
geometry alone, and requires no more measurements
than those which belong to geometry, namely, measure-
ments of lines and angles. But the name Kinematics is
now conveniently made to include the second part also
of the description of motion — when and how fast it
takes place. This requires in addition the measurement
of time, with which geometry has nothing to do. The
word Kinematic is derived from the Greek kinema,
' motion ; ' and will therefore serve equally well to bear
the restricted sense given it by Ampere, and the more
comprehensive sense in which it is now used. And since
the principles of this science are those which guide the
construction not only of scientific apparatus, but of
all instruments and machines, it may be advisable to
describe in some detail the chief topics with which it
deals.

Dynamics.

That part of the science which tells us about the
circumstances under which particular motions take
place is called Dynamics. It is found that the change
of motion in a body depends on the position and state
of surrounding bodies, according to certain simple laws ;

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 11

when considered as so depending on surrounding bodies,
the rate of change in the quantity of motion is called
force. Hence the name Dynamic, from the Greek
dynamis, ' force.' The word force is here used in a
technical sense, peculiar to the science of motion ; the
connexion of this meaning with the meaning which the
word has in ordinary discourse will be explained further
on.

Statics and Kinetics.

Dynamics are again divided into two branches : the
study of those circumstances in which it is possible for
a body to remain at rest is called Statics, and the study
of the circumstances of actual motion is called Kinetics.
The simplest part of Statics, the doctrine of the Lever,
was successfully studied before any other part of the
science of motion, namely by Archimedes, Avho proved
that when a lever with unequal arms is balanced by
weights at the ends of it, these weights are inversely
proportional to the arms. But no real progress could
be made in determining the conditions of rest, until the
laws of actual motion had been studied.

Translation of Rigid Bodies.

Eeturning, then, to the description of motion, or
Kinematics, we must first of all classify the different
changes of position, of size, and of shape, with which
we have to deal. We call a body rigid when it changes
only its position, and not its size or shape, during the
time in which we consider it. It is probable that every
actual body is constantly undergoing slight changes of

12 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

size and shape, even when Ave cannot perceive them ; but
in Kinematics, as in most other matters, there is a great
convenience in talking about only one thing at a time.
So we first of all investigate changes of position on the
assumption that there are no changes of size and shape ;
or, in technical phrase, we treat of the motion of rigid
bodies. Here an important distinction is made between
motion in which the body merely travels from one place
to another, and motion in which it also turns round.
Thus the wheels of a locomotive engine not only travel
along the line, but are constantly turning round ; while
the coupling-bar which joins two wheels on the same
side remains always horizontal, though its changes of
position are considerably complicated. A change of
place in which there is no rotation is called a translation.
In a rotation the different parts of the body are moving
different ways, but in a translation all parts move in
the same way. Consequently, in describing a translation
we need only specify the motion of any one particle of
the moving body ; where by a particle is meant a piece
of matter so small that there is no need to take account
of the differences between its parts, which may therefore
be treated for purposes of calculation as a point.

We are thus brought down to the very simple
problem of describing the motion of a point. Of this
there are certain cases which have received a great deal
of attention on account of their frequent occurrence in
nature ; such as Parabolic Motion, Simple Harmonic
Motion, Elliptic Motion. We propose to say a few
words in explanation of each of these.

INSTRUMENTS USED IX MEASUREMENT, 13

Parabolic Motion.

The motion of a projectile, that is to say, of a body
thrown in any direction and falling tinder the influence
of gravity, was investigated by Galileo ; and this is the
first problem of Kinetics that was ever solved. We
must confine ourselves here to a description of the
motion, without considering the way in which it depends
on the circumstance of the presence of the earth at a
certain distance from the moving body. Galileo found
that the path of such a body, or the curve which it
traces out, is a parabola ; a curve which may be
described as the shadow of a circle cast on a horizon-
tal table by a candle which is just level with the highest
point of the circle.

It is convenient to consider separately the vertical
and the horizontal motion, for in accordance with a law
subsequently stated in a general form by Newton, these
two take place in complete independence of one another.
So far as its horizontal motion is concerned, the projec-
tile moves uniformly, as if it were sliding on perfectly
smooth ice ; and, so far as its vertical motion is con-
cerned, it moves as if it were falling down straight.
The nature of this vertical motion may be described in
two ways, each of which implies the other. First, a
falling body moves faster and faster as it goes down ;
and the rate at which it is going at any moment is
strictly proportional to the number of seconds which
has elapsed since it started. Thus its downward velo-
city is continually being added to at a uniform rate.
Secondly, the whole distance fallen from the starting-
point is proportional to the square of the number of

14 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

seconds elapsed ; thus, in three seconds a body will fall
nine times as far as it will fall in one second. The
latter of these statements was experimentally proved by
Galileo ; not, however, in the case of bodies falling ver-
tically, which move too quickly for the time to be con-
veniently measured, but in the case of bodies falling
down inclined planes, the law of which he at first as-
sumed, and afterwards proved to be identical with that
of the other. The former statement, that the velocity
increases uniformly, is directly tested by an apparatus
known as Attwood's machine, consisting essentially of a
pulley, over which a string is hung with equal weights
attached to its ends. A small bar of metal is laid on
one of the weights, which begins to descend and pull
the other one up ; after a measured time the bar is
lifted off, and then, both sides pulling equally, the
motion goes on at the rate which had been acquired at
that instant. The distance travelled in one second is
then measured, and gives the velocity ; this is found to
be proportional to the time of falling with the bar on.

The second statement, that the space passed over is
proportional to the square of the number of seconds
elapsed, is verified by Morin's machine, which consists
of a vertical cylinder which revolves uniformly while a
body falh'ng down at the side marks it with a pencil.
The curve thus described is a record of the distance the
body had fallen at every moment of time.

Fluxions.

This investigation of Galileo's was in more than one
aspect the foundation of dynamical science ; but not the
least important of these aspects is the proof that either

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 15

of the two ways of stating the law of falling bodies in-
volves the other. Given that the distance fallen is pro-
portional to the square of the time, to show that the
velocity is proportional to the time itself; this is a par-
ticular case of the problem. Given where a body is at
every instant, to find how fast it is going at every in-
stant. The solution of this problem was given by New-
ton's Method of Fluxions. When a quantity changes
from time to time, its rate of change is called the
fluxion of the quantity. In the case of a moving body the
quantity to be considered is the distance which the body
has travelled ; the fluxion of this distance is the rate at
vhich the body is going. Newton's method solves the
Droblem, Given how big a quantity is at any time, to
ind its fluxion at any time. The method has been
called on the Continent, and lately also in England, the
Differential Calculus ; because the difference between
two values of the varying quantity is mentioned in one
of the processes that may be used for calculating its
fluxion. The inverse problem, Given that the velocity
is proportional to the time elapsed, to find the distance
fallen, is a particular case of the general problem, Given
how fast a body is going at every instant, to find where
it is at any instant ; or, Given the fluxion of a quantity,
to find the quantity itself. The answer to this is given
by Newton's Inverse Method of Fluxions ; which is also
called the Integral Calculus, because in one of the pro-
cesses which may be used for calculating the quantity,
it is regarded as a whole (integer) made up of a number
of small parts. The method of Fluxions, then, or Dif-
ferential and Integral Calculus, takes its start from
Galileo's study of parabolic motion.

16 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

Harmonic Motion.

The ancients, regarding the circle as the most perfect
of figures, believed that circular motion was not only
simple, that is, not made up by putting together other
motions, but also perfect, in the sense that when once set
up in perfect bodies it would maintain itself without
external interference. The moderns, who know nothing
about perfection except as something to be aimed at,
but never reached, in practical work, have been forced
to reject both of these doctrines. The second of them,
indeed, belongs to Kinetics, and will again be mentioned
under that head. But as a matter of Kinematics it has
been found necessary to treat the uniform motion of a
point round a circle as compounded of two oscillations.
To take again the example of a clock, the extreme point
of the minute-hand describes a circle uniformly ; but
if we consider separately its vertical position and its
horizontal position, we shall see that it not only oscil-
lates up and down, but at the same time swings from
side to side, each in the same period of one hour. If
we suppose a button to move up and down in a slit
between the figures XII and VI, in such a way as to be
always at the same height as the end of the minute-hand,
this button will have only one of the two oscillations
which are combined in the motion of that point ; and
the other oscillation would be exhibited by a button con-
strained to move in a similar manner between the figures
III and IX, so as always to be either vertically above or
vertically below the extreme point of the minute-hand.
The laws of these two motions are identical, but they are
so timed that each is at its extreme position when the

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 17

other is crossing the centre. An oscillation of this kind
is called a simple harmonic motion : the name is due to
Sir William Thomson, and was given on account of the
intimate connexion between the laws of such motions
and the theory of vibrating strings. Indeed, the har-
monic motion, simple or compound, is the most univer-
sal of all forms ; it is exemplified not only in the motion
of every particle of a vibrating solid, such as the string
of a piano or violin, a tuning-fork, or the membrane of
a drum, but in those minute excursions of particles of
air which carry sound from one place to another, in the
waves and tides of the sea, and in the amazingly rapid
tremor of the luminiferous ether which, in its varying
action on different bodies, makes itself known as light
or radiant heat or chemical action. Simple harmonic
motions differ from one another in three respects ; in
the extent or amplitude of the swing, which is measured
by the distance from the middle point to either extreme ;
in the period or interval of time between two successive
passages through an extreme position ; and in the time
of starting, or epoch, as it is called, which is named
by saying what particular stage of the vibration was
being executed at a certain instant of time. One of the
most astonishing and fruitful theorems of mathematical
science is this ; that every periodic motion whatever,
that is to say, every motion which exactly repeats itself
again and again at definite intervals of time, is a com-
pound of simple harmonic motions, whose periods are
successively smaller and smaller ah quo t parts of the
original period, and whose amplitudes (after a certain
number of them) are less and less as their periods are
more rapid. The ' harmonic ' tones of a string, which
VOL. n. c

18 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

are always heard along with the fundamental tone, are
a particular case of these constituents. The theorem
was given by Fourier in connexion with the flow of
heat, but its applications are innumerable, and extend
over the whole range of physical science.

The laws of combination of harmonic motions have
been illustrated by some ingenious apparatus of Messrs.
Tisley and Spiller, and by a machine invented by Mr.
Donkin ; but the most important practical application
of these laws is to be found in Sir W. Thomson's Tidal
Clock, and in a more elaborate machine which draws
curves predicting the height of the tide at a given port
for all times of the day and night with as much
accuracy as can be obtained by direct observation.
One special combination is worthy of notice. The
union of a vertical vibration with a horizontal one of
half the period gives rise to that figure of 8 which M.
Marey has observed by his beautiful methods in the
motion of the tip of a bird's or insect's wing.

Elliptic Motion.

The motion of the sun and moon relative to the
earth was at first described by a combination of circular
motions ; and this was the immortal achievement of the
Greek astronomers Hipparchus and Ptolemy. Indeed,
in so far as these motions are periodic, it follows from
Fourier's theorem mentioned above that this mode
of description is mathematically sufficient to represent
them ; and astronomical tables are to this day calcu-
lated by a method which practically comes to the
same thing. But this representation is not the simplest
that can be found ; it requires theoretically an infinite

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 19

number of component motions, and gives no informa-
tion about the way in which these are connected with
one another. We owe to Kepler the accurate and com-
plete description of planetary or elliptic motion. Hi a
investigation applied in the first instance to the orbit
of the planet Mars about the sun, but it was found true
of the orbits of all planets about the sun, and of the
moon about the earth. The path of the moving body in
each of these motions is an ellipse, or oval shadow of a
circle, a curve having various properties in relation to
two internal points or foci, which replace as it were
the one centre of a circle. In the case of the ellipse
described by a planet, the sun is in one of these foci ;
in the case of the moon, the earth is in one focus. So
much for the geometrical description of the motion.
Kepler further observed that a line drawn from the sun
to a planet, or from the earth to the moon, and sup-
posed to move round with the moving body, would
sweep out equal areas in equal times. These two laws,
called Kepler's first and second laws, complete the
kinematic description of elliptic motion ; but to obtain
formulae fit for computation, it was necessary to cal-
culate from these laws the various harmonic compo-
nents of the motion to and from the sun, and round it ;
this calculation has much occupied the attention of
mathematicians.

The laws of rotatory motion of rigid bodies are
somewhat difficult to describe without mathematical
symbols, but they are thoroughly known. Examples
of them are given by the apparatus called a gyroscope,
aad the motion of the earth ; and an application of the
former to prove the nature of the latter, made by

c 2

20 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

Foucault, is one of the most beautiful experiments
belonging entirely to dynamics.

Rotation.

Next in simplicity after the translation of a rigid
body, come two kinds of motion which are at first sight
very different, but between which a closer observation
discovers very striking analogies. These are the motion
of rotation about a fixed point, and the motion of slid-
ing on a fixed plane. The first of these is most easily
produced in practice by what is well known as a ball-
and-socket joint ; that is to say, a body ending in a
portion of a spherical surface which can move about in
a spherical cavity of the same size. The centre of the
spherical surface is then a fixed point, and the motion
is reduced to the sliding of one sphere inside another.
In the same way, if we consider, for instance, the
motion of a flat-iron on an ironing-board, we may see
that this is not a pure translation, for the iron is
frequently turned round as well as carried about ; but
the motion may be described as the sliding of one plane
upon another. Thus in each case the matter to be
studied is the sliding of one surface on another which it
exactly fits. For two surfaces to fit one another exactly,
in all positions, they must be either both spheres of the
same size, or both planes ; and the latter case is really in-
cluded under the former, for a plane may be regarded
as a sphere whose radius has increased without limit.
Thus, if a piece of ice be made to slide about on the
frozen surface of a perfectly smooth pond, it is really
rotating about a fixed point at the centre of the earth ;
for the frozen surface may be regarded as part of an

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 21

enormous sphere, having that point for centre. And
yet the motion cannot be practically distinguished from
that of sliding on a plane.

In this latter case it is found that, excepting in the
case of a pure translation, there is at every instant a
certain point which is at rest, and about which as a
centre the body is turning. This point is called the in-
stantaneous centre of rotation ; it travels about as the
motion goes on, but at any instant its position is per-
fectly definite. From this fact follows a very important
consequence ; namely that every possible motion of a
plane sliding on a plane may be produced by the rolling
of a curve in one plane upon a curve in the other. The
point of contact of the two curves at any instant is the
instantaneous centre at that instant. The problems to
be considered in this subject are thus of two kinds:
Given the curves of rolling to find the path described
by any point of the moving plane ; and, Given the
paths described by two points of the moving plane
(enough to determine the motion) to find the curves of
rolling and the paths of all other points. An important
case of the first problem is that in which one circle rolls
on another, either inside or outside ; the curves de-
scribed by points in the moving plane are used for the
teeth of wheels. To the second problem belongs the
valuable and now rapidly increasing theory of link-work,
which, starting from the wonderful discovery of an
exact parallel motion by M. Peaucellier, has received an
immense and most unexpected development at the
hands of Professor Sylvester, Mr. Hart, and- Mr. A. B.
Kempe.

Passing now to the spherical form of this motion,

22 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

we find that the instantaneous centre of rotation (which
is clearly equivalent to an instantaneous axis perpen-
dicular to the plane) is replaced by an instantaneous
axis passing through the common centre of the moving
spheres. In the same way the rolling of one curve on
another in the plane is replaced by the rolling of one
cone upon another, the two cones having a common
vertex at the same centre.

Analogous theorems have been proved for the most
general motion of a rigid body. It was shown by M.
Chasles that this is always similar to the motion of a
corkscrew desending into a cork ; that is to say, there is
always a rotation about a certain instantaneous axis,
combined with translation along this axis. The amount
of translation per unit of rotation is called the pitch of
the screw. The instantaneous screw moves about as
the motion goes on, but at any given instant it is per-
fectly definite in position and pitch. And any motion
whatever of a rigid body may be produced by the
rolling and sliding of one surface on another, both
surfaces being produced by the motion of straight
lines. This crowning theorem in the geometry 01
motion is due to Professor Cayley. The laws of combina-
tion of screw motions have been investigated by Dr. Ball.

Thus, proceeding gradually from the more simple to
the more complex, we have been able to describe every
change in the position of a body. It remains only to
describe changes of size and shape. Of these there are
three kinds, but they are all included under the same
name — strains. We may have, first, a change 01 size
without any change of shape, a uniform dilatation or
contraction of the whole body in all directions, such as

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 23

happens to a sphere of metal when it is heated or cooled.
Next, we may have an elongation or contraction in one
direction only, all lines of this body pointing in this
direction being increased or diminished in the same
ratio ; such as would happen to a rod six feet long and
an inch square, if it were stretched to seven feet long,
still remaining an inch square. Thirdly, we may have a
change of shape produced by the sliding of layers over
one another, a mode of deformation which is easily pro-
duced in a pack of cards ; this is called a shear. By
appropriate combinations of these three, every change
of size and shape may be produced ; or we may even
leave out the second element, and produce any strain
whatever by a dilatation or contraction, and two
shears.

Dynamics.

We have already said- that the change of motion
of a body depends upon the position and state of sur-
rounding bodies. To make this intelligible it will be
necessary to notice a certain property of the three kinds
of motion of a point which we described.

The combination of velocities may be understood
from the case of a body carried in any sort of cart or
vehicle in which it moves about. The whole velocity
of the body is then compounded of the velocity of the
vehicle and of its velocity relative to the vehicle.
Thus, if a man walks across a railway carriage his
whole velocity is compounded of the velocity of the
railway carriage and of the velocity with which he
walks across.

When the velocity of a body is changed by adding

24 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

to it a velocity in the same direction or in the opposite
direction, it is only altered in amount ; but when a
transverse velocity is compounded with it, a change of
direction is produced. Thus, if a man walks fore and
aft on a steamboat, he only travels a little faster or
slower ; but if he walks across from one side to the
other, he slightly changes the direction in which he is
moving.

Now, in the parabolic motion of a projectile, we
found that while the horizontal velocity continues
unchanged, the vertical velocity increases at a uniform
rate. Such a body is having a downwards velocity
continually poured into it, as it were. This gradual
change of the velocity is called acceleration : we may
say that the acceleration of a projectile is always the
same, and is directed vertically downwards.

In a simple harmonic motion it is found that the
acceleration is directed towards the centre, and is
always proportional to the distance from it. In the
case of elliptic motion it was proved by Newton that
the acceleration is directed towards the focus, and is
inversely proportional to the square of the distance
from it.

Let us now consider the circumstances under
which these motions take place. To produce a simple
harmonic motion we may take a piece of elastic string,
whose length is equal to the height of a smooth table ;
then fasten one end of the string to a bullet and the
other end to the floor, having passed it through a hole
in the table, so that the bullet just rests on the top of
the hole when the string is unstretched. If the bullet
be now pulled away from the hole so that the string is

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 25

stretched, and then let it go, it will oscillate to and fro
on either side of the hole with a simple harmonic
motion. The acceleration (or rate of change of velo-
city) is here proportional to the distance from the hole;
that is, to the amount of elongation of the string. It is
directed towards the hole ; that is, in the direction of
this elongation. In the case of the moon moving round
the earth, the acceleration is directed towards the
earth, and is inversely proportional to the square of
the distance from the earth.

In both these cases, then, the change of velocity
depends upon surrounding circumstances ; but in the
case of the bullet, this circumstance is the strained con-
dition of an adjoining body, namely, the elastic string ;
while in the case of the moon the circumstance is the
position of a distant body, namely, the earth. The
motion of a projectile turns out to be only a special
case of the motion of the moon ; for the parabola
which it describes may be regarded as one end of a
very long ellipse, whose other end goes round the
earth's centre.

There is a remarkable difference between the two
cases. The swing of the bullet depends upon its size ;
a large bullet will oscillate more slowly than a small
one. .This leads us to modify the rule. If a large
bullet is equivalent to two small ones, then when it is
going at the same rate it must contain twice as much
motion as one of the small ones ; or, as we now say,
with the same velocity it has twice the momentum.
Now the change of momentum is found to be the same
for all bullets, when the momentum is reckoned as pro-
portional to the quantity of matter in the bullet as well

26 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

as to the velocity. The quantity of matter in a body is
called its mass : for bodies of the same substance it is, of
course, simply the quantity of that substance ; but for
bodies of different substances it is so reckoned as to
make the rule hold good. The rule for this case may
then be stated thus ; the change of momentum of a
body (that is, the change of velocity multiplied by the
mass), depends on the state of strain of adjoining bodies.
Eegarded as so depending, this change of momentum is
called the pressure or tension of the adjoining body,
according to the nature of the strain ; both of these
are included in the name stress, introduced by Eankine.

But in the case of projectiles, the acceleration is
found to be the same for all bodies at the same place ;
and this rule holds good in all cases of planetary
motion. So that it seems as if the change of velocity,
and not the change of momentum, depended upon the
position of distant bodies. But this case is brought
under the same rule as the other by supposing that the
mass of the moving body is to be reckoned among the
' circumstances.' The change of momentum is in this
case called the attraction of gravitation, and we say
that the attraction is proportional to the mass of the
attracted body. And this way of representing the facts
is borne out by the electrical and magnetic attractions
and repulsions, where the change of momentum depends
on the position and state of the attracting thing, and
upon the electric charge or the induced magnetism of
the attracted thing.

Force, then, is of two kinds ; the stress of a strained
adjoining body, and the attraction or repulsion of a
distant body. Attempts have been made with more or

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 27

less success to explain each of these by means of the
other. In common discourse the word ' force ' means
muscular effort exerted by the human frame. In this
case the part of the human body which is in contact
with the object to be moved is in a state of strain, and
the force, dynamically considered, is of the first kind.
But this state of strain is preceded and followed by
nervous discharges, which are accompanied by the
sensations of effort and of muscular strain ; a complica-
tion of circumstances which does not occur in the
action of inanimate bodies. What is common to the
two cases is, that the change of momentum depends on
the strain.

Having thus explained the law of Force, which is
the foundation of Dynamics, we may consider the
remaining laws of motion. It is convenient to state
them first for particles, or bodies so small that we need
take account only of their position. Every particle,
then, has a rate of change of momentum due to the
position or state of every other particle, whether
adjoining it or distant from it. These are compounded
together by the law of composition of velocities, and
the result of the whole is the actual change of momen-
tum of the particle. This statement, and the law of
Force stated above, amount together to Newton's first
and second laws of motion. His third law is, that the
change of momentum in one particle, due to the posi-
tion or state of another, is equal and opposite to the
change of momentum in the other, due to the position
or state of the first.

By the help of these laws D'Alembert showed how
the motion of rigid bodies, or systems of particles, might

28 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

be dealt with. It appears from his method that two
stresses, acting on a rigid body, may be equivalent, in
their effect on the body as a whole, to a single stress,
whose direction and position will be totally independent
of the shape and nature of the body considered. The
law of combination of stresses acting on a system of
particles is, in fact, the same as the law of combination
of velocities, so far as regards the motion of the system
as a whole. This beautiful but somewhat complex
result of Dynamics has been used in some text-books as
the independent foundation of Statics, under the name of
the parallelogram of forces ; a singular inversion of the
historical order and of the methods of the great writers.
When the result of all the circumstances surround-
ing a body is that there is no change of momentum, the
body is said to be in equilibrium. In this case, if the
body is at rest, it will remain so ; and on this ^ account
the study of such conditions is called Statics. In deal-
ing with the statics of rigid bodies, we have only to
examine those cases in which the resultant of the
external stresses and attractions acting on the body
amounts to nothing. But the most important part of
statics is that which finds the stresses acting in the
interior of bodies between contiguous parts of them ;
for upon this depends the determination of the requisite
strength of structures which have to bear given loads.
It is found that the way in which the stress due to a
given strain depends on the strain varies according to
the physical nature of the body ; for bodies, however,
which are not crystalline or fibrous, but which have the
same properties in all directions, there are two quanti-
ties which, if known, will enable us always to calculate

INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT. 29

the stress due to a given strain. These are, the
elasticity of volume, or resistance to change of size ; and
the rigidity, elasticity of figure, or resistance to change
of shape. Problems relating to the interior state of
bodies are far more difficult than those which regard
them as rigid. Thus, if a beam is supported at its two
ends, it is very easy to find the portion of its weight
which is borne by each support ; but the determination
of the state of stress in the interior is a problem of
great complexity.

There is one theorem of kinetics which must be
mentioned here. If we multiply half the momentum of
every particle of a body by its velocity, and add all the
results together, we shall get what is called the kinetic
energy of the body. When the body is moved from
one position to another, if we multiply each force acting
on it — whether attraction or stress — by the distance
moved in the direction opposite to the force, and add
the results, we shall get what is called the work done
against the forces during the change of position. It
does not at all depend on the rate at which the change
is made, but only on the two positions. If a body
moves, and loses kinetic energy, it does an amount of
work equal to the kinetic energy lost. If it gains kinetic
energy, an amount of work equal to this gain must be
done to take it back from the new position to the old
one. The amount of work which must be done to take
a body from a certain standard position to the position
which it has at present is called the potential energy of
the body. The theorem may be stated in this form ;
the sum of the potential and kinetic energies is always
the same, provided the surrounding circumstances do

30 INSTRUMENTS USED IN MEASUREMENT.

not alter. Hence the theorem is called the Conservation
of Energy. It is one fact out of many that may be
deduced from the equations of motion ; it is not suffi-
cient to determine the motion of a body, but it is ex-
ceedingly useful as giving a general result in cases
where it might be difficult or undesirable to investigate
all the particulars ; and it is especially applicable to
machines, the important question in regard to which is
the amount of work which they can do.

It will have been seen that the science of motion
depends on a few fundamental principles which are
easily verified, and consists almost entirely of mathema-
tical deductions and calculations based on those princi-
ples. It is no longer therefore an experimental science
in the same sense as those are in which the fundamental
facts are still being discovered. The apparatus con-
nected with it may be conveniently classified under
three heads : —

(a) Apparatus for illustrating theorems or solving
problems of kinematics, such as those mentioned
above for compounding harmonic motions.
There is reason to hope for great extension of
our powers in this direction.

(b) Apparatus for measuring the dynamical
quantities, such as weight, work, and the
elasticities of different substances. These are
more fully classified under Measurements.

(c) Apparatus designed for purposes belonging to
other sciences, but illustrating by its structure
and functions the results of kinematics or
dynamics. In this class the remainder of the
collection is included.

31

UNIVERSITY

TWtt.1

BODY AND MIND.1

THE subject of this Lecture is one in regard to which
a great change has recently taken place in the public
mind. Some time ago it was the custom to look with
suspicion upon all questions of a metaphysical nature
as being questions that could not be discussed with any
good result, and which, leading inquirers round and
round in the same circle, never came to an end. But
quite of late years there is an indication that a large
number of people are waking up to the fact that Science
has something to say upon these subjects ; and the
English people have always been very ready to hear
what Science can say — understanding by Science what
we shall now understand by it, that is, organized com-
mon sense.

When I say Science, I do not mean what some
people are pleased to call Philosophy. The word ' phi-
losopher,' which meant originally ' lover of wisdom/
has come in some strange way to mean a man who
thinks it his business to explain everything in a certain
number of large books. It will be found, I think, that
in proportion to his colossal ignorance is the perfection
and symmetry of the system which he sets up ; because
it is so much easier to put an empty room tidy than a

1 Sunday Lecture Society, November 1, 1874 ; * Fortnightly Keview/
December, 1874.

32 BODY AND MIND.

full one. A man of science, on the other hand, explains
as much as ever he can, and then he says, ' This is all
/ I can do ; for the rest you must ask the next man.'
And with regard to such explanations as he has given,
whether the next man comes at all, whether there is
any next man or any further explanation or no (and we
may have to wait hundreds or even thousands of years
before another step is made), — yet if the original step
was a scientific step, was made by true scientific methods,
and was an organization of the normal experience of
healthy men, that step will remain good for ever, no
matter how much is left unexplained by it.

Now the supposition that this subject in itself is
necessarily one which cannot be discussed to good pur-
pose, that is to say, in such a way as to lead to definite
results, is a mistake. The fact that the subject has been
discussed for many hundreds of years to no good pur-
pose, and without leading to definite results, by great
numbers of people, is due to the method which was
employed, and not to the subject itself; and, in fact, if
we like to look in the same way upon other subjects as
we have been accustomed to look upon metaphysics —
if we regard every man who has written about mathe-
matics or mechanics as having just the same right to
speak and to be heard that we give to every man who
has written about metaphysics — then I think we shall
find that exactly the same thing can be said about the
most certain regions of human science.

Those who like to read the last number of the
'Edinburgh Eeview,'1 for example, will find, from an
article on ' Comets and Meteors,' that it is at present quite

1 October, 1874.

BODY AND MIND. 33

an open question whether bodies which are shot out from
the sun by eruptive force may not come to circle about
the sun in orbits which are like those of the planets,
^ow that is not an open question ; the supposition is an
utterly absurd one, and has been utterly absurd from
The time of Kepler. Again, those who are curious
enough to read a number of pamphlets that are to be
found here and there may think it is an open question
whether the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its
diameter may not be expressed by certain finite numbers.
It is not an open question to Science ; it is only open to
those people who do not know any Trigonometry, and
who will not learn it. Ijn exactly the same way there
are numbers of questions relating to the connexion of
the mind with the body which have ceased to be open
questions, because Science has had her word to say
about them ; and they are only open now to people
who do not know what that word of Science is, and
who will not try to learn it.J

The whole field of human knowledge may be divided
roughly, for the sake of convenience, into three great
regions. There are first of all what we call par excel-
lence the Physical Sciences — those which deal with in-
animate matter. Next, there are those sciences which
deal with organic bodies — the bodies of living things,
whether plants or animals, and the rules according to
which those things move. And lastly, there are those
sciences which make a further supposition — which sup-
pose that besides this physical world, including both
organic and inorganic bodies, there are also certain
other facts, namely, that other men besides me, and
most likely other animals besides men, are conscious.

VOL. II. D

34 BODY AND MIND.

The sciences which make that supposition are the
sciences of Ethics and Politics, which are still in the
practical stage, and especially the more advanced science
which is now to be considered — Psychology, the Science
of Mind itself; that is to say, the science of the laws
which regulate the succession of feelings in any one
consciousness. Each of these three great divisions
began in the form of a number of perfectly disconnected
subjects, between which nobody knew of any relation ;
but in the history of science each of them has been
woven together, in consequence of connexions being
found between the different subjects included in it, into
a complete whole ; and the further progress of the
history of science requires that each of these great
threads, into which all the little threads have been
twined, should themselves be twined together into a
single string.

With regard to the first two groups, — the group
of mechanical sciences as we may call them, or the
physics of inorganic bodies, and the group of biological
sciences, or the physics of organic bodies — the gulf
between these two has in these last days been firmly
bridged over. A description of that bridge, and an
account of the doctrines which form it, will be found
in Professor Huxley's admirable lecture delivered at
Belfast before the British Association. That bridge,
as we have it now, is, in the conception of it, mainly
due to Descartes ; but parts of it have been worked
out since his time by a vast number of physiologists,
with the expenditure of an enormous amount of
labour and thought. Such facts as that discovered by
Harvey, that the movement of the blood was a mere

BODY AND MIND. 35

question of Tlydrodynanrics, and was to be explained
upon the same principles as the motion of water in pipes
— facts like these have been piled up, one upon another,
and have gradually led to the conclusion that the
science of organic bodies is only a complication of the
science of inorganic bodies.

It would not be advisable here to describe in detail
the stones which compose this bridge ; but we have to
ask whether it is possible to construct some similar
bridge between the now united Science of Physics,
which deals with all phenomena, whether organic or
inorganic, in fact with all the material world, and the
other science, the Science of Consciousness, which deals
with the Laws of Mind and with the subject of Ethics.
This is the question which we have now to discuss.

In order to make this bridge a firm one, so that it
will not break down like those which philosophers have
made, it is necessary to observe with great care what is
the exact difference between the twojJasses of facts. If
we confuse the two things together to begin with, if we
do not recognize the great difference between them, we
shall not be likely to find any explanation which will
reduce them to some common term. C^he first thing,
therefore, that we have to do is to realize as clearly as
possible how profound the gulf is between the facts
which we call Physical facts and the facts which we
call Mental factsf] The difference is one which has been
observed from primeval times, when man or his pre-
human ancestor found it not good to be alone ; for the
very earliest precept that we firid set forth in all
societies to regulate the lives of those who belong to
them, is, ' Put yourself in his place ; ' that is to say,

D 2

36 BODY AND MIND.

ascribe to other men a consciousness "which is like your
own. And this belief, which the lowest savage got, that
there was something else than the physical organization
in other men, is the foundation of Natural Ethics as
well as of the modern Science of Consciousness. But
in very early times an hypothesis was formed which
was supposed to make this belief easier. If you eat too
much you will dream when you are asleep ; if you eat
too little you will dream when you are awake, or have
visions ; and those dreams of savages whose food was
very precarious led them to a biological hypothesis.
They saw in those dreams their fellows, other men,
when it appeared from evidence furnished to them
afterwards that those other men were not there when
they were dreaming. Consequently they supposed
that the actions of the organic body were caused by
some other body which was not physical in the ordinary
sense, which was not made of ordinary matter, and this
other body was called the Soul. Animism, as Mr.
Tylor calls this belief, was at first, then, an hypothesis
in the domain of biology. It was a physical hypothesis
to account for the peculiar way in which living things
went about. But then when people had got this belief
in another body which was not a physical body, after a
long series of years they reasoned in this way. It is
very difficult indeed, to suppose that the ordinary matter
which makes a man's body can be conscious. This Me
is quite different from the flesh and blood which make
up a man ; but then as to this other body, or soul, we
do not know anything about it, so that it may as well
be conscious as not. That hypothesis put upon the soul,
whose basis was in the phenomena of dreams, the

BODY AND MIXD. 37

explanation of the consciousness which we cannot help
believing to exist in other men. I have mentioned this
early hypothesis on the subject, because out of it grew
the almost universal custom of holding at this time of
the year the Festival of the Dead which we preserve in
our All Souls' Day.

But now let us see what it is that Science can tell
us and what we can believe in place of that early
hypothesis of our savage ancestors. In the first place,
let us consider a little more narrowly what we mean by
the body, and more especially what we mean by the
nervous system ; for it is the great discovery of
Descartes that the nervous system is that part of the ;
body which is related directly to the mind. This can
hardly be better expressed than it is by the first of that
series of propositions which Professor Huxley has stated
in his lecture.

I. ' The brain is the organ of sensation, thought, and
emotion ; that is to say, some change in the condition of
the matter of this organ is the invariable antecedent of the
state of consciousness to which each of these terms is
applied' We may complete this statement by saying
not only that some change in the matter of this organ
is the invariable antecedent, but that some other change
is the invariable concomitant of sensation, thought, and
emotion ; and that is rather an important remark, as
you will see presently.

Let us now look at the general structure of the
brain and see what it is like. We can easily make a
rough picture of it, which will serve our present
purpose.1 A parachute is a round piece of paper,

1 [See the diagram at p. 43 below.]

38 BODY AND MIND.

like the top of a parasol, with strings going from its
circumference to a cork. Let us imagine a parachute
with two corks, a red and a blue one; each .of these
corks being attached by strings, not only to the circuni
ference of our piece of paper, but to innumerable
points in the inside of it. Moreover, let innumerable
other strings go across from point to point of the paper,
like a spider's web spun in the inside of a parasol.
And the corks themselves must be tied to each other
and to a third cork, say a white one, while from all
three streamers fly away in all directions.

This is our diagram. Now the sheet of paper re-
presents the cerebral hemispheres, a great sheet of grey
nervous matter which forms the outside of your brain,
and lies just under your skull. Our red and blue corks
are two other masses of grey matter lying at the base of
the brain, and called the optic thalami and the corpora
striata respectively. The white cork is another mass of
grey matter called the medulla oblong ata, which is the
top of the spinal cord. Our strings which tie part of
the parachute together, and our streamers which go out
in all directions from the corks, represent the nerves,
white threads that run all over the body. And they are
of two kinds : there are some which go to the brain from
any part of the body, and others which come from the
brain to it. As regards the position of the nerves this
is the same thing for both of them, but it is not the
same thing with regard to what they do. The nerves
which are called Sensory nerves, and which go to the
brain, are those which are excited whenever any part of
the body is touched. When your finger is touched, a
certain excitement is given to the nerves which end in

BODY ASD MIND. 39

>ur finger, and that excitement is carried along your
arm and away up to the medulla, represented by our
white cork. But when you are going to move your arm
the excitement starts from the brain, and goes along the
other set of nerves which are called Motor nerves, or
moving nerves, and goes to the muscles which work the
part of the arm which you want to move. And that
excitement of the nerves by purely mechanical means
makes those muscles contract so as to move the part
which you want to move. We have then a connexion
between the brain and any part of the body which is of
a double kind : there is the means of sending a message
to the brain from this part of the body, and the means
of taking a message from the brain to this part. The
nerves which carry the message to the brain are called
the ' Sensory nerves,' because they accompany what we
call sensation ; the nerves which carry the message from
the brain are called ' Motor nerves,' because they are
the agents in the motion of that part of the body.

All this is expressed in Professor Huxley's second
and third propositions.

n. ' The movements of animals are due to the change
of form of the muscles, which shorten and become thicker ;
and this change of form in a muscle arises from a motion
of the substance contained within the nerves which go to the
muscle.'

m. ' The sensations of animals are due to a motion of
the substance of the nerves which connect the sensory organs
with the brain J

I pass on to his fourth proposition : —

IV. ' The motion of the matter of a sensory nerve may
be transmitted through the brain to motor nerves, and

40 BODY AND MIND.

thereby give rise to a contraction of the muscles to which
these motor nerves are distributed; and tf:9 refaction of
motion from a sensory into a motor ne >iay take pl<i<'<'
without volition, or even contrary to it.'

Let us take that organ of sense which always occurs
to us as a type of the others, because it is the
perfect — the eye. The optic nerve which runs from
eye towards the brain may be represented by on 3 ^ four
streamers going to the red cork, to which it is fastened
by a knot that is called the ' Optic ganglion/ Suppos-
ing that you move your hand rapidly towards anybody's
eye, a message with news of this movement goes along
the nerve to the optic ganglion, and it comes away back
again by another streamer, not direct from the ganglion,
but from a point on the blue cork very near it, to the
muscles which move the eyelid, and that makes the eye
wink. You know that the winking of the eye, when
anybody moves his hand very rapidly towards it, is not
a thing which you determine to do, and which you con-
sider about ; it is a thing which happens without your in-
terference with it ; and in fact it is not you who wink
your eye, but your body that does it. This is called
Automatic or involuntary motion, or again it is called
Reflex action, because it is a purely mechanical thing.
A wave runs along that nerve, and comes back on
another nerve, and that without any deliberation ; and
at the point where it stops and comes back it is just a
reflection like the wave which you send along a string,
and which comes back from the end of the string, or like
a wave of water which is sent up against a sea-wall, and
which reflects itself back along the sea.

V. ' The motion of any given portion of the matter of

BODY AND MTXD. 41

the brain, tv >tiun of a sensory nerve, leaves

behind it a readiness to be moved in the same way in that
part. 't'hich resuscitates the motion gives rise

to the appropriate feeling. This is the physical mechanism

ternary' We can, perhaps, make this a little more
clear in the following manner : — Suppose two messages
are se-nt at once to the brain ; each of them is reflected
back, but the two disturbances which they set up in the
brain create, in some way or other, a link between them,
so that when one of these disturbances is set up after-
wards the other one is also set up. It is as if every time
two bells of a house were rung together, that of itself
made a string to tie them together, so that when you
rang one bell it was necessary to ring the other bell in
consequence. That, remember, is purely a physical
circumstance of which we know that it happens. There
is a physical excitation or disturbance which is sent along
two different nerves, and which produces two different
disturbances in the brain, and the effect of these two
disturbances taking place together is to make a change
in the character of the brain itself, so that when the one
of them takes place it produces the other.

Now there are two different ways in which a stimulus
coming to the eye can be made to move the hand. In
the first place, suppose you are copying out a book;
you have the book before you, and you read the book
whilst you are copying with your hand, and conse-
quently the light coming into your eye from the book
directs your hand to move in a certain way. It is
possible for this light impinging upon the eye to send a
message along the optic nerve into the ganglion, and
that message may go almost, though not quite, direct

42 BODY AND MIND.

to the hand, so as to make the hand move, and that
causes the hand to describe the letter which you have
seen in the book ; or else the message may go by °
longer route which takes more time. A simple experi-
ment to distinguish between these processes was tried"
by Bonders, the great Dutch physiologist. He made a
sign to a man at a distance, and when he made this sign
the man was to put down a key with his hand. He
measured the time which was taken in this process, that
is to say, the time which was taken by the message in
going from the eye to the ganglion, and then to the
hand. Measurements of the rate of nerve-motions have
also been made by Helmholtz. The velocity varies to
a certain extent in different people, but it is something
like one hundred feet a second. But Bonders also
made another measurement. Suppose it is not decided
beforehand whether the man is to move the key with
his right or left hand, and this is to be determined by
the nature of the signal, then before he can move his
hand he has to decide which hand he will use. The
time taken for that process of decision was also
measured. That process of decision, when looked at
from the physical side, means this. The message goes
up from the eye to the ganglion. It is immediately
connected there with the mass of grey matter repre-
sented by our red cork. From that mass of grey
matter there go white threads away to the whole of the
surface of the cerebral hemispheres, or the paper of
our parachute, and they take that message, therefore,
which comes from the eye to the ganglion away to all
this grey matter which is put round the inside of your
skull. There are also white threads which connect all

BODY AND MIND. 43

the parts of fcbis grey matter together, and they run
across from every pa^t of it to almost every other part
c* it. As soon as a message has been taken to this grey

ter, there is a vast interchange of messages going
on between those parts ; but finally, as the result of
that, a number of messages come upon other white
threads to another piece of grey matter, which is re-
presented by our blue cork ; from that the message is
then taken to the muscles of the hand. There are then
two different ways in which a message may go from the
eye to the hand. It may go to the optic ganglion, and
then almost straight to the hand, and in that case you
do not know much about it — you only know that some-
thing has taken place, you do not think that you have
done it yourself ; or it may go to the optic ganglion,
and be sent up to the cerebral hemispheres, and then
be sent back to the sensory tract and then on to the
hand. But that takes more time, and it implies that
you have deliberated upon the act.

The diagram here drawn may make this point more
clear. Here E is the eye, K and B are the red and blue

c

orks, and H is the hand. The curve C C represents
the cerebral hemispheres, or the top of our parachute.

44 BODY AND MIND.

If the action is so habitually associated with the signal
that it takes place involuntarily, without any effort of
the will, the message goes from the eye to the hand
along the line E E B H. This may happen with a
practised performer when it is settled beforehand which
hand he is to use. But if it is necessary to deliberate
about the action, to call in the exercise of the will, the
message goes round the loop-line, E E C C B H ; from
the eye to the optic thalanii, from them to the cere-
brum, thence to the corpora striata, and so through the
medulla to the hand.

Besides this fact which we have just explained, the
fact of a message going from one part of the body to
the brain and coming out in the motion of some other
part of the body, there is another thing which is going
on continually, and that is this : — There is a faint repro-
duction of some excitement which has previously existed
in the cerebral hemispheres, and which calls up, by the
process which we have just now described, all those
that have become associated with it ; and it is continu-
ally sending down faint messages which do not actually
tell the muscles to move, but which as it were begin to
tell them to move. They are not always strong enough
to produce actual motions, but they produce just the
beginnings of those motions : and that process goes on
even when there is apparently no sensation and no
motion. If a man is in a brown study, with his eyes
shut, although he apparently sees and feels nothing at
all, there is a certain action going on inside his brain
which is not sensation, but is like it, because it is the
transmission to the cerebral hemispheres of faint mes-
sages which are copies of previous sensations ; and it

BODY AND MIXD. 45

loes not produce motion, but it produces something
like it ; it produces incipient motion, the beginnings of
motion which do not actually take effect. Sometimes a
train of thought may so increase in strength as to pro-
duce motion. A man may get so excited by a train of
thought that he jumps up and does something in con-
sequence. And the sensory impressions which are taken
from the ganglia to the hemispheres may be so strong
as to produce an illusion ; he may think that he sees
something, he may think that he sees a ghost, when he
does not. This continuous action of the brain depends
upon the presence of blood ; so long as the proper
amount of blood is sent to the brain it is active, and
when the blood is taken away it becomes inactive. And
it is a curious property of the nervous system that it can
direct the supply of blood which is to be sent to a parti-
cular part of it. It is possible, by directing your attention
to a particular part of your hand, to make a determina-
tion of blood to that part which shall in time become a
sore place. Some people have given this explanation,
which seems a very probable one, of what has happened
to those saints who have meditated so long upon the cru-
cifixion that they have got what are called stigmata, that
is, marks of wounds corresponding to the wounds they
were thinking about.

That, then, is the general character of the nervous
system which we have to consider in connexion with
the mind. There is a train of facts between stimulus
and motion which may be of two kinds : it may be
direct or it may be indirect, it may go round the loop-
line or not ; and also there is a continuous action of
the brain even when these steps are not taking place in

46 BODY AND MIND.

completeness. Moreover, when two actions take place
simultaneously, they form a sort of link between them,
so that if one of them is afterwards repeated the other
gets repeated with it. That is what we have to remem-
ber chiefly as to the character of the brain.

Now let us consider the other class of facts and the
connexions between them — the facts of consciousness.
An eminent divine once said to me that he thought
there were only two kinds of consciousness — to have a
feeling, and to know that you have a feeling. It
seems to me that there is only one kind of conscious-
ness, and that is to have fifty thousand feelings at once,
and to know them all in different degrees. Whenever
I try to analyse any particular state of consciousness in
which I am, I find that it is an extremely complex one.
I cannot help at this moment having a consciousness of
all the different parts of this hall, and of a great sea of
faces before me ; and I cannot help having the con-
sciouness, at the same time, of all the suggestions that
that picture makes, that each face represents a person
sitting there and listening or not, as the case may be.
And I cannot help combining with them at the same
moment a number of actions which they suggest to me,
and in particular the action of going on speaking. There
are a great number of elements of complexity which I
cannot describe, because I am so faintly conscious of
them that I cannot remember them. Any state of our
consciousness, then, as we are at present constituted, is
an exceedingly complex thing ; but it certainly possesses
this property, that if two feelings have occurred together,
and one of them afterwards occurs again, it is very
likely that the other will be called up by it. That is to

BODY AND MIXD. 47

say, two states of consciousness which have taken place
at the same moment produce a link between them, so
that a repetition of the one calls up a repetition of the
other.

Again I find a certain train of facts between my sen-
sations and my exertions. When I see a thing, I may
go through a long process of deliberation as to what I
shall do with it, and then afterwards I may do that
which I have deliberated and decided upon. But, on
the other hand, I may, by seeing a thing, be quite sud-
denly forced into doing something without any chance
of deliberation at all. If I suddenly see a cab coming
upon me from the corner of a street where I did not at
all expect it, I jump out of the way without thinking
that it is a very desirable thing to get out of the way
of the cab. But if I see a cab a little while before, and
have more time to think about it, then it occurs to me
that it will be unpleasant and undesirable to be run over
by that cab, and that I can avoid it by walking out of
the way. You here see that there are in the case of the
mind two distinct trains of facts between sensation and
exertion. There is an involuntary train of facts when
the exertion follows the sensation without asking my
leave, and there is a voluntary train in which it does
ask my leave.

Then, again, there is this fact : that even when
there is no actual sensation and no actual exertion,
there may still be a long train of facts and sensations
which hang together ; there may be faint reproductions
of sensation which are not so vivid as are the sensations
themselves, but which form a series of pictures of sen-
sations which pass continually before my mind ; and

48 BODY AND MIND.

there will be faint beginnings of action. Now the
sense in which those are faint beginnings of action is
very instructive. Any beginning of an action is what
we call a judgment. When you see a thing, you in
the first instance form no judgment about it at all — you
are not prepared to assert any proposition — you merely
have the feeling of a certain sight or sound presented to
you ; but after a very short space of time, so short that
you cannot perceive it, you begin to frame propositions.
If you consider what a proposition means, you will see
it must correspond to the beginning of some sort of
exertion. When you say that A is B, you mean that
you are going to act as if A were B. If I see water
with a particularly dull surface, and with stones resting
upon the surface of it, then, first of all, I have merely
an impression of a certain sheet of colour, and of certain
objects which interrupt the colour of that sheet. But
the second thing that I do is to come to the conclusion
that the water is frozen, and that therefore I may walk
upon it. The assertion that the water is frozen implies
a bundle of resolves ; which means, given certain other
conditions, I shall go and walk upon it. So, then, an
act of judgment or an assertion of any kind implies
a certain incipient action of the muscles, not actually
carried out at that time and place, but preparing a
certain condition of the mind such as afterwards, when
the occasion comes, will guide the action that we shall
take up.

Now, then, what is it that we mean by the
character of a person? You judge of a person's
character by what he thinks and does under certain
circumstances. Let us see what determines this. We

BODY AND MIND. 49

can only be speaking here of voluntary actions — those
actions in which the person is consulted, and which are
not done by his body without his leave. In those
voluntary actions what takes place is that a certain
sensation is communicated to the mind, the sensation is
manipulated by the mind, and conclusions are drawn
from it, and then a message is sent out which causes
certain motions to take place. The character of the
person "is evidently determined by the nature of this
manipulation. If the sensation suggests a wrong thing,
the character of the person will be bad ; if the
sensation suggests in the great majority of cases a right
thing, you will say that the character of the person is
good. So, then, it is the character of the mind which
determines what ' it will do with a given sensation,
and what act will follow from it, — which determines
what we call the personality of any person ; and that
character is persistent in the main, although it is
continually changing a little. The vast mass of it is
a thing which lasts through the whole of every in-
dividual's life, although everything which happens to
him makes some small change in it, and that constitutes
the education of the man.

Then the question arises, is there anything else in
your consciousness of a different nature from what we
have here described ? That is a question which every
man has to decide by examining his own consciousness.
I do not find anything else in mine. If you find any-
thing else in yours, it is extremely important that you
should analyse it and find out all that you possibly can
about it, and state it in the clearest form to other people ;
because it is one of the most important problems of

VOL. II. E

50 BODY AND MIND.

philosophy to account for the whole of consciousness
out of individual feelings. It seems to me that the
account of which I have only given a very rough sketch,
which was begun by Locke and Hume, and has been
carried out by their successors, chiefly in this country,
is in its great general features complete, and leaves
nothing but more detailed explanations to be desired.
It seems to me that I find nothing in myself which is
not accounted for when I describe myself as a stream of
feelings such that each of them is capable of a faint
repetition, and that when two of them have occurred
together the repetition of the one calls up the other,
and that there are rules according to which the
resuscitated feeling calls up its fellows. These are, in
the main, fixed rules which determine and are deter-
mined by my character ; but my character is gradually
'changing in consequence of the education of life. It
seems to me that this is a complete account of all the
kinds of facts which I can find in myself; and, as I said
before, if anybody finds any other kinds of facts in him-
self, it is an exceedingly important thing that he should
describe them as clearly as he possibly can.

We have described two classes of facts ; let us now
I notice the parallelism between them. First, we have
these two parallel facts, that two actions of the brain
which occur together form a link between themselves,
so that the one being called up the other is called up ;
and two states of consciousness which occur together
form a link between them, so that when one is called up
the other is called up. But also we find a train of facts
between the physical fact of the stimulus of light going
into the eye and the physical fact of the motion of the

BODY AND MIND. 51

muscles. Corresponding to a part of that train, we have
found a train of facts between sensation, the mental
fact which corresponds to a message arriving from the
eye, and exertion, the mental fact which corresponds to
the motion of the hand by a message going out along
the nerves. And we have found a correspondence
between the continuous action of the brain and the con-
tinuous existence of consciousness apparently indepen-
dent of sensation and exertion.

But let us look at this correspondence a little more
closely ; we shall find that there are one or two things
which can be established with practical certainty. In
the first place, it is not the whole of the physical train
of facts which corresponds to the mental train of facts.
The beginning of the physical train consists of light
going into the eye and exciting the retina, and then of
that wave of excitation being carried along the optic
nerve to the ganglion. For all we know, and it is a very
probable thing, the mental fact begins here, at the gan-
glion. There is no sensation till the message has got to
the optic ganglion, for this reason, that if you press the
optic nerve behind the eye you can produce the sensa-
tion of light. It is like tapping a telegraph, and sending
a message which has not come from the station from
which it ought to have come ; nobody at the other end
can tell whether it has come from that station or not.
The optic ganglion cannot tell whether this message
which comes along the nerve has come from the eye or
is the result of a tapping of the telegraph, whether it is
produced by light or by pressure upon the nerve. It is
a fact of immense importance that all these nerves are
exactly of the same kind. The only thing which the nerve

E 2

52 BODY AND MIND.

does is to transmit a message which has been given to it ; it
does not transmit a message in any other way than the
telegraph wire transmits a message — that is to say, it is
excited at certain intervals, and the succession of these
intervals determines what this message is, not the nature
of the excitation which passes along the wire. So that
if we watched the nerve excited by pressure the mes-
sage going along to the ganglion would be exactly the
same as if it were the actual sight of the eye. We may
draw from this the conclusion that the mental fact does
not begin anywhere before the optic ganglion. Again,
a man who has had one of his legs cut off can try to
move his toes, which he feels as if they were still there ;
and that shows that the consciousness of the motor im-
pulse which is sent out along the nerve does not go to
the end to see whether it is obeyed or not. The only
way in which we know whether our orders, given to any
parts of our body, are obeyed, is by having a message
sent back to say that they are obeyed. If I tell my
hand to press against this black-board the only way in
which I know that it does press is by having a message
sent back by my skin to say that it is pressed. But
supposing there is no skin there, I can have the exertion
that precedes the action without actually performing it,
because I can send out a message, and consciousness
stops with the sending of the message, and does not
know anything further. So that the mental fact is
somewhere or other in the region E C C B of the dia-
gram, and does not include the two ends. That is to
say, it is not the whole of the bodily fact that the mental
fact corresponds to, but only an intermediate part of it.
If it just passes through the points E B, without going

BODY AND MIND. 53

round the loop from C to C, then we merely have the
sensation that something has taken place — we have had
no voice in the nature of it and no choice about it. If
it has gone round from C to C, we have a much larger
fact — we have that fact which we call choice, or the
exercise of volition. We may conclude, then — I am
not able in so short a space as I have to give you the
whole evidence which goes to an assertion of this kind ;
but there is evidence which is sufficient to satisfy
any competent scientific man of this day — that every
fact of consciousness is parallel to some disturbance
of nerve matter, although there are some nervous dis-
turbances which have no parallel in consciousness,
properly so called ; that is to say, disturbances of
my nerves may exist which have no parallel in my
consciousness.

We have now observed two classes of facts and the
parallelism between them. Let us next observe what
an enormous gulf there is between these two classes of
facts.

The state of a man's brain and the actions which go
along with it are things which every other man can per-
ceive, observe, measure, and tabulate ; but the state of a
man's own consciousness is known to him only, and not
to any other person. Things which appear to us and
which we can observe are called objects or phenomena.
Facts in a man's consciousness are not objects or pheno-
mena to any other man ; they are capable of being ob-
served only by him. We have no possible ground, there-
fore, for speaking of another man's consciousness as in any
sense a part of the physical world of objects or pheno-
mena. It is a thing entirely separate from it ; and all the

64 BODY AND MIND.

evidence that we have goes to show that the physical
world gets along entirely by itself, according to practi-
cally universal rules. That is to say, the laws which
hold good in the physical world hold good everywhere
in it — they hold good with practical universality, and
there is no reason to suppose anything else but those
laws in order to account for any physical fact ; there is
no reason to suppose anything but the universal laws of
mechanics in order to account for the motion of organic
bodies. The train of physical facts between the stimu-
lus sent into the eye, or to any one of our senses, and
the exertion which follows it, and the train of physical
facts which goes on in the brain, even when there is no
stimulus and no exertion, — these are perfectly complete
physical trains, and every step is fully accounted for by
mechanical conditions. In order to show what is meant
by that, I will endeavour to explain another supposition
which might be made. When a stimulus comes into
the eye there is a certain amount of energy transferred
from the ether, which fills space, to this nerve ; and this
energy travels along into the ganglion, and sets the gan-
glion into a state of disturbance which may use up some
energy previously stored in it. The amount of energy
is the same as before by the law of the conservation
of energy. That energy is spread over a number of
threads which go out to the brain, and it comes back
again and is reflected from there. It may be supposed
that a very small portion of energy is created in that
process, and that while the stimulus is going round this
loop-line it gets a little push somewhere, and then, when
it comes back to the ganglia, it goes away to the muscle
and sets loose a store of energy in the muscle so that it

BODY AND MIND. 55

moves the limb. Now the question is, Is there any crea-
tion of energy anywhere? Is there any part of the
physical progress which cannot be included within
ordinary physical laws ? It has been supposed, I say,
by some people, as it seems to me merely by a confu-
sion of ideas, that there is, at some part or other of this
process, a creation of energy ; but there is no reason
whatever why we should suppose this. The difficulty in
proving a negative in these cases is similar to that in prov-
ing a negative about anything w^hich exists on the other
side of the moon. It is quite true that I am not abso-
lutely certain that the law of the conservation of energy
is exactly true ; but there is no more reason why I
should suppose a particular exception to occur in the
brain than anywhere else. I might just as well assert
that whenever anything passes over the Line, when it
goes from the*iorth side of the Equator to the south, there
is a certain creation of energy, as that there is a creation
of energy in the brain. If I chose to say that the
amount was so small that none of our present measure-
ments could appreciate it, it would be difficult or indeed
impossible for anybody to disprove that assertion ; but
I should have no reason whatever for making it. There
being, then, an absence of positive evidence that the
conditions are exceptional, the reasons which lead us to
assert that there is no loss of energy in organic any more
than in inorganic bodies are absolutely overwhelming.
There is no more reason to assert that there is a creation
of energy in any part of an organic body, because we
are not absolutely sure of the exact nature of the law,
than there is reason, because we do not know what
there is on the other side of the moon, to assert that

66 BODY AND MIND.

there is a sky-blue peacock there with forty-five eyes
in his tail.

Therefore it is not a right thing to say, for example,
that the mind is a force, because if the mind were a force
we should be able to perceive it. I should be able to per-
ceive your mind and to measure it, but I cannot ; I have
absolutely no means of perceiving your mind. I judge
by analogy that it exists, and the instinct which leads
me to come to that conclusion is the social instinct, as
it has been formed in me by generations during which
men have lived together ; and they could not have lived
together unless they had gone upon that supposition.
But I may very well say that among the physical facts
which go along at the same time with mental facts there
are forces at work. That is perfectly true, but the two
things are on two utterly different platforms — the phy-
sical facts go along by themselves, and the mental facts
go along by themselves. There is a parallelism between
them, but there is no interference of one with the other.
Again, if anybody says that the will influences matter,
the statement is not untrue, but it is nonsense. The
will is not a material thing, it is not a mode of material
motion. Such an assertion belongs to the crude mate-
rialism of the savage. The only thing which influences
matter is the position of surrounding matter or the
motion of surrounding matter. It may be conceived
that at the same time with every exercise of volition
there is a disturbance of the physical laws ; but this
disturbance, being perceptible to me, would be a physical
fact accompanying the volition, and could not be the
volition itself, which is not perceptible to me. Whether
there is such a disturbance of the physical laws or no

BODY AND MIND.

is a question of fact to which we have the best of
reasons for giving a negative answer ; but the assertion
that another man's volition, a feeling in his conscious-
ness which I cannot perceive, is part of the train of
physical facts which I may perceive, — this is neither true
nor untrue, but nonsense ; it is a combination of words
whose corresponding ideas will not go together.

Thus we are to regard the body as a physical ma- :,
chine, which goes by itself according to a physical law,
that is to say, is automatic. An automaton is a thing
which goes by itself when it is wound up, and we go by
ourselves when we have had food. Excepting the fact
that other men are conscious, there is no reason why we
should not regard the human body as merely an exceed-
ingly complicated machine which is wound up by put-
ting food into the mouth. But it is not merely a machine,
because consciousness goes with it. The mind, then, is
to be regarded as a stream of feelings which runs pa-
rallel to, and simultaneous with, a certain part of the
action of the body, that is to say, that particular part
of the action of the brain in which the cerebrum and
the sensory tract are excited.

Then, you say, if we are automata what becomes of
the freedom of the will ? The freedom of the will, ac-
cording to Kant, is that property which enables us to
originate events independently of foreign determining
causes ; which, it seems to me, amounts to saying pre-
cisely that we are automata, that is, that we go by our-
selves, and do not want anybody to push or pull us.
The distinction between an automaton and a puppet is
that the one goes by itself when it is wound up and the
other requires to be pushed or pulled by wires or strings;

.58 BODY AND MIND.

We do not want any stimulus from without, but we go
by ourselves when we have had our food, and therefore
so far as that distinction goes we are automata. But we
are more than automata, because we are conscious ;
mental facts go along with the bodily facts. That does
not hinder us from describing the bodily facts by them-
selves, and if we restrict our attention to them we must
describe ourselves as automata.

The objection which many people feel to this doc-
trine is derived, I think, from the conception of such
automata as are made by man. Tn that case there is
somebody outside the automaton who has constructed
it in a certain definite way, with definite intentions, and
has meant it to go in that way ; and the whole action
of the automaton is determined by that person out-
side. If we consider, for example, a machine such as
Frankenstein made, and imagine ourselves to have been
put together as that fearful machine was put together
by a German student, the conception naturally strikes us
with horror ; but if we consider the actual fact, we shall
see that our own case is not an analogous one. For, as
a matter of fact, we were not made by any Frankenstein,
but we made ourselves. L I do not mean that every in-
dividual has made the whole of his own character, but
that the human race as a whole has made itself during
the process of ages. The action of the whole race at
any given time determines what the character of the
race shall be in the future.^ From the continual storing
up of the effects of such actions, graven into the char-
acter of the race, there arises in process of time that
exact human constitution which we now have. By
the process of natural selection all the actions of our

BODY AND MIND. 59

ancestors are built into us and form our character, and
in that sense it may be said that the human race has
made itself. Lin that sense also we are individually
responsible for what the human race will be in the
future, because every one of our actions goes to
determine what the character of the race shall be to-
morrow-l -^ on tne contrary, we suppose that in the
action of the brain there is some point where physical
causes do not apply, and where there is a discontinuity,
then it will follow that some of our actions are not
dependent upon our character. Provided the action
which goes on in my brain is a continuous one, subject
to physical rules, then it will depend upon what the
character of my brain is ; or if I look at it from the
mental side, it will depend upon what my mental
character is; butfif there is a certain point where the
law of causation does not apply, where my action does
not follow by regular physical causes from what I am,
then I am not responsible for it, because it is not I that
do it. So you see the notion that we are not automata
destroys responsibility ; because, if my actions are not
determined by my character in accordance with the
particular circumstances which occur, then I am not
responsible for them, and it is not I that do them.

Moreover, if we once admit that physical causes are ^
not continuous, but that there is some break, then we /
leave the way open for the doctrine of a destiny or a
Providence outside of us, overruling human efforts and
guiding history to a foregone conclusion. Now of
course it is the business of the seeker after truth to find
out whether a proposition is true or no, and not what
are the moral consequences which may be expected to

60 BODY AND MIND.

follow from it. But I do think that if it is right to call
any doctrine immoral, it is right so to call this doctrine,
when we remember how often it has paralysed the
efforts of those who were climbing honestly up the hill-
side towards the light and the right, and how often it
has nerved the sacrilegious arm of the fanatic or the
adventurer who was conspiring against society.

I want now, very briefly indeed, to consider to what
extent these doctrines furnish a bridge between the two
classes of facts. I have said that the series of mental
facts corresponds to only a portion of the action of the
organism. But we have to consider not only ourselves,
but also those animals which are next below us in the
scale of organization, and we cannot help ascribing to
them a consciousness which is analogous to our own.
We find, when we attempt to enter into that, and to
judge by their actions what sort of consciousness they
possess, that it differs from our own in precisely the same
way that their brains differ from our brains. There is
less of the co-ordination which is implied by a message
going round the loop-line. A much larger number
of the messages which go in at a cat's eyes and come
out at her paws go straight through without any loop-
line at all than do so in the case of a man ; but still there
is a little loop-line left. And the lower we go down in
the scale of organization the less of this loop-line there
is ; yet we cannot suppose that so enormous a jump
from one creature to another should have occurred at
any point in the process of evolution as the introduction
of a fact entirely different and absolutely separate from
the physical fact. It is impossible for anybody to point
out the particular place in the line of descent where

BODY AND MIND.

that event can be supposed to have taken place. The
only thing that we can come to, if we accept the
doctrine of evolution at all, is that even in the very
lowest organisms, even in the Amoeba which swims
about in our own blood, there is something or other,
inconceivably simple to us, which is of the same nature
with our own consciousness, although not of the same
complexity — that is to say (for we cannot stop at
organic* matter, knowing as we do that it must have
arisen by continuous physical processes out of inorganic
matter), we are obliged to assume, in order to save
continuity in our belief, that along with every motion
of matter, whether organic or inorganic, there is some
fact which corresponds to the mental fact in ourselves.
The mental fact in ourselves is an exceedingly complex
thing ; so also our brain is an exceedingly complex
thing. We may assume that the quasi-mental fact
which corresponds and which goes along with the
motion of every particle of matter is of such inconceiv-
able simplicity, as compared with our own mental fact,
with our consciousness, as the motion of a molecule of
matter is of inconceivable simplicity when compared
with the motion in our brain.

This doctrine is not merely a speculation, but is a
result to which all the greatest minds that have studied
this question in the right way have gradually been
approximating for a long time.

Again, let us consider what takes place when we
perceive anything by means of our eye. A certain
picture is produced upon the retina of the eye, which
is like the picture on the ground-glass plate in a photo-
graphic camera ; but it is not there that the conscious-

62 BODY AND MIND.

ness begins, as I have shown before. When I see any-
thing there is a picture produced on the retina, but I
am not conscious of it there ; and in order that I may
be conscious the message must be taken from each
point of this picture along the special nerve-fibre to
the ganglion. These innumerable fine nerves which
come away from the retina go each of them to a par-
ticular point of the ganglion, and the result is that,
corresponding to that picture at the back of the retina,
there is a disturbance of a great number of centres of
grey matter in the ganglion. If certain parts of the
retina of my eye, having light thrown upon them, are
disturbed so as to produce the figure of a square, then
certain little pieces of grey matter in this ganglion,
which are distributed we do not know how, will also be
disturbed, and the impression corresponding to that is
a square. Consciousness belongs to this disturbance of
the ganglion, and not to the picture in the eye ; and
therefore it is something quite different from the thing
which is perceived. But at the same time, if we con-
sider another man looking at something, we shall say
that the fact is this — there is something outside of him
which is matter in motion, and that which corresponds
inside of him is also matter in motion. The external
motion of matter produces in the optic ganglion some-
thing which corresponds to it, but is not like it.
Although for every point in the object there is a point
of disturbance in the optic ganglion, and for every
connexion between two points in the object there is a
connexion between two disturbances, yet they are not
like one another. Nevertheless they are made of the
same stuff; the object outside and the optic ganglion

BODY AND MIXD. 63

are both matter, and that matter is made of molecules
moving about in ether. When I consider the impression
which is produced upon my mind of any fact, that is just
a part of my mind ; the impression is a part of me. The
hall which I see now is just an impression produced on
my mind by something outside of it, and that impression
is a part of me.

We may conclude from this theory of sensation,
which is established by the discoveries of Helmholtz,
that the feeling which I have in my mind — the picture
of this hall — is something corresponding, point for
point, to the actual reality outside. Though every
small part of the reality which is outside corresponds
to a small part of my picture, though every connexion
between two parts of that reality outside corresponds
to a connexion between two parts of my picture, yet
the two things are not alike. They correspond to one
another, just as a map may be said in a certain sense to
correspond with the country of which it is a map, or
as a written sentence may be said to correspond to a
spoken sentence. But then I may conclude from what
I said before that, although the two corresponding
things are not alike, yet they are made of the same
stuff. Now what is my picture made of? My picture
is made of exceedingly simple mental facts, so simple
that I only feel them in groups. My picture is made
up of these elements ; and I am therefore to conclude
that the real thing which is outside me, and which
corresponds to my picture, is made up of similar
things ; that is to say, the reality which underlies
matter, the reality which we perceive as matter, is
that same stuff which, being compounded together in a

64 BODY AND MIND.

particular way, produces mind. What I perceive as
your brain is really in itself your consciousness, is You ;
but then that which I call your brain, the material
fact, is merely my perception. Suppose we put a
certain man in the middle of the hall, and we all looked
at him. We should all have perceptions of his brain ;
those would be facts in our consciousness, but they
would be all different facts. My perception would be
different from the picture produced upon you, and it
would be another picture, although it might be very
like it. So that corresponding to all those pictures
which are produced in our minds from an external
object, there is a reality which is not like the pictures,
but which corresponds to them point for point, and
which is made of the same stuff that the pictures are.
The actual reality which underlies what we call matter
is not the same thing as the mind, is not the same
thing as our perception, but it is made of the same
stuff. To use the words of the old disputants, we may
say that matter is not of the same substance as mind,
not homoousion, but it is of like substance, it is made
of similar stuff differently compacted together, homoi-
ousion.

With the exception of just this last bridge connect-
ing the two great regions of inquiry that we have been
discussing, the whole of what I have said is a body of
doctrine which is accepted now, as far as I know, by
all competent people who have considered the subject.
There are, of course, individual exceptions with regard
to particular points, such as that I have mentioned
about the possible creation of energy in the brain ; but
these are few, and they occur mainly, I think, among

BODY AND MIND. 65

those who are so exceedingly well acquainted with one
side of the subject that they regard the whole of it from
the point of view of that side, and do not sufficiently
weigh what may come from the other side. With
such exceptions as those, and with the exception of
the last speculation of all, the doctrine which I have
expounded to you is the doctrine of Science at the
present day.

These results may now be applied to the consider-
ation of certain questions which have always been of
great interest. The application which I shall make is a
purely tentative one, and must be regarded as merely
indicating that such an application becomes more pos-
sible every day. j~The first of these questions is that of
the possible existence of consciousness apart from a
nervous system, of mind without body^ Let us first of
all consider the effect upon this question of the doctrines
which are admitted by all competent scientific men.
All the consciousness that we know of is associated with
a brain in a certain definite manner, namely, it is built
up out of elements in the same way as part of the action
of the brain is built up out of elements ; an element of
one corresponds to an element in the other ; and the
mode of connexion, the shape of the building, is the
same in the two cases. The mere fact that all the con-
sciousness we know of is associated with certain com-
plex forms of matter need only make us exceedingly
cautious not to imagine any consciousness apart from
matter without very good reason indeed ; just as the
fact of all swans having turned out white up to a certain
time made us quite rightly careful about accepting
stories that involved black swans. But the fact that

VOL. II. F

66 BODY AND MIND.

mind and brain are associated in a definite way, and in
that particular way that I have mentioned, affords a
very strong presumption that we have here something
which can be explained ; that it is possible to find a
reason for this exact correspondence. If such a reason
can be found, the case is entirely altered ; instead of a
provisional probability which may rightly make us
cautious, we should have the highest assurance that
Science can give, a practical certainty on which we are
bound to act, that there is no mind without a brain.
Whatever, therefore, is the probability that an expla-
nation exists of the connexion of mind with brain in
action, such is also the probability that each of them
involves the other.

If, however, that particular explanation which I
have ventured to offer should turn out to be the true
one, the case becomes even stronger. If mind is the
reality or substance of that which appears to us as
brain-action, the supposition of mind without brain is
the supposition of an organized material substance not
affecting other substances (for if it did it might be per-
ceived), and therefore not affected by them ; in other
words, it is the supposition of immaterial matter, a con-
tradiction in terms to the fundamental assumption of
the uniformity of nature, without practically believing in
which we should none of us have been here to-day.
But if mind without brain is a contradiction, is it not
still possible that an organization like the brain can
exist without being perceived, without our being able
to hold it fast, and weigh it, and cut it up ? Now this
is a physical question, and we know quite enough about
the physical world to say, ' Certainly not.' It is made

BODY AND MIND. 67

of atoms and ether, and there is no room in it for
ghosts.

The other question which may be asked is this : Can
we regard the universe, or that part of it which imme-
diately surrounds us, as a vast brain, and therefore the
reality which underlies it as a conscious mind ? This
question has been considered by the great naturalist Du
Bois Eeymond, and has received from him that negative
answer which I think we also must give. For we found
that the particular organization of the brain which en-
ables its action to run parallel with consciousness
amounts to this — that disturbances run along definite
channels, and that two disturbances which occur to-
gether establish links between the channels along which
they run, so that they naturally occur together again.
It will, I think, be clear to everyone that these are
not characteristics of the great interplanetary spaces.
Is it not possible, however, that the stars we can see
are just atoms in some vast organism, bearing some
such relation to it as the atoms which make up our
brains bear to us ? I am sure I do not know. But it
seems clear that the knowledge of such an organism
could not extend to events taking place on the earth,
and that its volition could not be concerned in them.
And if some vast brain existed far away in space, being
invisible because not self-luminous, then, according to
the laws of matter at present known to us, it could affect
the solar system only by its weight.

On the whole, therefore, we seem entitled to con-
clude that during such time as we can have evidence of
no intelligence or volition has been concerned in events
happening within the range of the Solar system, except

F 2

68 BODY AND MIND.

that of animals living on the planets. The weight of
such probabilities is, of course, estimated differently by
different people, and the questions are only just begin-
ning to receive the right sort of attention. But it does
seem to me that we may expect in time to have negative
evidence on this point of the same kind and of the same
cogency as that which forbids us to assume the existence
between the Earth and Venus of a planet as large as
either of them.

Now, about these conclusions which I have described
as probable ones, there are two things that may be said.
In the first place, it may be said that they make the
world a blank, because they take away the objects of
very important and widespread emotions of hope and
reverence and love, which are human faculties and
require to be exercised, and that they destroy the
motives for good conduct. To this it may be answered
that we have no right to call the world a blank while it
is full of men and women, even though our one friend
may be lost to us. And in the regular everyday facts
of this common life of men, and in the promise which it
holds out for the future, there is room enough and to
spare for all the high and noble emotions of which our
nature is capable. Moreover, healthy emotions are felt
about facts and not about phantoms ; and the question
is not 'What conclusion will be most pleasing or eleva-
ting to my feelings ? ' but ' What is the truth ? ' For it
is not all human faculties that have to be exercised, but
only the good ones. It is not right to exercise the
faculty of feeling terror or of resisting evidence. And
if there are any faculties which prevent us from accept-
ing the truth and guiding our conduct by it, these

BODY AND MIND. 69

faculties ought not to be exercised. As for the assertion
that these conclusions destroy the motive for good con-
duct, it seems to me that it is not only utterly untrue,
but, because of its great influence upon human action,
one of the most dangerous doctrines that can be set
forth. The two questions which we have last discussed
are exceedingly difficult and complex questions ; the
ideas and the knowledge which we used in their dis-
cussion are the product of long centuries of laborious
investigation and thought ; and perhaps, although we
all make our little guesses, there is not one man in a
million who has any right to a definite opinion about
them. But it is not necessary to answer these questions
in order to tell an honest man from a rogue. The
distinction of right and wrong grows up in the broad
light of day out of natural causes wherever men live
together ; and the only right motive to right action is
to be found in the social instincts which have been bred
into mankind by hundreds of generations of social life.
In the target of every true Englishman's allegiance the
bull's-eye belongs to his countrymen, who are visible
and palpable and who stand around him ; not to any
far-off shadowy centre beyond the hills, ultra monies,
either at Rome or in heaven. Duty to one's country-
men and fellow-citizens, which is the social instinct
guided by reason, is in all healthy communities the one
thing sacred and supreme. If the course of things is
guided by some unseen intelligent person, then this
instinct is his highest and clearest voice, and because
of it we may call him good. But if the course of things
is not so guided, that voice loses nothing of its sacred-
ness, nothing of its clearness, nothing of its obligation.

70 BODY AND MIND.

In the second place it may be said that Science ought
not to deal with these questions at all; that while
scientific men are concerned with physical facts, they
are dans leur droit, but that in treating of such subjects
as these they are going out of their domain, and must
do harm.

What is the domain of Science ? It is all possible
human knowledge which can rightly be used to guide
human conduct.

In many parts of Europe it is customary to leave a
part of the field untilled for the Brownie to live in,
because he cannot live in cultivated ground. And if
you grant him this grace, he will do a great deal of
your household work for you in the night while you
sleep. In Scotland the piece of ground which is left
wild for him to live in is called ' the good man's
croft.' Now there are people who indulge a hope that
the ploughshare of Science will leave a sort of good
man's croft around the field of reasoned truth ; and they
promise that in that case a good deal of our civilizing
work shall be done for us in the dark, by means we
know nothing of. I do not share this hope ; and I feel
very sure that it will not be realized : I think that we
should do our work with our own hands in a healthy
straightforward way. It is idle to set bounds to
the purifying and organizing work of Science. With-
out mercy and without resentment she ploughs up
weed and briar ; from her footsteps behind her grow
up corn and healing flowers; and no corner is far
enough to escape her furrow. Provided only that
we take as our motto and pur rule of action, Man speed
the plough.

)N THE NATURE OF THING8-IN-THSMSELVES*

Meaning of the Individual Object.

MY feelings arrange and order themselves in two distinct
ways. There is the internal or subjective order, in
which sorrow succeeds the hearing of bad news, or the
abstraction ' dog ' symbolizes the perception of many
different dogs. And there is the external or objective
order, in which the sensation of letting go is followed
by the sight of a falling object and the sound of its fall.
The objective order, qua order, is treated by physical
science, which investigates the uniform relations of
objects in time and space. Here the word object (or phe-
nomenon] is taken merely to mean a group of my feelings,
which persists as a group in a certain manner ; for I
am at present considering only the objective order of
my feelings. The object, then, is a set of changes in
my consciousness, and not anything out of it. Here is
as yet no metaphysical doctrine, but only a fixing of the
meaning of a word. We may subsequently find reason
to infer that there is something which is not object, but
which corresponds in a certain way with the object ;
this will be a metaphysical doctrine, and neither it nor
its denial is 'involved in the present determination of
meaning. But the determination must be taken as
extending to all those inferences which are made by

1 ' Mind/ January, 1878.

72 ON THE NATURE OF TIIINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

science in the objective order. If I hold that there is
hydrogen in the sun, I mean that if I could get some of
it in a bottle, and explode it with half its volume of
oxygen, I should get that group of possible sensations
which we call 'water.' The inferences of physical
science are all inferences of my real or possible feelings ;
inferences of something actually or potentially in my
consciousness, not of anything outside it.

Distinction of Object and Eject.

There are, however, some inferences which are pro-
foundly different from those of physical science. When
I come to the conclusion that you are conscious, and
that there are objects in your consciousness similar to
those in mine, I am not inferring any actual or possible
feelings of my own, but your feelings, which are not, and
cannot by any possibility become, objects in my con-
sciousness. The complicated processes of your body
and the motions of your brain and nervous system,
inferred from evidence of anatomical researches, are
all inferred as things possibly visible to me. However
remote the inference of physical science, the thing in-
ferred is always a part of me, a possible set of changes
in my consciousness bound up in the objective order
with other known changes. But the inferred existence
of your feelings, of objective groupings among them
similar to those among my feelings, and of a subjective
order in many respects analogous to my own, — these
inferred existences are in the very act of inference
thrown out of my consciousness, recognised as outside of
it, as not being a part of me. I propose, accordingly,
to call these inferred existences ejects, things thrown out

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS -IN-THEMSELVES. 73

of my consciousness, to distinguish them from objects,
things presented in my consciousness, phenomena. It
is to be noticed that there is a set of changes of my con-
sciousness symbolic of the eject, which may be called
my conception of you ; it is (I think) a rough picture
of the whole aggregate of my consciousness, under
imagined circumstances like yours ; qua group of my
feelings, this conception is like the object in substance
and constitution, but differs from it in implying the ex-
istence of something that is not itself, but corresponds
to it, namely, of the eject. The existence of the object,
whether perceived or inferred, carries with it a group
of beliefs ; these are always beliefs in the future se-
quence of certain of my feelings. The existence of this
table, for example, as an object in my consciousness,
carries with it the belief that if I climb up on it I shall
be able to walk about on it as if it were the ground.
But the existence of my conception of you in my con-
sciousness carries with it a belief in the existence of you
outside of my consciousness, a belief which can never
be expressed in terms of the future sequence of my feel-
ings. How this inference is justified, how consciousness
can testify to the existence of anything outside of itself,
I do not pretend to say ; I need not untie a knot which
the world has cut for me long ago. It may very well
be that I myself am the only existence, but it is simply
ridiculous to suppose that anybody else is. The position
of absolute idealism may, therefore, be left out of count,
although each individual may be unable to justify his
dissent from it.

74 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

Formation of the Social Object.

The belief, however, in the existence of other men's
consciousness, in the existence of ejects, dominates every
thought and every action of our lives. In the first
place, it profoundly modifies the object. This room,
the table, the chairs, your bodies, are all objects in my
consciousness; as simple objects, they are parts of me.
But I somehow infer the existence of similar objects in
your consciousness, and these are not objects to me,
nor can they ever be made so ; they are ejects. This
being so, I bind up with each object as it exists in my
mind the thought of similar objects existing in other
men's minds ; and I thus form the complex conception,
' this table, as an object in the minds of men,' — or, as
Mr. Shadworth Hodgson puts it, an object of conscious-
ness in general. This conception symbolizes an inde-
finite number of ejects, together with one object which
the conception of each eject more or less resembles.
Its character is therefore mainly ejective in respect of
what it symbolises, but mainly objective in respect of
its nature. I shall call this complex conception the
social object ; it is a symbol of one thing (the individual
object, it may be called for distinction's sake) which is in
my consciousness, and of an indefinite number of other
things which are ejects and out of my consciousness.
Now, it is probable that the individual object, as such,
never exists in the mind of man. For there is every
reason to believe that we were gregarious animals before
we became men properly so called. And a belief in
the eject — some sort of recognition of a kindred con-
sciousness in one's fellow-beings — is clearly a condition

ON THE NATURE OF THING S-IN-THEMSELVES. 75

of gregarious action among animals so highly developed
as to be called conscious at all. Language, even in its
first beginnings, is impossible without that belief ; and
any sound which, becoming a sign to my neighbour,
becomes thereby a mark to myself, must by the nature
of the case be a mark of the social object, and not of the
individual object. But if not only this conception of the
particular social object, but all those that have been
built up out of it, have been formed at the same time
with, and under the influence of, language, it seems to
follow that the belief in the existence of other men's
minds like our own, but not part of us, must be
inseparably associated with every process whereby
discrete impressions are built together into an object.
I do not, of course, mean that it presents itself in con-
sciousness as distinct ; but I mean that as an object is
formed in my mind, a fixed habit causes it to be formed as
a social object, and insensibly embodies in it a reference
to the minds of other men. And this sub-conscious
reference to supposed ejects is what constitutes the im-
pression of externality in the object, whereby it is de-
scribed as not-me. At any rate, the formation of the social
object supplies an account of this impression of outness,
without requiring me to assume any ejects or things out-
side my consciousness except the minds of other men.
Consequently, it cannot be argued from the impression
of outness that there is anything outside of my con-
sciousness except the minds of other men. I shall argue
presently that we have grounds for believing in non-
personal ejects, but these grounds are not in any way
dependent on the impression of outness, and they are
not included in the ordinary or common-sense view of

76 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

things. It seems to me that the prevailing belief of un-
instructed people is merely a belief in the social object,
and not in a non-personal eject, somehow corresponding
to it ; and that the question whether the latter exists
or not is one which cannot be put to them so as to
convey any meaning without considerable preliminary
training. On this point I agree entirely with Berkeley,
and not with Mr. Spencer.

Difference between Mind and Body.

I do not pause to show how belief in the Eject un-
derlies the whole of natural ethic, whose first great
commandment, evolved in the light of day by healthy
processes wherever men have lived together, is, ' Put
yourself in his place.' It is more to my present pur-
pose to point out what is the true difference between
body and mind. Your body is an object in my con-
sciousness ; your mind is not, and never can be. Being
an object, your body follows the laws of physical science,
which deals with the objective order of my feelings.
That its chemistry is ordinary chemistry, its physics
ordinary physics, its mechanics ordinary mechanics, may
or may not be true ; the circumstances are exceptional,
and it is conceivable (to persons ignorant of the facts)
that allowance may have to be made for them, even in
the expression of the most general laws of nature. But
in any case, every question about your body is a
question about the physical laws of matter, and about
nothing else. To say : ' Up to this point science can
explain ; here the soul steps in,' is not to say what is
untrue, but to talk nonsense. If evidence were found
that the matter constituting the brain behaved other-

ON THE NATURE OF THIXGS-IN-THEMSELVES. 77

wise than ordinary matter, or if it were impossible to
describe vital actions as particular examples of general
physical rules, this would be a fact in physics, a fact
relating to the motion of matter ; and it must either be
explained by further elaboration of physical science or
else our conception of the objective order of our feelings
would have to be changed. The question, ' Is the mind
a force ? ' is condemned by similar considerations. A
certain variable quality of matter (the rate of change of
its motion) is found to be invariably connected with the
position relatively to it of other matter ; considered as
expressed in terms of this position, the quality is called
Force. Force is thus an abstraction relating to objective
facts ; it is a mode of grouping of my feelings, and
cannot possibly be the same thing as an eject, another
man's consciousness. But the question : ' Do the
changes in a man's consciousness run parallel with the
changes of motion, and therefore with the forces in his
brain ? ' is a real question, and not primd facie nonsense.
Objections of like character may be raised against the
language of some writers who speak of changes in con-
sciousness as caused by actions on the organism. The
word Cause, TroXXa^ws Xeyo/xe^oi/ and misleading as it is,
having no legitimate place in science or philosophy, may
yet be of some use in conversation or literature, if it is
kept to denote a relation between objective facts, to
describe certain parts of the phenomenal order. But
only confusion can arise if it is used to express the
relation between certain objective facts in my conscious-
ness and the ejective facts which are inferred as cor-
responding in some way to them and running parallel
with them. For all that we know at present, this relation

78 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN- THEMSELVES.

does not in any way resemble that expressed by the word
Cause.

To sum up, the distinction between eject and object,
properly grasped, forbids us to regard the eject, another
man's mind, as coming into the world of objects in any
way, or as standing in the relation of cause or effect to
any changes in that world. I need hardly add that
the facts do very strongly lead us to regard our bodies
as merely complicated examples of practically universal
physical rules, and their motions as determined in the
same way as those of the sun and the sea. There is no
evidence which amounts to a primd facie case against
the dynamical uniformity of Nature ; and I make no
exception in favour of that slykick force which fills
existing lunatic asylums and makes private houses into
new ones.

Correspondence of Elements of Mind and Brain-Action.

I have already spoken of certain ejective facts — the
changes in your consciousness — as running parallel with
the changes in your brain, which are objective facts.
The parallelism here meant is a parallelism of com-
plexity, an analogy of structure. A spoken sentence and
the same sentence written are two utterly unlike things,
but each of them consists of elements ; the spoken
sentence of the elementary sounds of the language, the
written sentence of its alphabet. Now the relation
between the spoken sentence and its elements is very
nearly the same as the relation between the written
sentence and its elements. There is a correspondence
of element to element ; although an elementary sound
is quite a different thing from a letter of the alphabet,

OX THE NATURE OF THIXGS-IX-THEMSELVES. 79

yet each elementary sound belongs to a certain letter or
letters. And the sounds being built up together to
form a spoken sentence, the letters are built up together,
in nearly the same way, to form the written sentence.
The two complex products are as wholly unlike as the
elements are, but the manner of their complication is
the same. Or, as we should say in the mathematics, a
sentence spoken is the same function of the elementary
sounds as the same sentence written is of the cor-
responding letters.

Of such a nature is the correspondence or parallelism
between mind and body. The fundamental ' deliver-
ance ' of consciousness affirms its own complexity. It
seems to me impossible, as I am at present constituted,
to have only one absolutely simple feeling at a time.
Not only are my objective perceptions, as of a man's
head or a candlestick, formed of a great number of parts
ordered in a definite manner, but they are invariably
accompanied by an endless string of memories, all
equally complex. And those massive organic feelings
with which, from their apparent want of connexion
with the objective order, the notion of consciousness
has been chiefly associated, — those also turn out, when
attention is directed to them, to be complex things. In
reading over a former page of my manuscript, for in-
stance, I found suddenly, on reflection, that although
I had been conscious of what I was reading I paid
no .attention to it ; but had been mainly occupied in
debating whether faint red lines would not be better
than blue ones to write upon, in picturing the scene in
the shop when I should ask for such lines to be ruled,
and in reflecting on the lamentable helplessness of nine

80 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

men out of ten when you ask them to do anything
slightly different from what they have been accustomed
to do. This debate had been started by the observation
that my handwriting varied in size according to the
nature of the argument, being larger when that was
diffuse and explanatory, occupied with a supposed
audience ; and smaller when it was close, occupied only
with the sequence of propositions. Along with these
trains of thought went the sensation of noises made by
poultry, dogs, children, and organ-grinders ; and that
vague diffused feeling in the side of the face and head
which means a probable toothache in an hour or two.
Under these circumstances, it seems to me that con-
sciousness must be described as a succession of groups
of changes, as analogous to a rope made of a great
number of occasionally interlacing strands.

This being so, it will be said that there is a unity in
all this complexity, that in all these varied feelings it is
I who am conscious, and that this sense of personality,
the self-perception of the Ego, is one and indivisible.
It seems to me (here agreeing with Hume) that the
c unity of apperception ' does not exist in the instanta-
neous consciousness which it unites, but only in sub-
sequent reflection upon it ; and that it consists in the
power of establishing a certain connexion between the
memories of any two feelings which we had at the same
instant. A feeling, at the instant when it exists, exists
an undfur sich, and not as my feeling ; but when on. re-
flection I remember it as my feeling, there comes up not
merely a faint repetition of the feeling, but inextricably
connected with it a whole set of connexions with the
general stream of my consciousness. This memory,

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES. 81

again, qua memory, is relative to the past feeling which
it partially recalls ; but in so far as it is itself a feeling,
it is absolute, Ding-an-sich. The feeling of personality,
then, is a certain feeling of connexion between faint
images of past feelings ; and personality itself is the
fact that such connexions are set up, the property of
the stream of feelings that part of it consists of links
binding together faint reproductions of previous parts.
It is thus a relative thing, a mode of complication
of certain elements, and a property of the complex so
produced. This complex is consciousness. When a
stream of feelings is so compact together that at each
instant it consists of (1) new feelings, (2) fainter repeti-
tions of previous ones, and (3) links connecting these
repetitions, the stream is called a consciousness. A far
more complicated grouping than is necessarily implied
here is established when discrete impressions are run
together into the perception of an object. The concep-
tion of a particular object, as object, is a group of
feelings symbolic of many different perceptions, and of
links between them and other feelings. The distinction
between Subject and Object is twofold ; first, the dis-
tinction with which we started between the subjective
and objective orders which simultaneously exist in my
feelings ; and secondly, the distinction between me and
the social object, which involves the distinction between
me and you. Either of these distinctions is exceedingly
complex and abstract, involving a highly organized ex-
perience. It is not, I think, possible to separate one
from the other ; for it is just the objective order which
I do suppose to be common to me and to other minds.
I need not set down here the evidence which shows

VOL. II. Gr

82 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

that the complexity of consciousness is paralleled by
complexity of action in the brain. It is only necessary
to point out what appears to me to. be a consequence of
the discoveries of Mliller and Helmholtz in regard to
sensation : that at least those distinct feelings which can
be remembered and examined by reflection are paralleled
by changes in a portion of the brain only. In the case
of sight, for example, there is a message taken from
things outside to the retina, and therefrom sent in some-
whither by the optic nerve ; now we can tap this tele-
graph at any point and produce the sensation of sight,
without any impression on the retina. It seems to follow
that what is known directly is what takes place at the
inner end of this nerve, or that the consciousness of sight
is simultaneous and parallel in complexity with the
changes in the grey matter at the internal extremity,
and not with the changes in the nerve itself, or in the
retina. So also a pain in a particular part of the body
may be mimicked by neuralgia due to lesion of another
part.

We come then, finally, to say that as your conscious-
ness is made up of elementary feelings grouped together
in various ways (ejective facts), so a part of the action
in your brain is made up of more elementary actions in
parts of it, grouped together in the same ways (objective
facts). The knowledge of this correspondence is a help
to the analysis of both sets of facts ; but it teaches us
in particular that any feeling, however apparently simple,
which can be retained and examined by reflection, is
already itself a most complex structure. We may,
however, conclude that this correspondence extends
to the elements, and that each simple feeling corres-

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS -1N-THEMSELVES. 83

ponds to a special comparatively simple change of nerve-
matter.

The Elementary Feeling is a Thing -in-itself.

The conclusion that elementary feeling co-exists with
elementary brain-motion in the same way as conscious-
ness co-exists with complex brain-motion involves more
important consequences than might at first sight appear.
We have regarded consciousness as a complex of feel-
ings, and explained the fact that the complex is con-
scious as depending on the mode of complication. But
does not the elementary feeling itself imply a conscious-
ness in which alone it can exist, and of which it is a
modification? Can a feeling exist by itself, without
forming part of a consciousness ? I shall say no to the
first question, and yes to the second, and it seems to me
that these answers are required by the doctrine of evo-
lution. For if that doctrine be true, we shall have
along the line of the human pedigree a series of imper-
ceptible steps connecting inorganic matter with our-
selves. To the later members of that series we must
undoubtedly ascribe consciousness, although it must, of
course, have been simpler than our own. But where
are we to stop ? In the case of organisms of a certain
complexity consciousness is inferred. As we go back
along the line, the complexity of the organism and of
its nerve-action insensibly diminishes ; and for the first
part of our course we see reason to think that the com-
plexity of consciousness insensibly diminishes also. But
if we make a jump, say to the tunicate molluscs, we see
no reason there to infer the existence of consciousness
at all. Yet not only is it impossible to point out a place

* 2

84 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

where any sudden break takes place, but it is contrary
to all the natural training of our minds to suppose a
breach of continuity so great. All this imagined line
of organisms is a series of objects in my consciousness ;
they form an insensible gradation, and yet there is a
certain unknown point at which I am at liberty to infer
facts out of my consciousness corresponding to them !
There is only one way out of the difficulty, and to that
we are driven. Consciousness is a complex of ejective
facts, — of elementary feelings, or rather of those remoter
elements which cannot even be felt, but of which the
simplest feeling is built up. Such elementary ejective
facts go along with the action of every organism, how-
ever simple ; but it is only when the material organism
has reached a certain complexity of nervous structure
(not now to be specified) that the complex of ejective
facts reaches that mode of complication which is called
Consciousness. But as the line of ascent is unbroken,
and must end at last in inorganic matter, we have no
choice but to admit that every motion of matter is
simultaneous with some ejective fact or event which
might be part of a consciousness. From this follow
two important corollaries.

1. A feeling can exist by itself, without forming part
of a consciousness. It does not depend for its existence
on the consciousness of which it may form a part.
Hence a feeling (or an eject-element) is Ding-an-sich, an
absolute, whose existence is not relative to anything else.
Sentitur is all that can be said.

2. These eject-elements, which correspond to motions
of matter, are connected together in their sequence and
co-existence by counterparts of the physical laws of

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES. 85

matter. For otherwise the correspondence could not
be kept up.

Mind-stuff is the reality which we perceive as Matter.

That element of which, as we have seen, even the
simplest feeling is a complex, I shall call Mind-stuff. A
moving molecule of inorganic matter does not possess
mind or consciousness ; but it possesses a small piece of
mind-stuff. When molecules are so combined together
as to form the film on the under side of a jelly-fish, the
elements of mind-stuff which go along with them are so
combined as to form the faint beginnings of Sentience.
When the molecules are so combined as to form the
brain and nervous system of a vertebrate, the corres-
ponding elements of mind-stuff are so combined as to
form some kind of consciousness ; that is to say, changes
in the complex which take place at the same time get
so linked together that the repetition of one implies the
repetition of the other. When matter takes the complex
form of a living human brain, the corresponding mind-
stuff takes the form of a human consciousness, having
intelligence and volition.

Suppose that I see a man looking at a candlestick.
Both of these are objects, or phenomena, in my mind.
An image of the candlestick, in the optical sense, is
formed upon his retina, and nerve messages go from all
parts of this to form what we may call a cerebral image
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the optic thalami
in the inside of his brain. This cerebral image is a
certain complex of disturbances in the matter of these
organs ; it is a material or physical fact, therefore a
group of my possible sensations, just as the candlestick

86 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

is. The cerebral image is an imperfect representation
of the candlestick, corresponding to it point for point
in a certain way. Both the candlestick and the cerebral
image are matter ; but one material complex represents
the other material complex in an imperfect way.

Now the candlestick is not the external reality
whose existence is represented in the man's mind ; for
the candlestick is a mere perception in my mind. Nor
is the cerebral image the man's perception of the candle-
stick ; for the cerebral image is merely an idea of a
possible perception in my mind. But there is a percep-
tion in the man's mind, which we may call the mental
image ; and this corresponds to some external reality.
The external reality bears the same relation to the mental
image that the (phenomenal) candlestick bears to the
cerebral image. Now the candlestick and the cerebral
image are both matter ; they are made of the same stuff.
Therefore the external reality is made of the same stuff
as the man's perception or mental image, that is, it is
made of mind-stuff. And as the cerebral image repre-
sents imperfectly the candlestick, in the same way and
to the same extent the mental image represents the
reality external to his consciousness. Thus in order to
find the thing-in-itself which is represented by any
object in my consciousness such as a candlestick, I have
to solve this question in proportion, or rule of three :— -

As the physical configuration of my cerebral
image of the object

is to the physical configuration of the object,

so is my perception of the object (the object
regarded as complex of my feelings)

to the thing-in-itself.

•pv

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS -TN-THEMSELVES. 87

Hence we are obliged to identify the thing-in-itself
with that complex of elementary mind-stuff which on
other grounds we have seen reason to think of as going
along with the material object. Or, to say the same
thing in other words, the reality external to our minds
which is represented in our minds as matter is in itself
mind-stuff.

The universe, then, consists entirely of mind-stuff.
Some of this is woven into the complex form of human
minds containing imperfect representations of the mind-
stuff outside them, and of themselves also, as a mirror
reflects its own image in another mirror, ad infinitum.
Such an imperfect representation is called a material
universe. It is a picture in a man's mind of the real
universe of mind-stuff.

The two chief points of this doctrine may be thus
summed up : —

Matter is a mental picture in which mind-stuff is
the thing represented.

Eeason, intelligence, and volition are properties of a
complex which is made up of elements themselves not
rational, not intelligent, not conscious.

Note. The doctrine here expounded appears to have
been arrived at independently by many persons ; as
was natural, seeing that it is (or seems to me) a necessary
consequence of recent advances in the theory of percep-
tion. Kant l threw out a suggestion that the Ding an
sich might be of the nature of mind ; but the first state-
ment of the doctrine in its true connexion that I know

1 [' Kritik der reinen Vernunft/ pp. 287-8, ed. Rosenkranz. Wundt's
statement is in the concluding paragraphs of ' Grundzlige der physiologischen
Psychologie.' Compare too Hackel, 'Zellseelen and Seelenzellen/ in
' Deutsche Rundschau,' July, 1878, vol. xvi. p. 40.]

88 ON THE NATURE OF TH1NGS-IN-THEMSELVES.

of is by Wundt. Since it dawned on me, some time
ago, I have supposed myself to find it more or less
plainly hinted in many writings ; but the question is
one in which it is peculiarly difficult to make out
precisely what another man means, and even what one
means one's self.

Some writers (e.g. Dr. Tyndall) have used the word
matter to mean the phenomenon plus the reality repre-
sented ; and there are many reasons in favour of such
usage in general. But for the purposes of the present
discussion I have thought it clearer to use the word for
the phenomenon as distinguished from the thing-in-itself.

89

ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT
INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES.

PROFESSOR STANLEY JEYONS has enumerated 1 the types of
compound statement involving three classes, among
which the premises of a syllogism appear as a type of
fourfold statement. He propounded at the same time
the corresponding problem of enumeration for four
classes, which is solved in the present communication.
The reader is referred to the paper or the book just
mentioned for further explanation of the nature and
purpose of the problem than is to be found in art. 1.
It may, however, be premised that the letters A, B, C,
D denote four classes or terms (for example, hard, wet,
black, nice), and that, according to a convenient notation
of De Morgan's, the small letters #, b, c, d denote the
complementary classes or contrary terms (not hard, not
wet, not black, not nice). A simple statement is of the
form ABCp = 0 (no hard, wet, black, nice things exist or

1 'Proceedings of the Manchester Philosophical Society,' vol. vi. pp.
66-68, and ' Memoirs/ Third series, vol. v. pp. 119-130. 'The Principles
of Science,' vol. i. pp. 154-164. [1st ed. Prof. Jevons there said, p. 163:
' Some years of continuous labour would be required to ascertain the precise
number of types of laws which may govern the combinations of only four
things.' In the second edition, p. 143, he says : ' Though I still believe
that some years' labour would be required to work out the types themselves,
it is clearly a mistake to suppose that the numbers of such types cannot be
calculated with a reasonable amount of labour, Professor W. K. Clifford
having actually accomplished the task.' A short statement of the results of
the present paper is then given.]

90 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

which is the same thing, all hard, wet, black things are
nasty). The statement ABC=0 (no hard, wet, black
things exist, or all hard, black things are dry) is to be
regarded as made of these two, ABCD=0, ABCd=0 (no
hard, wet, black, nice things exist, and no hard, wet,
black, nasty things exist) and so is called a compound,
(in this case a twofold) statement. The notion of types
is defined in art. 1.

1. Four classes or terms A, B, C, D, give rise to
sixteen cross divisions or marks such as AbCd. A
denial of the existence of one of these cross divisions, or
of anything having its mark (such as A&Cc/=0), is called
a simple statement. A denial of two or more cross
divisions is called a compound statement, and more-
over, twofold, threefold, etc., according to the number
denied.

When two compound statements can be converted
into one another by interchange of the classes A, B, C,
D, with each other or with their complementary classes
a, by c> d, they are called similar ; and all similar
statements are said to belong to the same type. The
problem before us is to enumerate all the types of com-
pound statement that can be made with four terms.

2. Two statements are called complementary when
they deny between them all the sixteen marks without
both denying any mark, or, which is the same thing,
when each denies just those marks which the other
permits to exist. It is obvious that when two statements
are similar, the complementary statements will also be
similar ; and, consequently, for every type of 7i-fold
statement there is a complementary type of 16-^-fold
statement. It follows that we need only enumerate the

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 91

types as far as the eighth order ; for the types of more
than eightfold statement will already have been given as
complementary to types of lower orders. Every eight-
fold statement is complementary to an eightfold state-
ment ; but these are not necessarily of the same type.

3. One mark ABCD may be converted into another

A^bCd by interchanging one or more of the classes A, B,

C, D with its complementary class. The number of such

changes is called the distances of the two marks. Thus

in the example given the distance is 2. In two similar

compound statements the distances of the marks denied

must be the same ; but it does not follow that when all

the distances are the same the two statements are similar.

There is, however, as we shall see, only one example of

two dissimilar statements having the same distances.

When the distance is 4, the two marks are said to be

obverse to one another, and the statements denying them

are called obverse statements — as ABCD, abed, or, again,

A.bCd, or, again, AbCd, aBcD. When any one mark is

given (called the origin), all the others may be grouped

in respect of their relations to it as follows : — Four are

at distance one from it, and may be called proximates ;

six at distance two, and may be called mediates ; four at

distance three, and may be called ultimates. Finally, the

obverse is at distance four.

aBCD abCD Abed

ABCrf— ABCD— AiCD /K abcV— a b c d— a B cd

ABoD ABcrf abGd

Origin and 4 proximates. 6 mediates. Obverse and 4 ultimates.

It will be seen from the above table that the four proxi-

92 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

mates are respectively obverse to the four ultimates, and
that the mediates form three pairs of obverses. Every
proximate or ultimate is distant 1 and 3 respectively
from such a pair of mediates. Thus each proximate or
ultimate divides the mediates into two classes ; three of
them are at distance 1 from it, and three at distance 3.
Two mediates which are not obverse are at distance 2.
Two proximates or two ultimates, or an ultimate and a
proximate which are not obverse, are also at distance 2.
This view of the mutual relations of the marks is
the basis of the following enumeration of types.

4. There is clearly only one type of simple state-
ment. But of twofold statements there are four types ;
viz. the distance may be 1,2, 3, or 4 ; and so, in general,
with n classes there are n types of twofold statement.

5. A compound statement containing no pair of
obverses is called pure. In a threefold statement there
are three distances ; one of these must be not less than
either of the others. If this be 2, the remaining mark
must be at odd distance from both of these or at even
distance from both ; thus we get the types 1, 1, 2, and
2, 2, 2. If the not-less distance be 3, the remaining
distances must be one even and the other odd ; the
even distance must be 2, the odd one either 1 or 3 ;
and the types are 1, 2, 3 ; 2, 3, 3. Thus there are 4
pure threefold types. With a pair of obverses, the re-
maining mark must be at odd or even distance from
them; 1, 3, 4 ; 2, 2, 4. In all six threefold types
observe that there is necessarily one even distance.

6. A fortiori, in a fourfold statement there must be
one even distance. In a pure fourfold statement this
distance is 2. From this pair of marks let both the

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 93

others be oddly distant ; then they must be evenly
distant from one another i.e. at distance 2, obverses
being excluded. The odd distances are 1 or 3 ; and it
will be easily seen that the following are all the possible
cases : —

LL1 LU l 1 1 l |3 l 1 3 3J3

*1 | l' *1 | 3* *3 [3* *3 j l' *3 | 3* *3 | 3'

In these figures the dots indicate the four marks, the
cross lines indicate distance 2, and the other figures the
distances between the marks on either side of them.
Next, from the pairs of marks at distance 2 let one of
the others at least be evenly distant, i.e. at distance 2.
Then we have three marks which are all at distance 2
from one another ; and it is easy to show that they are
all proximates of a certain other mark. For, select one
of them as origin ; then the other two are mediates
which are not obverse, and which consequently are at
distance 1, from some one proximate. With this proxi-
mate as origin, therefore, all three are proximates. We
have therefore only to inquire what different relations
the fourth mark can bear to these three. It may be
the origin, its obverse* the remaining proximate, its
obverse, or one of two kinds of mediates, viz. at distance
1 or 3 from the remaining proximate. Thus we have 6
types, in which the distances of the fourth mark from the
triad are respectively 1 1 1, 3 3 3, 2 2 2, 2 2 2, 1 3 3, 1 1 3.
The third and fourth of these are especially interesting, as
being distinct types with the same set of distances ; I call
them proper and improper groups respectively : viz., a
proper group is the four proximates of any origin ; an
improper group is three proximates with the obverse of

94 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

the fourth. On the whole we get 12 types of pure
fourfold statement.

7. In a fourfold statement with one pair of obverses,
take one of them for origin ; the remaining two marks
must then be either a pair of proximates or ultimates, a
proximate and an ultimate, a pair of mediates, or a
proximate or ultimate, with one of two kinds of mediate
— in all, 5 types, with the distances 1 32, 1 3 ; 1 32, 3 1 ;
2 22, 2 2 ; 1 3l, 2 2 ; 1 33, 2 2. With two pairs of ob-
verses they must be either at odd or even distances from
one another; two types. Altogether 12 + 5 + 2 = 19
fourfold types.

8. In a pure fivefold statement there is always a
triad of marks at distance 2 from one another. For
there is a pair evenly distant ; if there is not another
mark evenly distant from these, the remaining three are
all oddly distant, and therefore evenly distant from one
another. First, then, let the remaining two marks be
both oddly distant from the triad. In regard to the
origin of which these are proximates, the two to be
added must be either two mediates, like (of two kinds)
or unlike, or a mediate of either kind with the origin or
the obverse ; 7 types. Next, if one of the two marks
be evenly distant from the triad, it must form with the
triad either a proper or an improper group of four. To
a proper group we may add the origin, the obverse, or
a mediate ; to an improper group, the origin or the
obverse (the mediates give no new type), 5 types ; or,
in all, 12 pure fivefold types.

9. In a fivefold statement with one pair of obverses
there must be another pair of marks at distance 2. We
have therefore to add one mark to each of the following

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. m 95

three types of fourfold statement, — a pair of obverses
together with (1) two proximates, (2) a proximate and
an ultimate, (3) two mediates. To the first we may
add another proximate, an ultimate or a mediate of
three kinds, viz. at distances 1 1, 1 3, 3 3 from the two
proximates ; 5 types. To the second if we add a proxi-
mate or an ultimate, we fall back on one of the pre-
vious cases ; but there are again three kinds of mediates,
at distances 1 1, 3 3, 1 3 from the proximate and ultimate ;
3 types. To the third we may add another mediate,
whereby the type becomes a proper group together
with the obverse of one of its marks, which is the same
thing as an improper group together with the obverse
of one of its marks — or a proximate or ultimate which
are of three kinds, at distances 11, 13, 33 from
the two mediates ; 4 types. Thus there are 12 five-
fold types with one pair of obverses. With two pair
of obverses at odd distances, there is only one type,
all the remaining marks being similarly related to
them ; at even distance the remaining mark may be
evenly or oddly distant from them ; 2 types. On
the whole we have 12 + 12 + 3 = 27 types of fivefold
statement.

It is to be remarked that there is no pure fivefold
statement in which all the distances are even, and that,
if there is only one pair of obverses with all the distances
even, the type is a proper group together with the
obverse of one of its marks.

10. We may now prove, as a consequence of the
last remark, that a pure sixfold statement either
contains a group of four with a pair oddly distant from
it, or consists of two triads oddly distant from one another.

96 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

For there must be a pair at distance 2 : if the other
four are all oddly distant from these, they form a
group ; if one is evenly distant, and three oddly distant,
we have the case of the two triads ; if two are evenly
distant, we again have a group. We must add, then,
first to a proper group , and then to an improper group,
a pair oddly distant from it. To a proper group con-
sisting of the proximates to a certain origin we may
add the origin or its obverse with a mediate, or two
mediates ; 3 types. An improper group is symmetrical ;
that is to say, if we substitute for any one of its marks
the obverse of that mark, we shall obtain a proper
group. In this way we shall get four origins distant
1113 from the group, and four obverses distant
1333; if we add to these the obverses of the marks
in the group itself, we have described the relation of
the twelve remaining marks to the group. To form,
therefore, a pure sixfold statement we may add either
two origins or two obverses or an origin and an obverse ;
3 types.

In the case of the two triads, since they are oddly
distant from one another their origins must be oddly
distant ; that is, they must be distant either 1 or 3. If
they are distant 1, neither, both, or one of the origins
may appear in the statement ; if they are distant 3,
neither, both, or one of the obverses : 6 types. Thus
we obtain 12 types of purely sixfold statement.

11. If a sixfold statement contains one pair of
obverses, the remaining four marks cannot all be evenly
distant from this pair. For in that case they would
constitute a group ; and it is easy to see that the marks
evenly distant from a group, whether proper or improper,

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 97

do not contain a pair of obverses. We have therefore
only these four cases to consider : —

(1) The four marks are all oddly distant from the
obverses.

(2) One is evenly distant and three oddly distant.

(3) Two are evenly distant and two oddly.

(4) Three are evenly distant and one oddly.

In the first case the four marks form a group. If
this is a proper group, the pair of obverses must be
either the origin and obverse of the group, or a pair of
mediates ; 2 types. If the group is improper, the pair
must be an origin and an obverse ; 1 type. In the
second case we have an origin, an obverse, and a
mediate, to which we must add 3 marks taken out of
the proximates and ultimates. We may add 3 proxi-
mates distant respectively 113 or 133 from the
mediates (2 types), — or 2 proximates distant respec-
tively 11, 13, 33 from the mediate, and with each of
these combinations an ultimate distant either 1 or 3 (6
types). To interchange proximates with ultimates clearly
makes no difference ; so that in reckoning the cases of
1 proximate and 2 ultimates or 3 ultimates, we should
find no new types. In the third case we have an origin,
an obverse, and two mediates distant 2 from each other ;
and to these we have to add either two proximates or a
proximate and an ultimate. The two proximates may
be distant from the two mediates 11, 13, or 11, 33, or
1 3, 1 3, or 1 3, 3 3 ; 4 types. The proximate or ultimate
must not be respectively distant 11, 33, or 33, 11;
for then they would form a pair of obverses ; there
remain the cases 1 1 with 11 or 1 3, 1 3 with 1 3, and
3 3 with 1 3 or 3 3 ; 5 types. In the fourth case we have

VOL. II. H

98 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

an origin, obverse, and three mediates distant 2 from
another ; the remaining mark must be distant either
1 or 3 from these mediates ; 2 types. This makes
twenty-two types of sixfold statement with one pair
of obverses.

12. If a sixfold statement contains two pairs of
obverses, these must be either evenly or oddly distant.
If they are evenly distant we have an origin, obverse,
and two obverse mediates, to which two other marks
are to be added. These may be both evenly distant ;
taking one of them as origin, it is associated with 5
mediates, so that there is 1 type only. Or both oddly
distant ; here there are two cases, according as the dis-
tances are 11, 33, or 1 3, 1 3. Or one oddly and one
evenly distant ; the latter is any one of the four remain-
ing mediates, and then the former is distant 1 or 3 from
it ; 2 types. If the two pairs of obverses be oddly dis-
tant they form an aggregate which is related in the
same way to all the remaining twelve marks ; viz. any
one of these being taken as origin, we have a pair of
mediates and a proximate with its obverse ultimate.
The thing to be considered, therefore, is the distance
between the two marks to be added, which may be 1,
2, or 3, and each in two ways ; 6 types.

A sixfold statement with three pairs of obverses is
one of two types only ; viz. these are all evenly distant
when they are the mediates to one origin, or two
evenly distant and one oddly distant from both of
them.

13. A pure sevenfold statement must consist of a
group and a triad ; for it must contain a triad, by the
same reasoning by which this was proved for a fivefold

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES.

statement ; and then either all the other four marks are
oddly distant from this, and so form a group by them-
selves, or else one of them is evenly distant from the
triad and so forms a group with it. If the group is
proper, being the proximates to a certain origin, the
triad must consist of two mediates and either the origin,
the obverse, or another mediate ; and in the latter case
the three mediates are distant 1 1 1 or 3 3 3 from some
proximate ; 4 types. If the group is improper, the
triad is either all origins or all obverses, or two origins
and an obverse, or an origin and two obverses ; 4 types.
In all, 8 types of pure sevenfold statement.

14. A sevenfold statement with one pair of obverses
must consist either of four marks evenly distant from
one another and three oddly distant from them ; or of
five marks evenly distant from one another and two
oddly distant from them. In the former case the pair
of obverses may be in the four or in the three. If they
are in the four, the three form a triad which are proxi-
mates to one origin ; and then the pair may be the origin
and obverse or a pair of mediates. If the pair are
origin and obverse, the other two (at distance 2) are
mediates, distance 11, 13 or 33 from the proximate
which is not in the triad ; if the pair are mediates, the
two may be the origin or obverse with a mediate distant
1 or 3 from that proximate (4 types), or two mediate
distant 11, 13, 33 from it (3 types). If the pair of
obverses are in the set of three marks, the four form a
group, which may be proper or improper. If proper,
the three may be origin and obverse with a mediate, or
a pair of mediates with origin, obverse, or another
mediate ; 4 types. If improper, the three must be two

H 2

100 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

origins and an obverse, or an origin and two obverses ;
3 types.

Five marks evenly distant containing only one pair
of obverses, must be a proper group with the obverse
of one of its marks ; see end of art 9. To these we
may add the origin or obverse of the proper group with
a mediate distant 1 or 3 from the extra mark, or else
two mediates distant 1 1, 1 3, or 3 3 from that mark ; 7
types.

15. A sevenfold statement with two pairs of ob-
verses may have six marks evenly distant from one
another and one oddly distant from them ; in this case
the six are an origin and five mediates in two different
ways, or say two pairs and a two ; the remaining mark
may be distant 11, 13, or 33 from the two, which
gives 3 types.

Otherwise the sevenfold statement must subdivide
(as in the last case) into five and two or into four and
three. If it subdivide into five and two, the two may
be a pair or not. In the first case we have a proper
group and the obverse of one of its marks, together
with the origin and obverse of the group or a pair of
mediates ; 2 types. In the second case we have five
mediates of an origin or its obverse, to which we may
add two proximates distant 1 1, 1 3 or 3 3 from the old
mediate, or a proximate and an ultimate distant 1 1,
1 3 or 3 3 respectively from the odd mediate ; 6 types.

If the sevenfold statement subdivide into four and
three, the two pairs may be both in the four, or one in the
four and one in the three. In the former case we have
a triad, to which may be added the origin and obverse
and a pair of mediates or two pairs of mediates ; 2

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 101

types. In the latter case the four consists of an origin
and obverse and two mediates ; we must add a pair
consisting of a proximate and an ultimate, which may
be distant 11, 33 or 13, 13 from the two mediates,
and then another proximate or ultimate which may be
distant 1 1, 1 3, or 3 3 from the two mediates ; 6 types.

16. Three pairs of obverses in a sevenfold statement
may be all evenly distant, or two evenly and the other
pair oddly distant from each. If they are all evenly
distant they are the mediates to a certain origin or its
obverse, and the seventh mark may be the origin or a
proximate, 2 types. In the other case we have an
origin, obverse, and pair of mediates together with a
proximate and its obverse ultimate ; we may add
a proximate or a mediate, 2 types.

17. A pure eightfold statement must consist of two
groups, either both proper or both improper, or one
of each. Two proper groups may have their origins
distant 1 or 3 ; 2 types. To an improper group we
may add a proper group made of one origin and three
obverses or of three origins and one obverse, or an
improper group made of four origins or four obverses
or two origins and two obverses ; 5 types. Altogether
there are 7 types of pure eightfold statement.

18. An eightfold statement with one pair of obverses
must subdivide into four and four, or into five and
three. In the former case we have a pair of obverses,
viz. an origin and its obverse, and two mediates ; to
which we must add a group formed out of the proxi-
mates and ultimates. This group may be proper, (1
type), or improper, the mediates being in regard

two origins, two obverses, or an origin and an

102 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

3 types. In the latter case the five marks must be a
proper group with the obverse of one mark, to which
we must add a triad made out of the origin, obverse,
and mediates of the group. This triad may be the
origin or obverse together with two mediates distant 1 1,
1 3, 3 3 from the ultimate, 6 types ; or else it may be
three mediates distant 111, 113, 133, 333 from the
ultimate, 4 types.

19. An eightfold statement- with two pairs of
obverses must subdivide into four and four, or into five
and three, or into six and two. In the first case the
two pairs of obverses may be evenly distant, when the
remaining marks form a group either proper, with its
origin, obverse, and pair of mediates, or two pairs of
mediates, or else improper, 3 types ; or oddly distant,
when the remainder form one of the six pure fourfold
statements enumerated art. 6. Two marks distant 2 from
each other may be distant 11, 33 or 13, 13 from the
pair of obverses which are oddly distant from them ;
thus each of the six fourfold statements gives 3 types of
eightfold statement, except the third, which gives 4 ;
in all 19. In the second case the three may be a triad
or may contain a pair of obverses. If it is a triad, the
five are mediates to one origin and its obverse, and we
add three proximates distant 113 or 133 or two
proximates distant 11, 13 or 33, with an ultimate dis-
tance respectively 11 or 33 from the old mediate ; 6
types. If the three contain a pair of obverses, the five
make a proper group with obverse of one mark ; to this
we may add the origin and obverse of the group with
mediate distant 1 or 3 from the ultimate, or a pair of

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 103

obverse mediates with a mediate distant 1 or 3 as
before ; 4 types. In the third case the six must be an
origin and five mediates, and we may add two proxi-
mates distant 11, 13, 33 from the old mediate, or a
proximate and an ultimate, or two ultimates, distant as
before ; 9 types.

20. In an eightfold statement with three pairs of ob-
verses these may be either all evenly distant, or two of
them evenly distant and the other oddly distant from
both. In the first case they are mediates to a certain
origin and its obverse, and we may add the origin with a
proximate or ultimate, two proximates, or a proximate
and ultimate ; 4 types. In the second case take the
oddly distant pair for origin and obverse ; then these
are associated with two proximates and their obverse
ultimates, and we may add the two other proximates,
a proximate and an ultimate, a proximate and a mediate
(distant 11, 13, 31, 33 from this proximate and the
remaining one), or two mediates distant 1 1, 3 3 or 13,
13 from the two proximates ; 8 types.

Lastly, in an eightfold statement with four pairs of
obverses they may be all evenly distant, or the statement
may subdivide into six and two, or into four and four ;
in the latter case there are 2 types.

21. To obtain the whole number of types, we
observe that for every less-than-eightfold type there is
a complementary more-than-eightfold type (art. 2) ; so
that we must add the number of eightfold types (78) to
twice the number of less-than-eightfold types (159) ;
the result is 396.

104 ON THE TYPES OF COMPOUND STATEMENT

TABLE.
Art.

4. 1-fold 1

2-fold, distance 1, 2, 3, 4 4

5. 3-fold, pure, distance 112, 222, 123, 233 . . . 4

Ipair obv., dist. 134, 224 2

6

6. 4-fold, pure, two and two : —

1 |l 1 [1 Ijl 1)3 1 |'S 3 J3
"l| l"l | 3' 'SJT '3TT '3J3' '

three and one 4

group, proper or improper . . .2

12 12

7. „ 1 pair obv 5

2 pair obv., dist. odd or even 2

8. 6-fold, pure, three and two .... 7

four and one .... 6

12

9. „ 1 pair obv. + two prox 6

+ prox. + ult 3

+ two med 4

32

12
2 pair obv., odd dist., 1 ; even, 2 . . . .3

27 27

10. 6-fold, pure, three and three .... 6

four and two . ... 6

12

12

11. „ 1 pair obv., two and four . . .3

three and three . . .8
four and two . . .0
five and one .... 2

22

— 22

12. „ 2 pair obv., odd dist., 6 ; even, 6 . . . .11

3 pair obv 2

47 47

INVOLVING FOUR CLASSES. 105

Art.

13. 7-fold, pure ; proper group, 4 ; improper, 4 ... 8

14. „ 1 pair obv., four and three . . .10

three and four . . .7
five and two . . .7

24

24

15. „ 2 pair obv., six and one .... 3

five and two .... 8
four and three . . .8

19

19

16. „ 3 pair obv 4

55 55

Total of less-than-eightfold statements . . 159
Complementary more-than-eightfold statements . 159

17. 8-fold, pure

18. „ 1 pair obv., four and four . . .4

five and three . . .10

14 14

19. „ 2 pair obv., four and four . . .22

five and three . „ .10
six and two . .9

41 41

20. 8-fold, 3 pair obv., all evenly dist. . . . 4

two evenly dist. . . .8

12 12

4 pair obv 4

78 78

Grand Total . . 396

106

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.1

The crude essay which here follows is allowed to see the light rather as a text
for the remarks to which it has given rise than for its own sake. It was
written as a means of seeking for more light, and in that respect has suc-
ceeded. Some remarks of Mr. Danvin's (' Descent of Man,' part t. ch. 3)
appeared to me to constitute a method of dealing with ethical problems
bearing a close analogy to the methods ivhich have been successful in all
other practical questions, but differing somewhat in principle from the
theories which are at present in vogue, while in its results it coincides ivith
the highest and healthiest practical instincts of this and of all times. All
that is attempted here is to shoiv roughly luhat account is given by this
method of some of the fundamental conceptions — right and wrong, conscience,
responsibility — and to indicate the nature of the standard which must guide
their application. Exact definitions are not to be looked for ; they come as
the last product of a completed theory, and are sure to be wrong at an
early stage of science. But though we may be unable to define fully ivhat
right is, we do, I think, arrive at principles which show us very clearly
many things which it is not ; and these conclusions are not only of great
practical importance, but theoretically bear close analogy to the steps by ivhich
complete definition has been attained in the exact sciences.

BY Morals or Ethic I mean the doctrine of a special
kind of pleasure or displeasure which is felt by the
human mind in contemplating certain courses of conduct,
whereby they are felt to be right or wrong, and of a
special desire to do the right things and avoid the wrong
ones. The pleasure or displeasure is commonly called
the moral sense ; the corresponding desire might be
called the moral appetite. These are facts, existing in
the consciousness of every man who need ( considered
in this discussion, and sufficiently marked out by these
names ; they need no further definition. In the same

1 ' Contemporary Review/ September, 1875.

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 107

way the sense of taste is a feeling of pleasure or displea-
sure in things savoury or unsavoury, and is associated
with a desire for the one and a repulsion from the other.
We must assume that everybody knows what these
words mean ; the feelings they describe may be analysed
or accounted for, but they cannot be more exactly de-
fined as feelings.

The maxims of ethic are recommendations or com- '
mands of the form, ' Do this particular thing because it
is right,' or ' Avoid this particular thing because it is
wrong.' They express the immediate desire to do the
right thing for itself, not for the sake of anything else :
on this account the mood of them is called the catego-
rical imperative. The particular things commanded or
forbidden by such maxims depend upon the character
of the individual in whose mind they arise. There is
a certain general agreement in the ethical code of per-
sons belonging to the same race at a given time, but
considerable variations in different races and times. To
the question ' What is right ? ' can therefore only be
answered in the first instance, ' That which pleases your
moral sense.' But it may be further asked ' What is
generally thought right ? ' and the reply will specify the ;
ethic of a particular race and period. But the ethical
code of an individual, like the standard of taste, may be
modified by habit and education ; and accordingly the
question may be asked, ' How shall I order my moral
desires so as to be able to satisfy them most completely
and continuously ? What ought I to feel to be right ? '
The answer to this question must be sought in the study
of the conditions under which the moral sense was pro-
duced and is preserved ; in other words, in the study of

108 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

its functions as a property of the human organism. The
maxims derived from this study may be called maxims

"* of abstract or a]2spjute_jighf ; they are not absolutely
universal, ' eternal and immutable,' but they are inde-
pendent of the individual, and practically universal for
the present condition of the human species.

I mean by Science the application of experience to new

> circumstances, by the aid of an order of nature which has
been observed in the past, and on the assumption that
such order will continue in the future. The simplest use
of experience as a guide to action is probably not even
conscious ; it is the association by continually-repeated
selection of certain actions with certain circumstances,
as in the unconsciously-acquired craft of the maker of
flint implements. I still call this science, although it
is only a beginning ; because the physiological process
is a type of what takes place in all later stages. The
next step may be expressed in the form of a hypothetical
maxim, — ' If you want to make brass, melt your copper
along with this blue stone.' To a maxim of this sort
it may always be replied, ' I do not want to make brass,
and so I shall not do as you tell me.' This reply is
anticipated in the final form of science, when it is
expressed as a statement or proposition : brass is an
alloy of copper and zinc, and calamine is zinc carbonate.

^Belief in a general statement is an artifice of our mental
constitution, whereby infinitely various sensations and
groups of sensations are brought into connexion with
infinitely various actions and groups of actions. On
the phenomenal side there corresponds a certain cerebral
structure by which various combinations of disturbances
in the sensor tract are made to lead to the appropriate

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 109

combinations of disturbances in the motor tract. The
important point is that science, though apparently
transformed into pure knowledge, has yet never lost
its character of being a craft ; and that it is not the
knowledge itself which can rightly be called science, but -*—•
a special way of getting and of using knowledge. Namely,

is the getting of knowledge from experience1^

on the assumption of uniformity in nature, and the use
of such knowledge to guide the actions of men. And
the most abstract statements or propositions in science
are to be regarded as bundles of hypothetical maxims
packed into a portable shape and size. Every scientific
fact is a shorthand expression for a vast number of
practical directions : if you want so-and-so, do so-and-
so.

If with this meaning of the word ' Science,' there is
such a thing as a scientific basis of Morals, it must be
true that, —

1, The maxims of Ethic are hypothetical maxims

2, Derived from experience

3, On the assumption of uniformity in nature.
These propositions I shall now endeavour to prove ;
and in conclusion, I shall indicate the direction in which
we may look for those general statements of fact whose
organization will complete the likeness of ethical and
physical science.

The Tribal Self.1

In the metaphysical sense, the word 'self is taken
to mean the conscious subject, das Ich, the whole

1 This conception of an Extended Self I found many years ago that I had
in common with my friend Mr. Macinillan. Since then I have heard and
read in many places expressions of it more or less distinct.

110 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

stream of feelings which make up a consciousness re-
garded as bound together by association and memory.
But, in the more common and more restricted ethical
sense, what we call self is a selected aggregate of
feelings and of objects related to them which hangs
together as a conception by virtue of long and repeated
association. My self does not include all my feelings,
because I habitually separate off some of them, say
they do not properly belong to me, and treat them as
my enemies. On the other hand, it does in general
include my body regarded as an object, because of the
feelings which occur simultaneously with events which
affect it. My foot is certainly part of myself, because
I get hurt when anybody treads on it. When we
desire anything for its somewhat remote consequences,
it is not common for these to be represented to the
mind in the form of the actual feelings of pleasure
which are ultimately to flow from the satisfaction of
the desire; instead of this, they are replaced by a
symbolic conception which represents the thing desired
as doing good to the complex abstraction self. This
abstraction serves thus to support and hold together
those complex and remote motives which make up by
far the greater part of the life of the intelligent races.
When a thing is desired for no immediate pleasure that
it can bring, it is generally desired on account of a
certain symbolic substitute for pleasure, the feeling that
this thing is suitable to the self. And, as in many like
cases, this feeling, which at first derived its pleasurable
nature from the faintly represented simple pleasures
of which it was a symbol, ceases after a time to recall
them and becomes a simple pleasure itself. In this

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. Ill

way the self becomes a sort of centre about which our
remoter motives revolve, and to which they always
have regard ; in virtue of which, moreover, they
become immediate and simple, from having been com-
plex and remote.

If we consider now the simpler races of mankind,
we shall find not only that immediate desires pi-ay a far
larger part in their lives, and so that the conception of
self is less used and less developed, but also that it is
less definite and more wide. The savage is not only
hurt when anybody treads on his foot, but when any-
body treads on his tribe. He may lose his hut, and
his wife, and his opportunities of getting food. In this
way the tribe becomes naturally included in that con-
ception of self which renders remote desires possible by
making them immediate. The actual pains or pleasures
which come from the woe or weal of the tribe, and
which were the source of this conception, drop out
of consciousness and are remembered no more ; the
symbol which has replaced them becomes a centre and
goal of immediate desires, powerful enough in many
cases to override the strongest suggestions of individual
pleasure or pain.

Here a helping cause comes in. The tribe, qud
tribe, has to exist, and it can only exist by aid of such
an organic artifice as the conception of the tribal self in
the minds of its members. Hence the natural selection^-
of those races in which this conception is the most
powerful and most habitually predominant as a motive
over immediate desires. To such an extent has this
proceeded that we may fairly doubt whether the self-
hood of the tribe is not earlier in point of development

112 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MOEALS.

than that of the individual. In the process of time it
becomes a matter of hereditary transmission, and is thus
fixed as a specific character in the constitution of social
man. With the settlement of countries, and the aggre-
gation of tribes into nations, it takes a wider and more
abstract form ; and in the highest natures the tribal
self is incarnate in nothing less than humanity. Short
of these heights, it places itself in the family and in the
city. I shall call that quality or disposition of man
which consists in the supremacy of the family or tribal
self as a mark of reference for motives by its old name
Piety. And I have now to consider certain feelings and
conceptions to which the existence of piety must neces
sarily give rise.

Before going further, however, it will be advisable
to fix as precisely as may be the sense of the words just
used. Self, then, in the ethical sense, is a conception in
the mind of the individual which serves as a peg on
which remote desires are hung and by which they are
rendered immediate. The individual self is such a peg
for the hanging of remote desires which affect the indi-
vidual only. The tribal self is a conception in the mind
of the individual which serves as a peg on which those
remote desires are hung which were implanted in him
by the need of the tribe as a tribe. We must carefully
distinguish the tribal self from society, or the ' common
consciousness ; ' it is something in the mind of each in-
dividual man which binds together his gregarious in-
stincts.

The word tribe is here used to mean a group of that

>/ size which in the circumstances considered is selected

for survival or destruction as a group. Self-regarding

0^ THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 113

excellences are brought out by the natural selection of
individuals ; the tribal self is developed by the natural
selection of groups. The size of the groups must vary
at different times ; and the extent of the tribal self must
vary accordingly.

Approbation and Conscience.

The tribe has to exist. Such tribes as saw no
necessity for it have ceased to live. To exist, it must
encourage piety ; and there is a method which lies ready
to hand.

We do not like a man whose character is such that
we may reasonably expect injuries from him. This dis-
like of a man on account of his character is a more
complex feeling than the mere dislike of separate
injuries. A cat likes your hand, and your lap, and the
food you give her ; but I do not think she has any con-
ception of you.1 A dog, however, may like you even
when you thrash him, though he does not like the
thrashing. Now such likes and dislikes may be felt by
the tribal self. If a man does anything generally re-
garded as good for the tribe, my tribal self may say, in
the first place, ' I like that thing that you have done/
By such common approbation of individual acts the
influence of piety as a motive becomes defined ; and
natural selection will in the long run preserve those
tribes which have approved the right things ; namely,
those things which at that time gave the tribe an
advantage in the struggle for existence. But in the
second place, a man may as a rule and constantly,
being actuated by piety, do good things for the tribe ;

1 Present company always excepted : I fully believe in the personal and
disinterested affection of my cat.

VOL. II. I

114 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

and in that case the tribal self will say, I like you.
The feeling expressed by this statement on the part of
any individual, ' In the name of the tribe, I like you,' is
what I call approbation. It is the feeling produced in
pious individuals by that sort of character which seems
to them beneficial to the community.

Now suppose that a man has done something
obviously harmful to the community. Either some
immediate desire, or his individual self, has for once
proved stronger than the tribal self. When the tribal
self wakes up, the man says, ' In the name of the tribe,
I do not like this thing that I, as an individual, have
done.' This_SeJf -judgment in the name of the tribe is
called Conscience. If the man goes further and draws
from this act and others an inference about his own
character, he may say, ' In the name of the tribe,
V I do not like my individual self.' This is remorse.
Mr. Darwin has well pointed out that immediate desires
are in general strong but of short duration, and cannot
be adequately represented to the mind after they have
passed ; while the social forces, though less violent,
have a steady and continuous action.

In a mind sufficiently developed to distinguish the
individual from the tribal self, conscience is thus a ne-
cessary result of the existence of piety ; it is ready to
hand as a means for its increase. But to account for
the existence of piety and conscience in the elemental
form which we have hitherto considered is by no means
to account for the present moral nature of man. We
shall be led many steps in that direction if we consider
the way in which society has used these feelings of the
individual as a means for its own preservation.

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 115

Eight and Responsibility.

A like or a dislike is one thing ; the expression of
it is another. It is attached to the feeling by links of
association ; and when this association has been selec-
tively modified by experience, whether consciously or
unconsciously, the expression serves a purpose of retain-
ing or repeating the thing liked, and of removing the
thing disliked. Such a purpose is served by the ex-
pression of tribal approbation or disapprobation, how-
ever little it may be the conscious end of such expression
to any individual. It is necessary to the tribe that the
pious character should be encouraged and preserved,
the impious character discouraged and removed. The
process is of two kinds ; direct and reflex. In the
direct process the tribal dislike of the offender is
precisely similar to the dislike of a noxious beast ; and
it expresses itself in his speedy removal. But in the
reflex process we find the first trace of that singular and
wonderful judgment by analogy which ascribes to other
men a consciousness similar to our own. If the process
were a conscious one, it might perhaps be described in
this way : the tribal self says, ' Put yourself in this
man's place ; he also is pious, but he has offended, and
that proves that he is not pious enough. Still, he has
some conscience, and the expression of your tribal dis-
like to his character, awakening his conscience, will
tend to change him and make him more pious.' But
the process is not a conscious one : the social craft or
art of living together is learned by the tribe and not by
the individual, and the purpose of improving men's
characters is provided for by complex social arrange-

i 2

116 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

ments long before it has been conceived by any
conscious mind. The tribal self learns to approve
certain expressions of tribal liking or disliking ; the
actions whose open approval is liked by the tribal self
are called right actions, and those whose open dis-
approval is liked are called wrong actions. The corre-
sponding characters are called good or bad, virtuous
or vicious.

This introduces a further complication into the con-
science. Self-judgment in the name of the tribe be-
comes associated with very definite and material judg-
ment by the tribe itself. On the one hand, this
undoubtedly strengthens the motive-power of conscience
in an enormous d'egree. On the other hand, it tends to
guide the decisions of conscience ; and since the ex-
pression of public approval or disapproval is made in
general by means of some organized machinery of
government, it becomes possible for conscience to be
knowingly directed by the wise or misdirected by the
wicked, instead of being driven along the right path
by the slow selective process of experience. Now right
actions are not those which are publicly approved, but
those whose public approbation a well-instructed tribal
self would like. Still, it is impossible to avoid the
guiding influence of expressed approbation on the great
mass of the people ; and in those cases where the
machinery of government is approximately a means of
expressing the true public conscience, that influence
becomes a most powerful help to improvement.

Let us note now the very important difference
between the direct and the reflex process. To clear a
man away as a noxious beast, and to punish him for

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 117

loing wrong, these are two very different things. The
purpose in the first case is merely to get rid of a
nuisance ; the purpose in the second case is to improve
the character either of the man himself or of those who
will observe this public expression of disapprobation.
The offence of which the man has been guilty leads to
an inference about his character, and it is supposed
that the community may contain other persons whose
characters are similar to his, or tend to become so. It
has been found that the expression of public disappro-
bation tends to awake the conscience of such people
and to improve their characters. If the improvement
of the man himself is aimed at, it is assumed that he
has a conscience which can be worked upon and made
to deter him from similar offences in future.

The word purpose has here been used in a sense
to which it is perhaps worth while to call attention.
Adaptation of means to an end may be produced in two
ways that we at present know of; by processes of
natural selection, and by the agency of an intelligence
in which an image or idea of the end preceded the use
of the means. In both cases the existence of the adap-
tation is accounted for by the necessity or utility of
the end. It seems to me convenient to use the word
purpose as meaning generally the end to which certain
means are adapted, both in these two cases, and in any
other that may hereafter become known, provided only
that the adaptation is accounted for by the necessity or
utility of the end. And there seems no objection to the
use of the phrase ' final cause ' in this wider sense, if it
is to be kept at all. The word « design ' might then be
kept for the special case of adaptation by an intelligence.

118 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

And we may then say that since the process of natural
selection has been understood, purpose has ceased
to suggest design to instructed people, except in cases
where the agency of man is independently probable.

When a man can be punished for doing wrong with
approval of the tribal self, he is said to be responsible.
Eesponsibility implies two things : — (1), The act was a
product of the man's character and of the circumstances,
and his character may to a certain extent be inferred
from the act ; (2), The man had a conscience which
might h ave been so worked upon as to prevent his do-
ing the act. Unless the first condition be fulfilled, we
cannot reasonably take any action at all in regard to
the man, but only in regard to the offence. In the
case of crimes of violence, for example, we might carry
a six-shooter to protect ourselves against similar possi-
bilities, but unless the fact of a man's having once com-
mitted a murder made it probable that he would do
the like again, it would clearly be absurd and unreason-
able to lynch the man. That is to say, we assume an
uniformity of connexion between character and actions,
infer a man's character from his past actions, and
endeavour to provide against his future actions either
by destroying him or by changing his character. I
think it will be found that in all those cases where we
not only deal with the offence but treat it with moral
reprobation, we imply the existence of a conscience
which might have been worked upon to improve the
character. Why, for example, do we not regard
a lunatic as responsible ? Because we are in possession
of information about his character derived not only
from his one offence but from other facts, whereby we

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 119

know that even if he had a conscience left, his mind is
so diseased that it is impossible by moral reprobation
alone to change his character so that it may be subse-
quently relied upon. With his cure from disease and
the restored validity of this condition, responsibility re-
turns. There are, of course, cases in which an irre-
sponsible person is punished as if he were responsible,
pour encourager les autres who are responsible. The
question of the right or wrong of this procedure is the
question of its average effect on the character of men at
any particular time.

The Categorical Imperative.

May we now say that the maxims of Ethic are
hypothetical maxims? I think we may, and that in
showing why we shall explain the apparent difference
between them and other maxims belonging to an early
stage of science. In the first place, ethical maxims are
learned by the tribe and not by the individual. Those
tribes have on the whole survived in which conscience
approved such actions as tended to the improvement of
men's characters as citizens and therefore to the sur-
vival of the tribe. Hence it is that the moral sense of
the individual, though founded on the experience of the
tribe, is purely intuitive ; conscience gives no reasons.
Notwithstanding this, the ethical maxims are presented
to us as conditional ; if you want to live together in
this complicated way, your ways must be straight and
not crooked, you must seek the truth and love no he.
Suppose we answer, ' 1 don't want to live together with
other men in this complicated way ; and so I shall not
do as you^ell me.' That is not the end of the matter,

120 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

as it might be with other scientific precepts. For
obvious reasons it is right in this case to reply, ' Then
in the name of my people I do not like you,' and to
express this dislike by appropriate methods. And the
offender, being descended from a social race, is unable
to escape his conscience, the voice of his tribal self
which says, ' In the name of the tribe, I hate myself for
this treason that I have done.'

There are two reasons, then, why ethical maxims
appear to be unconditional. First, they are acquired
from experience not directly but by tribal selection, and
therefore in the mind of the individual they do not rest
upon the true reasons for them. Secondly, although
they are conditional, the absence of the condition in
one born of a social race is rightly visited by moral re-
probation.

Ethics are based on Uniformity.

I have already observed that to deal with men as a
means of influencing their actions implies that these
actions are a product of character and circumstances ;
and that moral reprobation and responsibility cannot
exist unless we assume the efficacy of certain special
means of influencing character. It is not necessary
to point out that such considerations involve that
uniformity of nature which underlies the possibility
of even unconscious adaptations to experience, of lan-
guage, and of general conceptions and statements.^ It
may be asked ' Are you quite sure that these observed
uniformities between motive and action, between cha-
racter and motive, between social influence and change
of character, are absolutely exact in the form in which

OX THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. 121

you state them, or indeed that they are exact laws of any
form ? May there not be very slight divergences from
exact laws, which will allow of the action of an " uncaused
will," or of the interference of some " extramundane
force " ? ' I am sure I do not know. But this I do
know : that our sense of right and wrong is derived
from such order as we can observe, and not from such
caprice of disorder as we may fancifully conjecture ;
and that to whatever extent a divergence from exact-
ness became sensible, to that extent it would destroy
the most widespread and worthy of the acquisitions of
mankind.

The Final Standard.

By these views we are led to conclusions partly ne-
gative, partly positive ; of which, as might be expected,
the negative are the most definite.

First, then, Ethic is a matter of the tribe or commu-
nity, and therefore there are no 6 self-regarding virtues/
The qualities of courage, prudence, &c., can only be
rightly encouraged in so far as they are shown to con-
duce to the efficiency of a citizen ; that is, in so far as
they cease to be self-regarding. The duty of private
judgment, of searching after truth, the sacredness of
belief which ought not to be misused on unproved
statements, follow only on showing of the enormous
importance to society of a true knowledge of things.
And any diversion of conscience from its sole allegiance
to the community is condemned a priori in the very
nature of right and wrong.

Next, the end of Ethic is not the greatest happiness
of the greatest number. Your happiness is of no use to

122 ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

the community, except in so far as it tends to make you
a more efficient citizen — that is to say, happiness is not
to be desired for its own sake, but for the sake of some-
thing else. If any end is pointed to, it is the end of in-
creased efficiency in each man's special work, as well as
in the social functions which are common to all. A
man must strive to be a better citizen, a better work-
man, a better son, husband, or father. Farm migliori;
questo ha da essere lo scopo della vostra vita.1

Again, Piety is not Altruism. It is not the doing
good to others as others, but the service of the com-
munity by a member of it, who loses in that service
the consciousness that he is anything different from the
community.

The social organism, like the individual, may be
healthy or diseased. Health and disease are very diffi-
cult things to define accurately : but for practical pur-
poses, there are certain states about which no mistake
can be made. When we have even a very imperfect
catalogue and description of states that are clearly and
certainly diseases, we may form a rough preliminary
definition of health by saying that it means the absence
of all these states. Now the health of society involves
among other things, that right is done by the individuals
composing it. And certain social diseases consist in
a wrong direction of the conscience. Hence the deter-
mination of abstract right depends on the study of
healthy and diseased states of society. How much
light can be got for this end from the historical records
we possess ? A very great deal, if, as I believe, for
ethical purposes the nature of man and of society may

1 Mazzini, Dover! dell' Uomo.

ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS.

123

be taken as approximately constant during the few
thousand years of which we have distinct records.

The matters of fact on which rational ethic must be
founded are the laws of modification of character, and
the evidence of history as to those kinds of character
which have most aided the improvement of the race.
For although the moral sense is intuitive, it must for
the future be directed by our conscious discovery of
the tribal purpose which it serves.

124

RIGHT AND WRONG:
THE SCIENTIFIC GROUND OF THEIR DISTINCTION.1

THE questions which are here to be considered are
especially and peculiarly everybody's questions. It is
not everybody's business to be an engineer, or a doctor,
or a carpenter, or a soldier ; but it is everybody's
business to be a citizen. The doctrines and precepts
which guide the practice of the good engineer are of
interest to him who uses them and to those whose busi-
ness it is to investigate them by mechanical science ; the
rest of us neither obey nor disobey them. But the
doctrines and precepts of morality, which guide the
practice of the good citizen, are of interest to all ; they
must be either obeyed or disobeyed by every human
being who is not hopelessly and for ever separated from
the rest of mankind. No one can say, therefore, that
in this inquiry we are not minding our own business,
that we are meddliiig with other men's affairs. We
are in fact studying the principles of our profession, so
far as we are able ; a necessary thing for every man
who wishes to do good work in it.

Along with the character of universal interest which
belongs to our subject there goes another. What is
everybody's practical business is also to a large extent

1 Sunday Lecture Society, November 7, 1875 ; ' Fortnightly Review,'
December, 1875.

RIGHT AND WRONG. 125

what everybody knows ; and it may be reasonably ex-
pected that a discourse about Bight and Wrong will be
full of platitudes and truisms. The expectation is a
just one. The considerations I have to offer are of the
very oldest and the very simplest commonplace and
common sense ; and no one can be more astonished than
I am that there should be any reason to speak of them
at all. But there is reason to speak of them, because
platitudes are not all of one kind. Some platitudes
have a definite meaning and a practical application, and
are established by the uniform and long-continued ex-
perience of all people. Other platitudes, having no
definite meaning and no practical application, seem not
to be worth anybody's while to test ; and these are quite
sufficiently established by mere assertion, if it is auda-
cious enough to begin with and persistent enough after-
wards. It is in order to distinguish these two kinds of
platitude from one another, and to make sure that those
which we retain form a body of doctrine consistent with
itself and with the rest of our beliefs, that we undertake
this examination of obvious and widespread principles.

First of all, then, what are the facts ?

We say that it is wrong to murder, to steal, to tell
lies, and that it is right to take care of our families.
When we say in this sense that one action is right and
another wrong, we have a certain feeling towards the
action which is peculiar and not quite like any other
feeling. It is clearly a feeling towards the action and
not towards the man who does it ; because we speak of
hating the sin and loving the sinner. We might reason-
ably dislike a man whom we knew or suspected to be a
murderer, because of the natural fear that he might

126 EIGHT AND WRONG.

murder us ; and we might like our own parents for
taking care of us. But everybody knows that these
feelings are something quite different from the feeling
which condemns murder as a wrong thing, and approves
parental care as a right thing. I say nothing here about
the possibility of analysing this feeling, or proving that
it arises by combination of other feelings ; all I want to
notice is that it is as distinct and recognizable as the
feeling of pleasure in a sweet taste or of displeasure at
a toothache. In speaking of right and wrong, we speak
of qualities of action which arouse definite feelings that
everybody knows and recognizes. It is not necessary,
then, to give a definition at the outset ; we are going to
use familiar terms which have a definite meaning in the
same sense in which everybody uses them. We may
ultimately come to something like a definition ; but
what we have to do first is to collect the facts and see
what can be made of them, just as if we were going to
talk about limestone, or parents and children, or fuel.1
It is easy to conceive that murder and theft and
neglect of the young might be considered wrong in a
very simple state of society. But we find at present
that the condemnation of these actions does not stand
alone ; it goes with the condemnation of a great number
of other actions which seem to be included with the ob-
viously criminal action in a sort of general rule. The
wrongness of murder, for example, belongs in a less
degree to any form of bodily injury that one man may
inflict on another ; and it is even extended so as to in-
clude injuries to his reputation or his feelings. I make

1 These subjects were treated in the Lectures which immediately preceded
and followed the present one.

RIGHT AND WRONG. 127

these more refined precepts follow in the train of the
more obvious and rough ones, because this appears to
have been the traditional order of their establishment.
4 He that makes his neighbour blush in public,' says the
Mishna, ' is as if he had shed his blood.' In the same
way the rough condemnation of stealing carries with it
a condemnation of more refined forms of dishonesty : we
do not hesitate to say that it is wrong for a tradesman
to adulterate his goods, or for a labourer to scamp his
work. We not only say that it is wrong to tell lies, but
that it is wrong to deceive in other more ingenious ways ;
wrong to use words so that they shall have one sense to
some people and another sense to other people ; wrong
to suppress the truth when that suppression leads to
false belief in others. And again, the duty of parents
towards their children is seen to be a special case of a
very large and varied class of duties towards that great
family to which we belong — to the fatherland and them
that dwell therein. The word duty which I have here
used, has as definite a sense to the general mind as the
words right and wrong ; we say that it is right to do our
duty, and wrong to neglect it. These duties to the
community serve in our minds to explain and define our
duties to individuals. It is wrong to kill anyone ; un-
less we are an executioner, when it may be our duty to
kill a criminal ; or a soldier, when it may be our duty
to kill the enemy of our country ; and in general it is
wrong to injure any man in any way in our private
capacity and for our own sakes. Thus if a man injures
us, it is only right to retaliate on behalf of other men.
Of two men in a desert island, if one takes away the
other's cloak, it may or may not be right for the other

128 RIGHT AND WRONG.

to let him have his coat also ; but if a man takes away
my cloak while we both live in society, it is my duty to
use such means as I can to prevent him from taking
away other people's cloaks. Observe that I am endea-
vouring to describe the facts of the moral feelings of
Englishmen, such as they are now.

The last remark leads us to another platitude of ex-
ceedingly ancient date. We said that it was wrong to
injure any man in our private capacity and for our own
sakes. A rule like this differs from all the others that
we have considered, because it not only deals with phy-
sical acts, words and deeds which can be observed and
known by others, but also with thoughts which are
known only to the man himself. Who can tell whether
a given act of punishment was done from a private or
from a public motive ? Only the agent himself. And
yet if the punishment was just and within the law, we
should condemn the man in the one case and approve
him in the other. This pursuit of the actions of men
to their very sources, in the feelings which they only
can know, is as ancient as any morality we know of,
and extends to the whole range of it. Injury to
another man arises from anger, malice, hatred, revenge ;
these feelings are condemned as wrong. But feelings
are not immediately under our control, in the same way
that overt actions are : I can shake anybody by the
hand if I like, but I cannot always feel friendly to him.
Nevertheless we can pay attention to such aspects of the
circumstances, and we can put ourselves into such condi-
tions, that our feelings get gradually modified in one way
or the other ; we form a habit of checking our anger by
calling up certain images and considerations, whereby

RIGHT AND WRONG. 129

in time the offending passion is brought into subjection
and control. Accordingly we say that it is right to
acquire and to exercise this control ; and the control is
supposed to exist whenever we say that one feeling or
disposition of mind is right and another wrong. Thus,
in connexion with the precept against stealing, we con-
demn envy and covetousness ; we applaud a sensitive
honesty which shudders at anything underhand or dis-
honourable. In connexion with the rough precept
against lying, we have built up and are still building a
great fabric of intellectual morality, whereby a man is
forbidden to tell lies to himself, and is commanded to
practise candour and fairness and open-mindedness in
his judgments, and to labour zealously in pursuit of the
truth. And in connexion with the duty to our families,
we say that it is right to cultivate public spirit, a quick
sense of sympathy, and all that belongs to a social
disposition.

Two other words are used in this connexion which
it seems Accessary to mention. When we regard an
action as right or wrong for ourselves, this feeling about
the action impels us to do it or not to do it, as the case
may be. "We may say that the moral sense acts in this
case as a motive ; meaning by moral sense only the
feeling in regard to an action which is considered as
right or wrong, and by motive something which impels
us to act. Of course there may be other motives at
work at the same time, and it does not at all follow that
we shall do the right action or abstain from the wrong
one. This we all know to our cost. But still our feel-
ing about the Tightness or wrongness of an action does
operate as a motive when we think of the action as being

VOL. II. K

130 RIGHT AND WRONG.

done by us ; and when so operating it is called conscience.
I have nothing to do at present with the questions about
conscience, whether it is a result of education, whether
it can be explained by self-love, and so forth ; I am only
concerned in describing well-known facts, and in getting
as clear as I can about the meaning of well-known words.
Conscience, then, is the whole aggregate of our feelings
about actions as being right or wrong, regarded as tend-
ing to make us do the right actions and avoid the wrong
ones. We also say sometimes, in answer to the ques-
tion, ' How do you know that this is right or wrong ? '
' My conscience tells me so.' And this way of speaking
is quite analogous to other expressions of the same
form ; thus if I put my hand into water, and you ask
me how I know that it is hot, I might say, ' My feeling
of warmth tells me so.'

When we consider a right or a wrong action as done
by another person, we think of that person as worthy
of moral approbation or reprobation. He may be
punished or not ; but in any case this feeling towards
him is quite different from the feeling of dislike towards
a person injurious to us, or of disappointment at a
machine which will not go.

Whenever we can morally approve or disapprove a
man for his action, we say that he is morally respon-
sible for it, and vice versd. To say that a man is not
morally responsible for his actions is the same thing as
to say that it would be unreasonable to praise or blame
him for them.

The statement that we ourselves are morally respon-
sible is somewhat more complicated, but the meaning
is very easily made out ; namely, that another person

RIGHT AND WRONG.

may reasonably regard our actions as right or
and may praise or blame us for them.

We can now, I suppose, understand one another
pretty clearly in using the words right and wrong, con-
science, responsibility ; and we have made a rapid sur-
vey of the facts of the case in our own country at the
present time. Of course I do not pretend that this
survey in any way approaches to completeness ; but it
will supply us at least with enough facts to enable us to
deal always with concrete examples instead of remain-
ing in generalities ; and it may serve to show pretty
fairly what the moral sense of an Englishman is like.

r We must next consider what account we can give of \

Uhese facts by the scientific method.

But first let us stop to note that we really have used
the scientific method in making this first step ; and also
that to the same extent the method has been used by all
serious moralists. Some would have us define virtue,
to begin with, in terms of some other thing which is
not virtue, and then work out from our definition all
the details of what we ought to do. So Plato said that
virtue was knowledge, Aristotle that it was the golden
mean, and Bentham said that the right action was that
which conduced to the greatest happiness of the greatest
number. But so also, in physical speculations, Thales
said that everything was Water, and Heraclitus said it
was All-becoming, and Empedocles said it was made out
of Four Elements, and Pythagoras said it was Number.
But we only began to know about things when people
looked straight at the facts, and made what they could
out of them ; and that is the only way in which we can
know anything about right and wrong. Moreover, it is

K 2

132 RIGHT AND WRONG.

the way in which the great moralists have set to work,
when they came to treat of verifiable things and not of
theories all in the air. A great many people think of
a prophet as a man who, all by himself, or from some
secret source, gets the belief that this thing is right and
that thing wrong. And then (they imagine) he gets up
and goes about persuading other people to feel as he
does about it ; and so it becomes a part of their con-
science, and a new duty is created. This may be in
some cases, but I have never met with any example of
it in history. When Socrates puzzled the Greeks by
asking them what they precisely meant by Goodness
and Justice and Virtue, the mere existence of the words
shows that the people, as a whole, possessed a moral
sense, and felt that certain things were right and others
wrong. What the moralist did was to show the con-

o

nexion between different virtues, the likeness of virtue to
certain other things, the implications which a thoughtful
man could find in the common language. Wherever
the Greek moral sense had come from, it was there in
the people before it could be enforced by a prophet or
discussed by a philosopher. Again, we find a wonder-
ful collection of moral aphorisms in those shrewd say-
ings of the Jewish fathers w;hich are preserved in the
Mishna or oral law. Some of this teaching is familiar to
us all from the popular exposition of it which is con-
tained in the three first Gospels. But the very plain-
ness and homeliness of the precepts shows that they are
just acute statements of what was already felt by the
popular common sense ; -protesting, in many cases,
against the formalism of the ceremonial law with which
they are curiously mixed up. The Eabbis even show a

RIGHT AND WRONG. 133

jealousy of prophetic interference, as if they knew well
that it takes not one man, but many men, to feel what
is right. When a certain Eabbi Eliezer, being worsted
in argument, cried out, ' If I am right, let heaven pro-
nounce in my favour ! ' there was heard a Bath-kol or
voice from the skies, saying, ' Do you venture to dispute
with Eabbi Eliezer, who is an authority on all religious
questions ? ' But Eabbi Joshua rose and said, ' Our law
is not in heaven, but in the book which dates from Sinai,
and which teaches us that in matters of discussion the
majority makes the law.' l

One of the most important expressions of the moral
sense for all time is that of the Stoic philosophy, espe-
cially after its reception among the Eomans. It is here
that we find the enthusiasm of humanity — the caritas
generis humani — which is so large and important a
feature in all modern conceptions of morality, and whose
widespread influence upon Eoman citizens may be
traced in the Epistles of St. Paul. In the Stoic em-
perors, also, we find probably the earliest example of
great moral principles consciously applied to legislation
on a large scale. But are we to attribute this to the
individual insight of the Stoic philosophers ? It might
seem at first sight that we must, if we .are to listen to
that vulgar vituperation of the older culture which has
descended to us from those who had everything to gain
by its destruction.2 We hear enough of the luxurious

1 Treatise Baba Bathra, 59 b. I derive this story and reference from a
most interesting book, ' K61 Koie (Vox Clamantis), La Bible, le Talmud, et
1'Evangile ; par le R. Elie Soloweyczyk. Paris : E. Briere. 1870.'

2 Compare these passages from Merivale (' Romans under the Empire/
vi.), to whom ' it seems a duty to protest against the common tendency of
Christian moralists to dwell only on the dark side of Pagan society, in order
to heighten by contrast the blessings of the Gospel' : —

134 RIGHT AND WRONG.

feasting of the Eoman capital, how it would almost have
taxed the resources of a modern pastrycook ; of the
cruelty of gladiatorial shows, how they were nearly as
bad as autos-da-fe i, except that a man had his fair chance,
and was not tortured for torture's sake ; of the oppres-
sion of provincials by people like Verres, of whom it
may even be said that if they had been the East India
Company they could not have been worse ; of the com-
plaints of Tacitus against bad and mad emperors (as Sir
Henry Maine says) ; and of the still more serious com-
plaints of the modern historian against the excessive
taxation l which was one great cause of the fall of the
empire. Of all this we are told a great deal ; but we
are not told of the many thousands of honourable men
who carried civilization to the ends of the known world,

t Much candour and discrimination are required in comparing the sins of

one age with those of another the cruelty of our inquisitions

and sectarian persecutions, of our laws against sorcery, our serfdom and our
slavery ; the petty fraudulence we tolerate in almost every class and calling
of the community ; the bold front worn by our open sensuality ; the deeper
degradation of that which is concealed ; all these leave us little room for
boasting of our modern discipline, and must deter the thoughtful inquirer
from too confidently contrasting the morals of the old world and the new.'

' Even at Rome, in the worst of times ... all the relations of life
were adorned in turn with bright instances of devotion, and mankind
transacted their business with an ordinary confidence in the force of con-
science and right reason. The steady development of enlightened legal
principles conclusively proves the general dependence upon law as a guide
and corrector of manners. In the camp, however, more especially, as the
chief sphere of this purifying activity, the great qualities of the Roman
character continued to be plainly manifested. This history of the Caesars
presents to us a constant succession of brave, patient, resolute, and faithful
soldiers, men deeply impressed with a sense of duty, superior to vanity,
despisers of boasting, content to toil in obscurity and shed their blood at the
frontiers of the empire, unrepining at the cold mistrust of their masters, not
clamorous for the honours so sparingly awarded to them, but satisfied in the
daily work of their hands, and full of faith in the national destiny which
they were daily accomplishing.'

1 Finlay, ' Greece under the Romans.'

RIGHT AND WRONG. 135

and administered a mighty empire so that it was loved
and worshipped to the furthest corner of it. It is to
these men and their common action that we must attri-
bute the morality which found its organized expression
in the writings of the Stoic philosophers. ( From these
three cases we may gather that Eight is a thing which
must be done before it can be talked about, although
after that it may only too easily be talked about with-
out being done/? Individual effort and energy may in-
sist upon getting that done which was already felt to
be right ; and individual insight and acumen may point
out consequences of an action which bring it under
previously known moral rules. There is another dis-
pute of the Eabbis that may serve to show what is meant
by this. It was forbidden by the law to have any deal-
ings with the Sabgean idolaters during the week pre-
ceding their idolatrous feasts. But the doctors discussed
the case in which one of these idolaters owes you a bill ;
are you to let him pay it during that week or not?
The school of Shammai said ' No ; for he will want all
his money to enjoy himself at the feast.' But the
school of Hillel said, ' Yes, let him pay it ; for how can
he enjoy his feast while his bills are unpaid ? ' The
question here is about the consequences of an action ;
but there is no dispute about the moral principle,
which is that consideration and kindness are to be
shown to idolaters, even in the matter of their idolatrous
rites.

It seems, then, that we are no worse off than any-
body else who has studied this subject, in finding our
materials ready made for us ; sufficiently definite mean-
ings given in the common speech to the words right and

136 EIGHT AND WRONG.

wrong, good and bad, with which we have to deal ; a
fair body of facts familiarly known, which we have to
organize and account for as best we can. But our
special inquiry is, what account can be given of these
facts by the scientific method ? to which end we cannot
do better than fix our ideas as well as we can upon the
character and scope of that method.

Now the scientific method is a method of getting
knowledge by inference, and that of two different kinds.
One kind of inference is that which is used in the phy-
sical and natural sciences, and it enables us to go from
known phenomena to unknown phenomena. Because a
stone is heavy in the morning, I infer that it will be
heavy in the afternoon ; and I infer this by assuming a
certain uniformity of nature. The sort of uniformity
that I assume depends upon the extent of my scientific
education ; the rules of inference become more and more
definite as we go on. At first I might assume that all
things are always alike ; this would not be true, but it
has to be assumed in a vague way, in order that a thing
may have the same name at different times. Afterwards
I get the more definite belief that certain particular
qualities, like weight, have nothing to do with the time
of day ; and subsequently I find that weight has nothing
to do with the shape of the stone, but only with the
quantity of it. The uniformity which we assume, then,
is not that vague one that we started with, but a
chastened and corrected uniformity. I might go on to
suppose, for example, that the weight of the stone had
nothing to do with the place where it was ; and a great
deal might be said for this supposition. It would, how-
ever, have to be corrected when it was found that the

RIGHT AND WRONG.

weight varies slightly in different latitudes. On the
other hand, I should find that this variation was just
the same for my stone as for a piece of iron or wood ;
that it had nothing to do with the kind of matter. And
so I might be led to the conclusion that all matter is
heavy, and that the weight of it depends only on its
quantity and its position relative to the earth. You see
here that I go on arriving at conclusions always of this
form ; that some one circumstance or quality has
nothing to do with some other circumstance or quality.
I begin by assuming that it is independent of everything ;
I end by finding that it is independent of some definite
things. That is, I begin by assuming a vague uni-
formity. I always use this assumption to infer from
some one fact a great number of other facts ; but as iny
education proceeds, I get to know what sort of things
may be inferred and what may not. An observer of
scientific mind takes note of just those things from
which inferences may be drawn, and passes by the
rest. If an astronomer, observing the sun, were to
record the fact that at the moment when a sun-spot
began to shrink there was a rap at his front door, we
should know that he was not up to his work. But if he
records that sun-spots are thickest every eleven years,
and that this is also the period of extra cloudiness in
Jupiter, the observation may or may not be confirmed,
and it may or may not lead to inferences of importance ;
but still it is the kind of thing from which inferences
may be drawn. There is always a certain instinct
among instructed people which tells them in this way
what kinds of inferences may be drawn ; and this is the
unconscious effect of the definite uniformity which they

138 RIGHT AND WRONG.

have been led to assume in nature. It may subsequently
be organized into a law or general truth, and no doubt
becomes a surer guide by that process. Then it goes
to form the more precise instinct of the next genera-
tion.

What we have said about this first kind of inference,
which goes from phenomena to phenomena, is shortly
this. It proceeds upon an assumption of uniformity in
nature ; and this assumption is not fixed and m-ade once
for all, but is a changing and growing thing, becoming
more definite as we go on.

If I were told to pick out some one character which
especially colours this guiding conception of uniformity
in our present stage of science, I should certainly reply,
Atomism. The form of this with which we are most
familiar is the molecular theory of bodies ; which repre-
sents all bodies as made up of small elements of uniform
character, each practically having relations only with
the adjacent ones, and these relations the same all
through — namely, some simple mechanical action upon
each other's motions. But this is only a particular
case. A palace, a cottage, the tunnel of the under-
ground railway, and a factory chimney, are all built of
bricks ; the bricks are alike in all these cases, each
brick is practically related only to the adjacent ones,
and the relation is throughout the same, namely, two
flat sides are stuck together with mortar. There is an
atomism in the sciences of number, of quantity, of
space ; the theorems of geometry are groupings of indi-
vidual points, each related only to the adjacent ones by
certain definite laws. But what concerns us chiefly at
present is the atomism of human physiology. Just as

RIGHT AND WRONG. 139

every solid is built up of molecules, so the nervous
system is built up of nerve-threads and nerve-corpuscles.
We owe to Mr. Lewes our very best thanks for the
stress which he has laid on the doctrine that nerve-fibre
is uniform in structure and function, and for the word
neurility, which expresses its common properties. And
similar gratitude is due to Dr. Hughlings Jackson for
his long defence of the proposition that the element of
nervous structure and function is a sensori-motor
process. In structure, this is two fibres or bundles of
fibres going to the same grey corpuscle ; in function it
is a message travelling up one fibre or bundle to the
corpuscle, and then down the other fibre or bundle.1
Out of this, as a brick, the house of our life is built.
All these simple elementary processes are alike, and each
is practically related only to the adjacent ones ; the
relation being in all cases of the same kind, viz., the
passage from a simple to a complex message, or vice
versd.

The result of atomism in any form, dealing with any
subject, is that the principle of uniformity is hunted
down into the elements of things ; it is resolved into the
uniformity of these elements or atoms, and of the rela-
tions of those which are next to each other. By an
element or an atom we do not here mean something
absolutely simple or indivisible, for a molecule, a brick,
and a nerve -process are all very complex things. We
only mean that, for the purpose in hand, the properties
of the still more complex thing which is made of
them have nothing to do with the complexities or the

1 Mr. Herbert Spencer had assigned a slightly different element. — ' Prin-
ciples of Psychology/ vol. i., p. 28.

140 RIGHT AND WRONG.

differences of these elements. The solid made of mole-
cules, the house made of bricks, the nervous system
made of sensori-motor processes, are nothing more than
collections of these practically uniform elements, having
certain relations of nextness, and behaviour uniformly
depending on that nextness.

The inference of phenomena from phenomena, then,
is based upon an assumption of uniformity, which in the
present stage of science may be called an atomic uni-
formity.

The other mode of inference which belongs to the
scientific method is that which is used in what are called
the mental and moral sciences ; and it enables us to go
from phenomena to the facts which underlie phenomena,
and which are themselves not phenomena at all. If I pinch
your arm, and you draw it away and make a face, I infer
that you have felt pain. I infer this by assuming that
you have a consciousness similar to my own, and related
to your perception of your body as my consciousness is
related to my perception of my body. Now is this the
same assumption as before, a mere assumption of the
uniformity of nature ? It certainly seems like it at
first ; but if we think about it we shall find that there is
a very profound difference between them. In physical
inference I go from phenomena to phenomena ; that is,
from the knowledge of certain appearances or represen-
tations actually present to my mind I infer certain other
appearances that might be present to my mind. From
the weight of a stone in the morning — that is, from my
feeling of its weight, or my perception of the process of
weighing it, I infer that the stone will be heavy in the
afternoon — that is, I infer the possibility of similar feel-

RIGHT AND WRONG.

ings and perceptions in me at another time. The whole
process relates to me and my perceptions, to things con-
tained in my mind. But when I infer that you are "7
conscious from, what you say or do, I pass from that
which is my feeling or perception, which is in my mind
and part of me, to that which is not my feeling at all,
which is outside me altogether, namely, your feelings and
perceptions. Now there is no possible physical infer-
ence, no inference of phenomena from phenomena, that
will help me over that gulf. I am obliged to admit
that this second kind of inference depends upon another
assumption, not included in the assumption of the uni- ^
formity of phenomena.

How does a dream differ from waking life ? In a
fairly coherent dream everything seems quite real, and
it is rare, I think, with most people to know in a dream
that they are dreaming. Now, if a dream is sufficiently
vivid and coherent, all physical inferences are just as
valid in it as they are in waking life. In a hazy or im-
perfect dream, it is true, things melt into one another
unexpectedly and unaccountably ; we fly, remove moun-
tains, and stop runaway horses with a finger. But there
is nothing in the mere nature of a dream to hinder it
from being an exact copy of waking experience. If I
find a stone heavy in one part of my dream, and infer
that it is heavy at some subsequent part, the inference
will be verified if the dream is coherent enough ; I shall
go to the stone, lift it up, and find it as heavy as before.
And the same thing is true of all inferences of phenomena
from phenomena. For physical purposes a dream is just
as good as real life ; the only difference is in vividness
and coherence.

142 RIGHT AND WRONG.

What, then, hinders us from saying that life is all a
dream ? If the phenomena we dream of are just as good
and real phenomena as those we see and feel when we
are awake, what right have we to say that the material
universe has any more existence apart from our minds
than the things we see and feel in our dreams ? The
answer which Berkeley gave to that question was, No
right at all. The physical universe which I see and
feel, and infer, is just my dream and nothing else ; that
which you see is your dream ; only it so happens that
all our dreams agree in many respects. This doctrine
of Berkeley's has now been so far confirmed by the
physiology of the senses, that it is no longer a meta-
physical speculation, but a scientifically established
fact.

But there is a difference between dreams and waking
life, which is of far too great importance for any of us
to be in danger of neglecting it. When I see a man in
my dream, there is just as good a body as if I were
awake ; muscles, nerves, circulation, capability of
adapting means to ends. If only the dream is coherent
enough, no physical test can establish that it is a dream.
In both cases I see and feel the same thing. In both
cases I assume the existence of more than I can see and
feel, namely, the consciousness of this other man. But
now here is a great difference, and the only difference —
in a dream this assumption is wrong ; in waking life it
is right. The man I see in my dream is a mere machine,
a bundle of phenomena with no underlying reality ;
there is no consciousness involved except my conscious-
ness, no feeling in the case except my feelings. The
man I see in waking life is more than a bundle of phe-

RIGHT AND WRONG. 143

nomena ; his body and its actions are phenomena, but
these phenomena are merely the symbols and represen-
tatives in my mind of a reality which is outside my mind,
namely, the consciousness of the man himself which is
represented by the working of his brain, and the simpler
quasi-mental facts, not woven into his consciousness,
which are represented by the working of the rest of his
body. What makes life not to be a dream is the exist-
ence of those facts which we arrive at by our second
process of inference ; the consciousness of men and the
higher animals, the sub-consciousness of lower organisms
and the quasi-mental facts which go along with the
motions of inanimate matter. In a book which is very
largely and deservedly known by heart, ' Through the
Looking-glass/ there is a very instructive discussion
upon this point. Alice has been taken to see the Eed
King as he lies snoring ; and Tweedledee asks, ' Do you
know what he is dreaming about ? ' ' Nobody can guess
that,' replies Alice. ' Why, about you, he says trium-
phantly. ' And if he stopped dreaming about you,
where do you suppose you'd be? ' < Where I am now
of course,' said Alice. 'Not you,' said Tweedledee,
' you'd be nowhere. You are only a sort of thing in
his dream.' ' If that there King was to wake,' added
Tweedledum, 'you'd go out, bang! just like a candle.
Alice was quite right in regarding these remarks as
unphilosophical. The fact that she could see, think,
and feel was proof positive that she was not a sort of
thing in anybody's dream. This is the meaning of that
saying, Cogito ergo sum, of Descartes. By him, and by
Spinoza after him, the verb cogito and the substantive
cogitatio were used to denote consciousness in general,

144 BIGHT AND WRONG.

any kind of feeling, even what we now call sub-con-
sciousness. The saying means that feeling exists in and
for itself, not as a quality or modification or state or
manifestation of anything else.

We are obliged in every hour of our lives to act
upon beliefs which have been arrived at by inferences
of these two kinds ; inferences based on the assumption
ip of uniformity in nature, and inferences which add to
this the assumption of feelings which are not our own.
By organizing the ' common sense ' which embodies the
first class of inferences, we build up the physical
sciences ; that is to say, all those sciences which deal
with the physical, material, or phenomenal universe,
whether animate or inanimate. And so by organizing
the common sense which embodies the second class of
inferences, we build up various sciences of mind. The
description and classification of feelings, the facts of
their association with each other, and of their simulta-
neity with phenomena of nerve-action, — all this belongs
to psychology, which may be historical and comparative.
The doctrine of certain special classes of feelings is
organized into the special sciences of those feelings;
thus the facts about the feelings which we are now con-
sidering, about the feelings of moral approbation and
reprobation, are organized into the science of ethics, and
the facts about the feeling of beauty or ugliness are
organized into the science of aesthetics, or, as it is some-
times called, the philosophy of art. For all of these the
uniformity of nature has to be assumed as a basis of
inference ; but over and above that it is necessary to
assume that other men are conscious in the same way
that I am. Now in these sciences of mind, just as in the

RIGHT AND WRONG. 145

physical sciences, the uniformity which is assumed in
the inferred mental facts is a growing thing which
becomes more definite as we go on, and each successive
generation of observers knows better what to observe

D

and what sort of inferences maybe drawn from observed
things. But, moreover, it is as true of the mental
sciences as of the physical ones that the uniformity is
in the present stage of science an atomic uniformity.
We have learned to regard our consciousness as made
up of elements practically alike, having relations of suc-
cession in time and of contiguity at each instant, which
relations are in all cases practically the same. The
element of consciousness is the transference of an impres-
sion into the beginning of action. Our mental life is a
structure made out of such elements, just as the working
of our nervous system is made out of sensori-motor pro-
cesses. And accordingly the interaction of the two
branches of science leads us to regard the mental facts
as the realities or things-in-themselves, of which the
material phenomena are mere pictures or symbols. The
final result seems to be that atomism is carried beyond
phenomena into the realities which phenomena repre-
sent ; and that the observed uniformities of nature, in
so far as they can be expressed in the language of
atomism, are actual uniformities of things in themselves.
So much for the two things which I have promised
to bring together ; the facts of our moral feelings, and j
the scientific method. It may appear that the latter
has been expounded at more length than was necessary
for the treatment of this particular subject ; but the
justification for this length is to be found in certain
common objections to the claims of science to be the

VOL. II. L

146 RIGHT AND WRONG.

sole judge of mental and moral questions. Some of the
chief of these objections I will now mention.

It is sometimes said that science can only deal with
what is, but that art and morals deal with what ought
to be. The saying is perfectly true, but it is quite con-
sistent with what is equally true, that the facts of art
and morals are fit subject-matter of science. I may
describe all that I have in my house, and I may state
everything that I want in my house ; these are two
very different things, but they are equally statements of
facts. One is a statement about phenomena, about the
objects which are actually in my possession ; the other
is a statement about my feelings, about my wants and
desires. There are facts, to be got at by common sense,
about the kind of thing that a man of a certain charac-
ter and occupation will like to have in his house, and
these facts may be organized into general statements
on the assumption of uniformity in nature. Now the
organized results of common sense dealing with facts are
just science and nothing else. And in the same way I
may say what men do at the present day, how we live
now, or I may say what we ought to do, namely, what
course of conduct, if adopted, we should morally approve ;
and no doubt these would be two very different things.
But each of them would be a statement of facts. One
would belong to the sociology of our time ; in so far as
men's deeds could not be adequately described to us
without some account of their feelings and intentions, it
would involve facts belonging to psychology as well as
facts belonging to the physical sciences. But the other
would be an account of a particular class of our feelings,
namely, those which we feel towards an action when it

RIGHT AND WRONG. 147

is regarded as right or wrong. These facts may be
organized by common sense on the assumption of
uniformity in nature just as well as any other facts.
And we shall see farther on that not only in this sense,
but in a deeper and more abstract sense, ' what ought
to be done ' is a question for scientific enquiry.

The same objection is sometimes put into another
form. It is said that, laws of chemistry, for example,
are general statements about what happens when bodies
are treated in a certain way, and that such laws are fit
matter for science ; but that moral laws are different,
because they tell us to do certain things, and we may or
may not obey them. The mood of the one is indicative,
of the other imperative. Now it is quite true that the
word law in the expression ' law of nature,' and in the
expressions ' law of morals/ ' law of the land,' has two
totally different meanings, which no educated person
will confound ; and I am not aware that anyone has
rested the claim of science to judge moral questions on
what is no better than a stale and unprofitable pun.
But two different things may be equally matters of
scientific investigation, even when their names are alike
in sound. A telegraph post is not the same thing as a
post in the War Office, and yet the same intelligence
may be used to investigate the conditions of the one and
the other. That such and such things are right or
wrong, that such and such laws are laws of morals or
laws of the land, these are facts, just as the laws of
chemistry are facts ; and all facts belong to science, and
are her portion for ever.

Again, it is sometimes said that moral questions have
been authoritatively settled by other methods ; that we

L 2

148 RIGHT AND WRONG.

ought to accept this decision, and not to question it by
any method of scientific inquiry ; and that reason should
give way to revelation on such matters. I hope before
I have done to show just cause why we should pronounce
on such teaching as this no light sentence of moral con-
demnation : first, because it is our duty to form those
beliefs which are to guide our actions by the two
scientific modes of inference, and by these alone ; and,
secondly, because the proposed mode of settling ethical
questions by authority is contrary to the very nature of
right and wrong.

Leaving this, then, for the present, I pass on to the
most formidable objection that has been made to a
scientific treatment of ethics. The objection is that the
scientific method is not applicable to human action,
because the rule of uniformity does not hold good.
Whenever a man exercises his will, and makes a volun-
tary choice of one out of various possible courses, an
event occurs whose relation to contiguous events cannot
be included in a general statement applicable to all
similar cases. There is something wholly capricious and
ij disorderly, belonging to that moment only ; and we have
* no right to conclude that if the circumstances were ex-
actly repeated, and the man himself absolutely unaltered,
he would choose the same course.

It is clear that if the doctrine here stated is true, the
ground is really cut from under our feet, and we cannot
deal with human action by the scientific method. I
shall endeavour to show, moreover, that in this case,
although we might still have a feeling of moral appro-
bation or reprobation towards actions, yet we could not
reasonably praise or blame men for their deeds, nor

RIGHT AND WRONG. 149

regard them as morally responsible. So that, if my
contention is just, to deprive us of the scientific method
is practically to deprive us of morals altogether. On
both grounds, therefore, it is of the greatest importance
that we should define our position in regard to this con-
troversy ; if, indeed, that can be called a controversy in
which the practical belief of all mankind and the consent .
of nearly all serious writers are on one side.

Let us in the first place consider a little more closely
the connexion between conscience and responsibility.
Words in common use, such as these two, have their
meanings practically fixed before difficult controversies
arise ; but after the controversy has arisen each party
gives that slight tinge to the meaning which best suits its
own view of the question. Thus it appears to each that
the common language obviously supports their own view,
that this is the natural and primary view of the matter,
and that the opponents are using words in a new mean-
ing and wresting them from their proper sense. Now
this is just my position. I have endeavoured so far to
use all words in their common every-day sense, only
making this as precise as I can ; and, with two excep-
tions, of which due warning will be given, I shall do my
best to continue this practice in future. I seem to my-
self to be talking the most obvious platitudes ; but it
must be remembered that those who take the opposite
view will think I am perverting the English language.

There is a common meaning of the word ' responsible,'
which though not the same as that of the phrase ' mo-
rally responsible,' may throw -some light upon it. If
we say of a book, ' A is responsible for the preface and
the first half, and B is responsible for the rest,' we mean

150 RIGHT AND WRONG.

that A wrote the preface and the first half. If two
people go into a shop and choose a blue silk dress to-
gether, it might be said that A was responsible for its
being silk and B for its being blue. Before they chose,
the dress was undetermined both in colour and in
material. A's choice fixed the material, and then it was
undetermined only in colour. B's choice fixed the
colour ; and if we suppose that there were no more
variable conditions (only one blue silk dress in the shop),
the dress was then completely determined. In this sense
of the word we say that a man is responsible for that
part of an event which was undetermined when he was
left out of account, and which became determined when
he was taken account of. Suppose two narrow streets,
one lying north and south, one east and west, and
crossing one another. A man is put down where they
cross, and has to walk. Then he must walk either north,
south, east, or west, and he is not responsible for that ;
what he is responsible for is the choice of one of these
four directions. May we not say in the present sense of
the word that the external circumstances are responsible
for the restriction on his choice ? We should mean only
that the fact of his going in one or other of the four
directions was due to external circumstances, and not to
him. Again, suppose I have a number of punches of
various shapes, some square, some oblong, some oval,
some round, and that I am going to punch a hole in a
piece of paper. Where I shall punch the hole may be
fixed by any kind of circumstances ; but the shape of
the hole depends on the punch I take. May we not say
that the punch is responsible for the shape of the hole,
but not for the position of it ?

RIGHT AND WRONG. 151

[t may be said that this is not the whole of the
meaning of the word ' responsible,' even in its loosest
sense ; that it ought never to be used except of a con-
scious agent. Still this is part of its meaning ; if we
regard an event as determined by a variety of circum-
stances, a man's choice being among them, we say that
he is responsible for just that choice which is left him
by the other circumstances.

When we ask the practical question, ' Who is respon-
sible for so-and-so ? ' we want to find out who is to be
got at in order that so-and-so may be altered. If I want
to change the shape of the hole I make in my paper, I
must change my punch ; but this will be of no use if I
want to change the position of the hole. If I want the
colour of the dress changed from blue to green, it is B,
and not A, that I must persuade.

We mean something more than this when we say
that a man is morally responsible for an action. It
seems to me that moral responsibility and conscience go
together, both in regard to the man and in regard to
the action. In order that a man may be morally
responsible for an action, the man must have a con-
science, and the action must be one in regard to which
conscience is capable of acting as a motive, that is, the
action must be capable of being right or wrong. If a
child were left on a desert island and grew up wholly
without a conscience, and then were brought among
men, he would not be morally responsible for his actions
until he had acquired a conscience by education. He
would of course be responsible, in the sense just explained,
for that part of them which was left undetermined by
external circumstances, and if we wanted to alter his

152 RIGHT AND WRONG.

actions in these respects we should have to do it by
altering him. But it would be useless and unreasonable
to attempt to do this by means of praise or blame, the
expression of moral approbation or disapprobation, until
he had acquired a conscience which could be worked
upon by such means.

It seems, then, that in order that a man may be
morally responsible for an action, three things are ne-
cessary : —

1. He might have done something else ; that is to
say, the action was not wholly determined by external
circumstances, and he is responsible only for the choice
which was left him.

2. He had a conscience.

3. The action was one in regard to the doing or not
doing of which conscience might be a sufficient motive.

These three things are necessary, but it does not fol-
low that they are sufficient. It is very commonly said
that the action must be a voluntary one. It will be
found, I think, that this is contained in my third con-
dition, and also that the form of statement I have
adopted exhibits more clearly the reason why the con-
dition is necessary. We may say that an action is in-
voluntary either when it is instinctive, or when one
motive is so strong that there is no voluntary choice
between motives. An involuntary cough produced by
irritation of the glottis is no proper subject for blame or
praise. A man is not responsible for it, because it is
done by a part of his body without consulting him.
What is meant by him in this case will require further
investigation. Again, when a dipsomaniac has so great
and overmastering an inclination to drink that we cannot

EIGHT AND WRONG. 153

conceive of conscience being strong enough to conquer
it, he is not responsible for that act, though he may be
responsible for having got himself into the state. But
if it is conceivable that a very strong conscience fully
brought to bear might succeed in conquering the in-
clination, we may take a lenient view of the fall and
say there was a very strong temptation, but we shall still
regard it as a fall, and say that the man is responsible
and a wrong has been done.1

But since it is just in this distinction between volun-
tary and involuntary action that the whole crux of the
matter lies, let us examine more closely into it. I say
that when I cough or sneeze involuntarily, it is really
not I that cough or sneeze, but a part of my body which
acts without consulting me. This action is determined
for me by the circumstances, and is not part of the choice
that is left .to me, so that I am not responsible for it.
The question comes then to determining how much is to
be called circumstances , and how much is to be called me.

Now I want to describe what happens when I volun-
tarily do anything, and there are two courses open to
me. I may describe the things in themselves, my feel-
ings and the general course of my consciousness, trust-
ing to the analogy between my consciousness and yours
to make me understood ; or I may describe these things
as nature describes them to your senses, namely in terms
of the phenomena of my nervous system, appealing to
your memory of phenomena and your knowledge of phy-
sical action. I shall do both, because in some respects

1 [It seems worth noting that this very closely coincides with the
doctrine of modern English law on the question when and how far insanity
excludes criminal responsibility.]

154 RIGHT AND WRONG.

our knowledge is more complete from the one source,
and in some respects from the other. When I look back
and reflect upon a voluntary action, I seem to find that
it differs from an involuntary action in the fact that a
certain portion of my character has been consulted.
There is always a suggestion of some sort, either the end
of a train of thought or a new sensation ; and there is an
action ensuing, either the movement of a muscle or set
of muscles, or the fixing of attention upon something.
But between these two there is a consultation, as it were,
of my past history. The suggestion is viewed in the
light of everything bearing on it that I think of at the
time, and in virtue of this light it moves me to act in one
or more ways. Let us first suppose that no hesitation
is involved, that only one way of acting is suggested,
and I yield to this impulse and act in the particular
way. This is the simplest kind of voluntary action.
It differs from involuntary or instinctive action in the
fact that with the latter there is no such conscious con-
sultation of past history. If we describe these facts in
terms of the phenomena which picture them to other
minds, we shall say that in involuntary action a message
passes straight through from the sensory to the motor
centre, and so on to the muscles, without consulting the
cerebrum ; while in voluntary action the message is
passed on from the sensory centre to the cerebrum, there
translated into appropriate motor stimuli, carried down
to the motor centre, and so on to the muscles. There
may be other differences, but at least there is this differ-
ence. Now on the physical side that which determines
what groups of cerebral fibres shall be set at work by
the given message, and what groups of motor stimuli

RIGHT AND WRONG. 155

shall be set at work by these, is the mechanism of my
brain at the time ; and on the mental side that which
determines what memories shall be called up by the
given sensation, and what motives these memories shall
bring into action, is my mental character. We may
say, then, in this simplest case of voluntary action, that
when the suggestion is given it is the character of me
which determines the character of the ensuing action ;
and consequently that I am responsible for choosing that
particular course out of those which were left open to
me by the external circumstances.

This is when I yield to the impulse. But suppose I
do not ; suppose that the original suggestion, viewed in
the light of memory, sets various motives in action, each
motive belonging to a certain class of things which I
remember. Then I choose which of these motives shall
prevail. Those who carefully watch themselves find out
that a particular motive is made to prevail by the fixing
of the attention upon that class of remembered things
which calls up the motive. The physical side of this is
the sending of blood to a certain set of nerves — namely,
those whose action corresponds to the memories which
are to be attended to. The sending of blood is accom-
plished by the pinching of arteries ; and there are special
nerves, called vaso-motor nerves, whose business it is to
carry messages to the walls of the arteries and get them
pinched. Now this act of directing the attention may
be voluntary or involuntary, just like any other act.
When the transformed and reinforced nerve-message
gets to the vaso-motor centre, some part of it may be so
predominant that a message goes straight off to the arte-
ries, and sends a quantity of blood to the nerves supply-

156 EIGHT AND WRONG.

ing that part ; or the call for blood may be sent back for
revision by the cerebrum, which is thus again consulted.
To say the same thing in terms of my feelings, a particu-
lar class of memories roused by the original suggestion
may seize upon my attention before I have time to
choose what I will attend to ; or the appeal may be
carried to a deeper part of my character dealing with
wider and more abstract conceptions, which views the
conflicting motives in the light of a past experience of
motives, and by that light is drawn to one or the other
of them.

We thus get to a sort of motive of the second order
or motive of motives. Is there any reason why we
should not go on to a motive of the third order, and the
fourth, and so on? None whatever that I know of, ex-
cept that no one has ever observed such a thing. There
seems plenty of room for the requisite mechanism on
the physical side ; and no one can say, on the mental
side, how complex is the working of his consciousness.
But we must carefully distinguish between the intel-
lectual deliberation about motives, which applies to
the future and the past, and the practical choice of
motives in the moment of will. The former may be a
train of any length and complexity : we have no
reason to believe that the latter is more than engine
and tender.

We are now in a position to classify actions in respect
of the kind of responsibility which belongs to them ;
namely, we have —

1. Involuntary or instinctive actions.

2. Voluntary actions in which the choice of motives
is involuntary.

RIGHT AND WRONG. 157

3. Voluntary actions in which the choice of motives
is voluntary.

In each of these cases what is responsible is that
part of my character which determines what the action
shall be. For instinctive actions we do not say that I
am responsible, because the choice is made before I know
anything about it. For voluntary actions I am respon-
sible, because I make the choice ; that is, the character
of me is what determines the character of the action.
In me, then, for this purpose, is included the aggregate
of links of association which determines what memories
shall be called up by a given suggestion, and what mo-
tives shall be set at work by these memories. But we
-distinguish this mass of passions and pleasures, desire
and knowledge and pain, which makes up most of my
character at the moment, from that inner and deeper
motive-choosing self which is called Eeason, and the
Will, and the Ego ; which is only responsible when mo-
tives are voluntarily chosen by directing attention to
them. It is responsible only for the choice of one motive
out of those presented to it, not for the nature of the
motives which are presented.

But again, I may reasonably be blamed for what I
did yesterday, or a week ago, or last year. This is be-
cause I am permanent ; in so far as from my actions of
that date an inference may be drawn about my charac-
ter now, it is reasonable that I should be treated as
praiseworthy or blameable. And within certain limits
I am for the same reason responsible for what I am now,
because within certain limits I have made myself. Even
instinctive actions are dependent in many cases upon
habits which may be altered by proper attention and

158 RIGHT AND WRONG.

care ; and still more the nature of the connexions be-
tween sensation and action, the associations of memory
and motive, may be voluntarily modified if I choose to
try. The habit of choosing among motives is one which
may be acquired and strengthened by practice, and the
strength of particular motives, by continually directing
attention to them, may be almost indefinitely increased
or diminished. Thus, if by me is meant not the instan-
taneous me of this moment, but the aggregate me of my
past life, or even of the last year, the range of my
responsibility is very largely increased. I am responsi-
ble for a very large portion of the circumstances which
are now external to me ; that is to say, I am responsible
for certain of the restrictions on my own freedom. As
the eagle was shot with an arrow that flew on its own
feather, so I find myself bound with fetters of my proper
forging.

Let us now endeavour to conceive an action which
is not determined in any way by the character of the
agent. If we ask, ' What makes it to be that action
and no other ? ' we are told, ' The man's Ego.' The
words are here used, it seems to me, in some non-natural
sense, if in any sense at all. One thing makes another
to be what it is when the characters of the two things
are connected together by some general statement or rule.
But we have to suppose that the character of the action
is not connected with the character of the Ego by any
general statement or rule. With the same Ego and the
same circumstances of all kinds, anything within the
limits imposed by the circumstances may happen at any
moment. I find myself unable to conceive any distinct
sense in which responsibility could apply in this case ;

RIGHT AND WRONG.

nor do I see at all how it would be reasonable to use
praise or blame. If the action does not depend on the
character, what is the use of trying to alter the charac-
ter ? Suppose, however, that this indeterminateness is
only partial ; that the character does add some restric-
tions to those already imposed by circumstances, but
leaves the choice between certain actions undetermined,
and to be settled by chance or the transcendental Ego.
Is it not clear that the man would be responsible for pre-
cisely that part of the character of the action which was
determined by his character, and not for what was left
undetermined by it ? For it is just that part which was
determined by his character which it is reasonable to
try to alter by altering him.

We who believe in uniformity are not the only
people unable to conceive responsibility without it.
These are the words of Sir W. Hamilton, as quoted by
Mr. J. S. Mill i—1

' Nay, were we even to admit as true what we can-
not think as possible, still the doctrine of a motiveless
volition would be only casualism ; and the free acts of
an indifferent are, morally and rationally, as worthless
as the pre-ordered passions of a determined will.'

' That, though inconceivable, a motiveless volition
would, if conceived, be conceived as morally worthless,
only shows our impotence more clearly.'

' Is the person an original undetermined cause of the
determination of his will ? If he be not, then he is not a
free agent, and the scheme of Necessity is admitted. If
he be, in the first place, it is impossible to conceive the
possibility of this ; and in the second, if the fact, though

1 Examination, p, 495, 2nd ed.

160 EIGHT AND WRONG.

inconceivable, be allowed, it is impossible to see how a
cause, undetermined by any motive, can be a rational,
moral, and accountable cause.'

It is true that Hamilton also says that the scheme
of necessity is inconceivable, because it leads to an in-
finite non-commencement ; and that ' the possibility of
morality depends on the possibility of liberty ; for if a
man be not a free agent, he is not the author of his
actions, and has, therefore, no responsibility — no moral
personality at all.'

I know nothing about necessity ; I only believe that
j nature is practically uniform even in human action. I
know nothing about an infinitely distant past ; I only
know that I ought to base on uniformity those infer-
ences which are to guide my actions. But that man is
a free agent appears to me obvious, and that in the
natural sense of the words. We need ask for no better
definition than Kant's : —

'Will is a kind of causality belonging to living
agents, in so far as they are rational ; and freedom is
such a property of that causality as enables them to be
efficient agents independently of outside causes deter-
mining them ; as, on the other hand, necessity (Natur-
nothwendigkeit) is that property of all irrational beings
which consists in their being determined to activity by
the influence of outside causes.' 1

I believe that I am a free agent when my actions are
independent of the control of circumstances outside me ;
and it seems a misuse of language to call me a free
agent if my actions are determined by a transcendental
Ego who is independent of the circumstances inside me

1 ' Metaphysics of Ethics/ chap. iii.

RIGHT AND WRONG. 161

— that is to say, of my character. The expression ' free
will ' has unfortunately been imported into mental
science from a theological controversy rather different
from the one we are now considering. It is surely too
much to expect that good and serviceable English words
should be sacrificed to a phantom.

In an admirable book, ' The Methods of Ethics,' Mr.
Henry Sidgwick has stated, with supreme fairness and
impartiality, both sides of this question. After setting
forth the ' almost overwhelming cumulative proof ' of
uniformity in human action, he says that it seems ' more
than balanced by a single argument on the other side :
the immediate affirmation of consciousness in the
moment of deliberate volition.' 'No amount of ex-
perience of the sway of motives ever tends to make me
distrust my intuitive consciousness that in resolving,
after deliberation, I exercise free choice as to which of
the motives acting upon me shall prevail.'

The only answer to this argument is that it is not
4 on the other side.' There is no doubt about the deliver-
ance of consciousness ; and even if our powers of self-
observation had not been acute enough to discover it,
the existence of some choice between motives would be
proved by the existence of vaso-motor nerves. But
perhaps the most instructive way of meeting arguments
of this kind is to inquire what consciousness ought to
say in order that its deliverances may be of any use in
the controversy. It is affirmed, on the side of uniformity,
that the feelings in my consciousness in the moment of
voluntary choice have been preceded by facts out of my
consciousness which are related to them in a uniform

VOL. II. M

162 EIGHT AND WRONG.

manner, so that if the previous facts had been accurately
known the voluntary choice might have been predicted.
On the other side this is denied. To be of any use in the
controversy, then, the immediate deliverance of my
consciousness must be competent to assure me of the
non-existence of something which by hypothesis is not in
my consciousness. Given an absolutely dark room, can
my sense of sight assure me that there is no one but
myself in it ? Can my sense of hearing assure me that
nothing inaudible is going on ? As little can the imme-
diate deliverance of my consciousness assure me that
the uniformity of nature does not apply to human
actions.

It is perhaps necessary, in connexion with this
question, to refer to that singular Materialism of high
authority and recent date which makes consciousness a
physical agent, ' correlates ' it with Light and Nerve-
force, and so reduces it to an objective phenomenon.
This doctrine is founded on a common and very useful
mode of speech, in which we say, for example, that a
good fire is a source of pleasure on a cold day, and that
a man's feeling of chill may make him run to it. But
so also we say that the sun rises and sets every morning
and night, although the man in the moon sees clearly
that this is due to the rotation of the earth. One
cannot be pedantic all day. But if we choose for once
to be pedantic, the matter is after all very simple.
Suppose that I am made to run by feeling a chill.
When I begin to move my leg, I may observe if I like a
double series of facts. I have the feeling of effort, the
sensation of motion in my leg ; I feel the pressure
of my foot on the ground. Along with this I may see

RIGHT AND WRONG. lv -"'* -1"0

with my eyes, or feel with my hands, the motion of my
leg as a material object. The first series of facts
belongs to me alone ; the second may be equally
observed by anybody else. The mental series began
first ; I willed to move my leg before I saw it move.
But when I know more about the matter, I can trace
the material series further back, and find nerve-mes-
sages going to the muscles of my leg to make it move.
But I had a feeling of chill before I chose to move my
leg. Accordingly, I can find nerve-messages, excited
by the contraction due to the low temperature, going
to my brain from the chilled skin. Assuming the uni-
formky of nature, I carry forward and backward both
the mental and the material series. A uniformity is
observed in each, and a parallelism is observed between
them, whenever observations can be made. But some-
times one series is known better, and sometimes the
other ; so that in telling a story we quite naturally
speak sometimes of mental facts and sometimes of
material facts. A feeling of chill made a man run ;
strictly speaking, the nervous disturbance which co-
existed with that feeling of chill made him run, if we
want to talk about material facts ; or the feeling of chill
produced the form of sub-consciousness which coexists
with the motion of legs, if we want to talk about mental
facts. But we know nothing about the special nervous
disturbance which coexists with a feeling of chill,
because it has not yet been localized in the brain ; and
we know nothing about the form of sub-consciousness
which coexists with the motion of legs ; although there
is very good reason for believing in the existence of
both. So we talk about the feeling of chill and the

M 2

164 RIGHT AND WRONG.

running, because in one case we know the mental side,
and in the other the material side. A man might show
me a picture of the battle of Gravelotte, and say, ' You
can't see the battle, because it's all over, but there is a
picture of it.' And then he might put a chassepot into
my hand, and say, ' We could not represent the whole
construction of a chassepot in the picture, but you can
examine this one, and find it out.' If I now insisted on
mixing up the two modes of communication of know-
ledge, if I expected that the chassepots in the picture
would go off, and said that the one in my hand was
painted on heavy canvas, I should be acting exactly in
the spirit of the new materialism. For the material
facts are a representation or symbol of the mental facts,
just as a picture is a representation or symbol of a
battle. And my own mind is a reality from which I
can judge by analogy of the realities represented by
other men's brains, just as the chassepot in my hand is
a reality from which I can judge by analogy of the
chassepots represented in the picture. When, there-
fore, we ask, ' What is the physical link between the
ingoing message from chilled skin and the outgoing
message which moves the leg ? ' and the answer is, ' A
man's Will,' we have as much right to be amused as if
we had asked our friend with the picture what pigment
was used in painting the cannon in the foreground, and
received the answer, ' Wrought iron.' It will be found
excellent practice in the mental operations required by
this doctrine to imagine a train, the fore part of which is
an engine and three carriages linked with iron couplings,
and the hind part three other carriages linked with iron
couplings ; the bond between the two parts being made

RIGHT AND WRONG. 165

out of the sentiments of amity subsisting between the
stoker and the guard.

To sum up : the uniformity of nature in human **
actions has been denied on the ground that it takes
away responsibility, that it is contradicted by the testi-
mony of consciousness, and that there is a physical cor-
relation between mind and matter. We have replied
that the uniformity of nature is necessary to responsi-
bility, that it is affirmed by the testimony of conscious-
ness whenever consciousness is competent to testify, and
that matter is the phenomenon or symbol of which mind
or quasi-mind is the symbolized and represented thing.
We are now free to continue our inquiries on the suppo- j
sition that nature is uniform.

We began by describing the moral sense of an
Englishman. No doubt the description would serve
very well for the more civilized nations of Europe ;
most closely for Germans and Dutch. But the fact that
we can speak in this way discloses that there is more
than one moral sense, and that what I feel to be right
another man may feel to be wrong. Thus we cannot
help asking whether there is any reason for preferring
one moral sense to another ; whether the question,
4 What is right to do ? ' has in any one set of circum-
stances a single answer which can be definitely known.

Clearly, in the first rough sense of the word, this
is not true. What is right for me to do now, seeing
that I am here with a certain character, and a certain
moral sense as part of it, is just what I feel to be right.
The individual conscience is, in the moment of volition,
the only possible judge of what is right ; there is no
conflicting claim. But if we are deliberating about

166 RIGHT AND WRONG.

the future, we know that we can modify our con-
science gradually by associating with people, reading
certain books, and paying attention to certain ideas
and feelings ; and we may ask ourselves, * How shall
we modify our conscience, if at all ? what kind of
conscience shall we try to get ? what is the best
conscience ? ' We may ask similar questions about our
sense of taste. There is no doubt at present that the
nicest things to me are the things I like ; but I know
that I can train myself to like some things and dislike
others, and that things which are very nasty at one time
may come to be great delicacies at another. I may ask,
' How shall I train myself ? What is the best taste ? '
And this leads very naturally to putting the question in
another form, namely, ' What is taste good for ? What
is the purpose or function of taste ? ' We should probably
find as the answer to that question that the purpose
or function of taste is to discriminate wholesome food
from unwholesome ; that it is a matter of stomach and
digestion. It will follow from this that the best taste is
that which prefers wholesome food, and that by culti-
vating a preference for wholesome and nutritious things
I shall be training my palate in the way it should
go. In just the same way our question about the best
conscience will resolve itself into a question about the
purpose or function of the conscience — why we have
got it, and what it is good for.

Now to my mind the simplest and clearest and most
profound philosophy that was ever written upon this
subject is to be found in the 2nd and 3rd chapters of
Mr. Darwin's ' Descent of Man.' In these chapters it
appears that just as most physical characteristics of

RIGHT AND WRONG. 167

organisms have been evolved and preserved because
they were useful to the individual in the struggle for
existence against other individuals and other species, so
this particular feeling has been evolved and preserved
because it is useful to the tribe or community in the
struggle for existence against other tribes, and against
the environment as a whole. The function of conscience
is the preservation of the tribe as a tribe. And we
shall rightly train our consciences if we learn to approve
those actions which tend to the advantage of the com-
munity in the struggle for existence.

There are here some words, however, which require
careful definition. And first the word purpose. A
thing serves a purpose when it is adapted to some end ;
thus a corkscrew is adapted to the end of extracting
corks from bottles, and our lungs are adapted to the
end of respiration. We may say that the extraction of
corks is the purpose of the corkscrew, and that respira-
tion is the purpose of the lungs. But here we shall have
used the word in two different senses. A man made
the corkscrew with a purpose in his mind, and he knew
and intended that it should be used for pulling out
corks. But nobody made our lungs with a purpose in
his mind, and intended that they should be used for
breathing. The respiratory apparatus was adapted to
its purpose by natural selection — namely, by the gradual
preservation of better and better adaptations, and the
killing off of the worse and imperfect adaptations. In
using the word purpose for the result of this uncon-
scious process of adaptation by survival of the fittest, I
know that I am somewhat extending its ordinary sense,
which implies consciousness. But it seems to me that

168 RIGHT AND WRONG.

on the score of convenience there is a great deal to be
said for this extension of meaning. We want a word
to express the adaptation of means to an end, whether
involving consciousness or not ; the word purpose will
do very well, and the adjective purposive has already
been used in this sense. But if the use is admitted, we
must distinguish two kinds of purpose. There is the
unconscious purpose which is attained by natural selec-
tion, in which no consciousness need be concerned ; and
there is the conscious purpose of an intelligence which
designs a thing that it may serve to do something which
he desires to be done. The distinguishing mark of this
second kind, design or conscious purpose, is that in the
consciousness of the agent there is an image or symbol
of the end which he desires, and this precedes and
determines the use of the means. Thus the man who
first invented a corkscrew must have previously known
that corks were in bottles, and have desired to get them
out. We may describe this if we like in terms of matter,
and say that a purpose of the second kind implies a
complex nervous system, in which there can be formed
an image or symbol of the end, and that this symbol
determines the use of the means. The nervous image
or symbol of anything is that mode of working of part
of my brain which goes on simultaneously and is corre-
lated with my thinking of the thing.

Aristotle defines an organism as that in which the
part exists for the sake of the whole. It is not that the
existence of the part depends on the existence of the
whole, for every whole exists only as an aggregate of
parts related in a certain way ; but that the shape and
nature of the part are determined by the wants of the

RIGHT AND WRONG. 169

whole. Thus the shape and nature of my foot are
what they are, not for the sake of my foot itself, but for
the sake of my whole body, and because it wants to
move about. That which the part has to do for the
whole is called its function. Thus the function of my
foot is to support me, and assist in locomotion. Not all
the nature of the part is necessarily for the sake of the
whole : the comparative callosity of the skin of my sole
is for the protection of my foot itself.

Society is an organism, and man in society is part of j
an organism according to this definition, in so far as
some portion of the nature of man is what it is for the
sake of the whole — society. Now conscience is such a
portion of the nature of man, and its function is the
preservation of society in the struggle for existence. \
We may be able to define this function more closely
when we know more about the way in which conscience
tends to preserve society.

Next let us endeavour to make precise the meaning
of the words community and society. It is clear that at
different times men may be divided into groups of
greater or less extent — tribes, clans, families, nations,
towns. If a certain number of clans are struggling
for existence, that portion of the conscience will be
developed which tends to the preservation of the clan ;
so, if towns or families are struggling, we shall get a
moral sense adapted to the advantage of the town or
the family. In this way different portions of the moral
sense may be developed at different stages of progress.
Now it is clear that for the purpose of the conscience
the word community at any time will mean a group of
that size and nature which is being selected or not

170 RIGHT AND WRONG.

selected for survival as a whole. Selection may be
going on at the same time among many different kinds
of groups. And ultimately the moral sense will be
composed of various portions relating to various groups,
the function or purpose of each portion being the advan-
tage of that group to which it relates in the struggle for
existence. Thus we have a sense of family duty, of
municipal duty, of national duty, and of duties towards
all mankind.

It is to be noticed that part of the nature of a
smaller group may be what it is for the sake of a larger
group to which it belongs ; and then we may speak of
the function of the smaller group. Thus it appears
probable that the family, in the form in which it now
exists among us, is determined by the good of the nation ;
and we may say that the function of the family is to
promote the advantage of the nation or larger society
in some certain ways. But I do not think it would
be right to follow Auguste Comte in speaking of the
function of humanity ; because humanity is obviously
not a part of any larger organism for whose sake it is
what it is.

Now that we have cleared up the meanings of some
of our words, we are still a great way from the definite
solution of our question, ' What is the best conscience ?
or what ought I to think right ? ' For we do not yet
know what is for the advantage of the community in
the struggle for existence. If we choose to learn by
the analogy of an individual organism, we may see that
no permanent or final answer can be given, because
the organism grows in consequence of the struggle, and
develops new wants while it is satisfying the old ones.

RIGHT AND WRONG. 171

But at any given time it has quite enough to do to
keep alive and to avoid dangers and diseases. So we
may expect that the wants and even the necessities of
the social organism will grow with its growth, and that
it is impossible to predict what may tend in the distant
future to its advantage in the struggle for existence.
But still, in this vague and general statement of the
functions of conscience, we shall find that we have
already established a great deal.

In the first place, right is an affair of the community,
and must not be referred to anything else. To go back
to our analogy of taste : if I tried to persuade you that
the best palate was that which preferred things pretty
to look at, you might condemn me a priori without any
experience, by merely knowing that taste is an affair of
stomach and digestion — that its function is to select
wholesome food. And so, if anyone tries to persuade
us that the best conscience is that which thinks it right
to obey the will of some individual, as a deity or a
monarch, he is condemned a priori in the very nature
of right and wrong. In order that the worship of a deity
may be consistent with natural ethics, he must be re-
garded as the friend and helper of humanity, and his {
character must be judged from his actions by a moral '
standard which is independent of him. And this, it
must be admitted, is the position which has been taken
by most English divines, as long as they were English-
men first and divines afterwards. The worship of a
deity who is represented as unfair or unfriendly to any
portion of the community is a wrong thing, however
great may be the threats and promises by which it is
commended. And still worse, the reference of right

172 RIGHT AND WRONG.

and wrong to his arbitrary will as a standard, the
diversion of the allegiance of the moral sense from the
community to him, is the most insidious and fatal of
social diseases. It was against this that the Teutonic
conscience protested in the Reformation. Again, in
monarchical countries, in order that allegiance to the
sovereign may be consistent with natural ethics, he
must be regarded as the servant and symbol of the
national unity, capable of rebellion and punishable for
it. And this has been the theory of the English con-
stitution from time immemorial.1

The first principle of natural ethics, then, is the sole
and supreme allegiance of conscience to the community.
I venture to call this piety in accordance with the older
meaning . of the word. Even if it should turn out
impossible to sever it from the unfortunate associations
which have clung to its later meaning, still it seems
worth while to try.

An immediate deduction from our principle is that
there are no self-regarding virtues properly so called ;
those qualities which tend to the advantage and preser-
vation of the individual being only morally right in so
far as they make him a more useful citizen. And this
conclusion is in some cases of great practical importance.
The virtue of purity, for example, attains in this way a
fairly exact definition : purity in a man is that course
of conduct which makes him to be a good husband and
father, in a woman that which makes her to be a good
wife and mother, or which helps other people so to

1 [Rex autem habet superiorem, Deum scilicet. Item legem per quam
factus est rex. Item curiam suam . . . et ideo si rex fuerit sine fraeno,
id est sine lege, decent ei fraenum ponere. — Bracton, fo. 34 a.]

RIGHT AND WRONG. 173

prepare and keep themselves. It is easy to see how
many false ideas and pernicious precepts are swept
away by even so simple a definition as that.

Xext, we may fairly define our position in regard to
that moral system which has deservedly found favour
with the great mass of our countrymen. / In the common
statement of utilitarianism the end of right action is
defined to be the greatest happiness of the greatest
number. It seems to me that the reason and the ample
justification of the success of this system is that it
explicitly sets forth the community as the object of
moral allegiance, j But our determination of the purpose
of the conscience will oblige us to make a change in the
statement of it. Happiness is not the end of right
action. My happiness is of no use to the community
except in so far as it makes me a more efficient citizen ;
that is to say, it is rightly desired as a means and not
as an end. The end may be described as the greatest
efficiency of all citizens as such. No doubt happiness
will in the long run accrue to the community as a con-
sequence of right conduct ; but the right is determined
independently of the happiness, and, as Plato says, it is
better to suffer wrong than to do wrong.

In conclusion, I would add some words on the
relation of Veracity to the first principle of Piety. It is
clear that veracity is founded on faith in man ; you tell
a man the truth when you can trust him with it and
are not afraid. This perhaps is made more evident
by considering the case of exception allowed by all
moralists — namely, that if a man asks you the way with
a view to committing a murder, it is right to tell a lie
and misdirect him. The reason why he must not have

174 RIGHT AND WRONG.

the truth told him is that he would make a bad use of
it ; he cannot be trusted with it. About these cases of
exception an important remark must be made in passing.
When we hear that a man has told a lie under such
circumstances, we are indeed ready to admit that for
once it was right, mensonge admirable ; but we always
have a sort of feeling that it must not occur again.
And the same thing applies to cases of conflicting
obligations, when for example the family conscience
and the national conscience disagree. In such cases no
general rule can be laid down ; we have to choose the
less of two evils ; but this is not right altogether in the
same sense as it is right to speak the truth. There is
something wrong in the circumstances, that we should
have to choose an evil at all. The actual course to be
pursued will vary with the progress of society ; that evil
which at first was greater will become less, and in a
perfect society the conflict will be resolved into har-
mony. But meanwhile these cases of exception must
be carefully kept distinct from the straightforward cases
of right and wrong, and they always imply an obliga-
tion to mend the circumstances if we can.

Veracity to an individual is not only enjoined by
piety in virtue of the obvious advantage which attends
a straightforward and mutually trusting community as
compared with others, but also because deception is in
all cases a personal injury. Still more is this true of
veracity to the community itself. The conception of the
universe or aggregate of beliefs which forms the link
between sensation and action for each individual is a
public and not a private matter ; it is formed by society
and for society. Of what enormous importance it is to

RIGHT AND WRONG. 175

the community that this should be a true conception I
need not attempt to describe. Now to the attainment
of this true conception two things are necessary.

First, if we study the history of those methods by
which true beliefs and false beliefs have been attained,
we shall see that it is our duty to guide our beliefs by in-
ference from experience on the assumption of uniformity
of nature and consciousness in other men, and by this
only. Only upon this moral basis can the foundations
of the empirical method be justified.

Secondly, veracity to the community depends upon
faith in man. Surely I ought to be talking platitudes
when I say that it is not English to tell a man a He, or
to suggest a He by your silence or your actions, because
you are afraid that he is not prepared for the truth,
because you don't quite know what he will do when he
knows it, because perhaps after all this He is a better
thing for him than the truth would be, this same man
being all the time an honest fellow-citizen whom you
have every reason to trust. Surely I have heard that
this craven crookedness is the object of our national
detestation. And yet it is constantly whispered that it
would be dangerous to divulge certain truths to the
masses. ' I know the whole thing is untrue : but then it
is so useful for the people ; you don't know what harm
you might do by shaking their faith in it.' Crooked
ways are none the less crooked because they are meant
to deceive great masses of people instead of individuals.
If a thing is true, let us all beHeve it, rich and poor,
men, women, and children. If a thing is untrue, let
us all disbeHeve it, rich and poor, men, women, and
children. Truth is a thing to be shouted from the

176 RIGHT AND WRONG.

housetops, not to be whispered over rose-water after
dinner when the ladies are gone away.

Even in those whom I would most reverence, who
would shrink with horror from such actual deception as I
have just mentioned, I find traces of a want of faith in
man. Even that noble thinker, to whom we of this
generation owe more than I can tell, seemed to say in
one of his posthumous essays that in regard to questions
of great public importance we might encourage a hope
in excess of the evidence (which would infallibly grow
into a belief and defy evidence) if we found that life was
made easier by it. \ As if we should not lose infinitely
more by nourishing a tendency to falsehood than we
could gain by the delusion of a pleasing fancy. Life
must first of all be made straight and true ; it may get
easier through the help this brings to the common-
wealth. And the great historian of materialism * says
that the amount of false belief necessary to morality in
a given society is a matter of taste. I cannot believe
that any falsehood whatever is necessary to morality.
It cannot be true of my race and yours that to keep
ourselves from becoming scoundrels we must needs
believe a lie. The sense of right grew up among healthy
men and was fixed by the practice of comradeship. It
has never had help from phantoms and falsehoods, and
it never can want any. By faith in man and piety
towards men we have taught each other the right
hitherto ; with faith in man and piety towards men we
shall never more depart from it.

1 Lange, ' Geschichte des Materialismus.'

177

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.1

I. — The Duty of Inquiry.

A SHIPOWNER was about to send to sea an emigrant-ship.
He knew that she was old, and not over-well built at
the first ; that she had seen many seas and climes, and
often had needed repairs. Doubts had been suggested
to him that possibly she was not seaworthy. These
doubts preyed upon his mind, and made him unhappy ;
he thought that perhaps he ought to have her thoroughly
overhauled and refitted, evren though this should put
him to great expense. Before the ship sailed, however,
he succeeded in overcoming these melancholy reflec-
tions. He said to himself that she had gone safely
through so many voyages and weathered so many
storms that it was idle to suppose she would not come
safely home from this trip also. He would put his
trust in Providence, which could hardly fail to protect
all these unhappy families that were leaving their
fatherland to seek for better times elsewhere. He
would dismiss from his mind all ungenerous suspicions
about the honesty of builders and contractors. In such
ways he acquired a sincere and comfortable conviction
that his vessel was thoroughly safe and seaworthy ; he
watched her departure with a light heart, and benevo-
lent wishes for the success of the exiles in their strange

VOL. II.

Contemporary Review, January, 1877.
N

178 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

new home that was to be ; and he got his insurance-
money when she went down in mid-ocean and told no
tales.

What shall we say of him ? Surely this, that he
was verily guilty of the death of those men. It is
admitted that he did sincerely believe in the soundness
of his ship ; but the sincerity of his conviction can in
no wise help him, because he had no right to believe on
such evidence as was before him. He had acquired his
belief not by honestly earning it in patient investigation,
but by stifling his doubts. And although in the end he
may have felt so sure about it that he could not think
otherwise, yet inasmuch as he had knowingly and will-
ingly worked himself into that frame of mind, he must
be held responsible for it.

Let us alter the case a little, and suppose that the
ship was not unsound after all ; that she made her voy-
age safely, and many others after it. Will that diminish
the guilt of her owner? Not one jot. When an action
is once done, it is right or wrong for ever ; no accidental
failure of its good or evil fruits can possibly alter that.
The man would not have been innocent, he would only
have been not found out. The question of right or
wrong has to do with the origin of his belief, not the
matter of it ; not what it was, but how he got it ; not
whether it turned out to be true or false, but whether
he had a right to believe on such evidence as was before
him.

There was once an island in which some of the
inhabitants professed a religion teaching neither the
doctrine of original sin nor that of eternal punishment.
A suspicion got abroad that the professors of this

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 179

religion had made use of unfair means to get their
doctrines taught to children. They were accused of
wresting the law£ o£ their country in such a way as to
remove children from the care of their natural and
legal guardians ; and even of stealing them away and
keeping them concealed from their friends and relations.
A certain number of~lhen formed themselves into a
society for the purpose of agitating the public about
this matter. They published grave accusations against
individual citizens of the highest position and character,
and did all in their power to injure these citizens in the
exercise of their professions. So great was the noise
they made, that a Commission was appointed to investi-
gate the facts ; but after the Commission had carefully
inquired into all the evidence that could be got, it
appeared that the accused were innocent. Not only
had they been accused on insufficient evidence, but the
evidence of their innocence was such as the agitators
might easily have obtained, if they had attempted a
fair inquiry. After these disclosures the inhabitants of
that country looked upon the members of the agitating
society, not only as persons whose judgment was to be
distrusted, but also as no longer to be counted honour-
able men. For although they had sincerely and con-
scientiously believed in the charges they had made,
yet they had no right to believe on such evidence as was
before them. Their sincere convictions, instead of being
honestly earned by patient inquiring, were stolen by
"i sterling to the voice of prejudice and passion.

Let us vary this case also, and suppose, other things
remaining as before, that a still more accurate investi-
gation proved the accused to have been really guilty.

380 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

Would this make any difference in the guilt of the
accusers ? Clearly not ; the question is not whether^
their belief was true or false, but whether they enter-
tained it on wrong grounds. They would no doubt
say, ' Now you see that we were right after all ; next
time perhaps }^ou will believe us.' And they might
be believed, but they would not thereby become
honourable men. They would not be innocent, they
would only be not found out. Every one of them, if
he chose to examine himself in foro cohscientice* would
know that he had acquired and nourished a belief,
when he had no right to believe on such evidence as
was before him ; and therein he would know that he
had done a wrong thing.

It may be said, however, that in both of these
supposed cases it is not the belief which is judged
to be wrong, but the action following upon it. The
shipowner might say, 4 1 am perfectly certain that my
ship is sound, but still I feel it my duty to have her
examined, before trusting the lives of so many people
to her.' And it might be said to the agitator,
' However convinced you were of the justice of your
cause and the truth of your convictions, you ought
not to have made a public attack upon any man's
character until you had examined the evidence on both
sides with the utmost patience and care.'

In the first place, let us admit that, so far as it
goes, this view of the case is right and necessary ; right,
because even when a man's belief is so fixed that he
cannot think otherwise, he still has a choice in regard
to the action suggested by it, and so cannot escape the
duty of investigating on the ground of the strength

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 181

of his convictions ; and necessary, because those who
are not yet capable of controlling their feelings and
thoughts must have a plain rule dealing with overt
acts.

But this being premised as necessary, it becomes
clear that it is not sufficient, and that our previous
judgment is required to supplement it. For it is not
possible so to sever the belief from the action it
suggests as to condemn the one without condemning the
other. No man holding a strong belief on one side of a
question, or even wishing to hold a belief on one side,
can investigate it with such fairness and completeness
as if he were really in doubt and unbiassed ; so that
the existence of a belief not founded on fair inquiry
unfits a man for the performance of this necessary
duty.

Nor is that truly a belief at all which has not some
influence upon the actions of him who holds it. He
who truly beli eves that which prompts him to an action
has looked upon the action to lust after it, he has
committed it already in his heart. If a belief is not
realized immediately in open deeds, it is stored up for
the guidance of the future. It goes to make a part,
of that aggregate of beliefs which is the link between
sensation and action at every moment of all our lives,
and which is so organized and compacted together that
no part of it can be isolated from the rest, but every
new addition modifies the structure of the whole. No
real belief, however trifling and fragmentary it may
seem, is ever truly insignificant ; it prepares us to
receive more of its like, confirms those which resembled
it before, and weakens others ; and so gradually it lays

182 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

a stealthy train in our inmost thoughts, which may
some day explode into overt action, and leave its stamp
upon our character for ever.

And no one man's belief is in any case a private matter j
which concerns himself alone. Our lives are guided by
that general conception of the course of things which
has been created by society for social purposes. Our
words1_our j)hras_es, our forms and processes and modes
of thought, are common property, fashioned and per-
fected from age to age ; an heirloom which every suc-
ceeding generation inherits as a precious deposit and a
sacred trust to be handed on to the next one, not un-
changed but enlarged and purified, with some clear marks
of its proper handiwork. Into this, for good or ill, is
woven every belief of every man who has speech of his
fellows. An awful privilege, and an awful responsibility ,(
that we should help to create the world in whicl^l
posterity will live.

/.In the two supposed cases which have been con-
sidered, it has been judged wrong to believe on
insufficient evidence, or to nourish belief by suppressing
doubts and avoiding investigation.^. The reason of this
judgment is not far to seek : it is that in both these
cases the belief held by one man was of great im-
portance to other men. But forasmuch as no belief
held by one man, however seemingly trivial the
belief, and however obscure the believer, is ever
actually insignificant or without its effect on the fate of
mankind, we have no choice but to extend our judgment
to all cases of belief wh ate ver.jf Belief, that sacred
faculty which prompts the decisions of our will, and
knits into harmonious working all the compacted energies

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 183

of our being, is ours not for ourselves, but for humanity.
It is rightly used on truths which have been established
by long experience and waiting toil, and which have
stood in the fierce light of free and fearless questioning.
Then it helps to bind men together, and to strengthen
and direct their common action. It is desecrated
given to unproved and unquestioned statements, for the
solace and private pleasure of the believer ; to add a
tinsel splendour to the plain straight road of our life
•and display a bright mirage beyond it ; or even to
drown the common sorrows of our kind by a self-
deception which allows them not only to cast down, but
also to degrade us. Whoso would deserve well of his
fellows in this matter will guard the purity of his
belief with a very fanaticism of jealous care, lest at any
time it should rest on an unworthy object, and catch a
stain which can never be wiped away.

It is not only the leader of men, statesman, philo-
sopher, or poet, that owes this bounden duty to man-
kind. Every rustic who delivers in the village alehouse III
his slow, infrequent sentences, may help to kill or keep W
alive the fatal superstitions which clog his race. Every
hard-worked wife of an artisan may transmit to her
children beliefs which shall knit society together, or
rend it in pieces. No simplicity of mind, no obscurity of
station, can escape the universal duty of questioning all
that we believe.

It is true that this duty is a hard one, and the doubt
which comes out of it is often a very bitter thing. It
leaves us bare and powerless where we thought that we
were safe and strong. To know all about anything is /
to know how to deal with it under all circumstances. \

184 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

We feel much happier and more secure when we think
we know precisely what to do, no matter what happens,
than when we have lost our way and do not know where
to turn. And if we have supposed ourselves to know
all about anything, and to be capable of doing what is
fit in regard to it, we naturally do not like to find that
we are really ignorant and powerless, that we have to
begin again at the beginning, and try to learn what the
thing is and how it is to be dealt with — if indeed any-
thing can be learnt about it. It is the sense of power |
attached to a sense of knowledge that makes menj
desirous of believing, and afraid of doubting.

This sense of power is the highest and best of
pleasures when the belief on which it is founded is a
true belief, and has been fairly earned by investigation.
For then we may justly feel that it is common property,
and holds good for others as well as for ourselves. Then
we may be glad, not that / have learned secrets by
which I am safer and stronger, but that we men have
got mastery over more of the world ; and we shall be
strong, not for ourselves, but in the name of Man and
in his strength. But if the belief has been accepted or/
insufficient evidence, the pleasure is a stolen one. '"Not
only does it deceive ourselves by giving us a sense of
power which we do not really possess, but it is sinful,
because it is stolen in defiance of our duty to mankind,]
That duty is to guard ourselves from such beliefs as
from a pestilence, which may shortly master our own
body and then spread to the rest of the town. What
would be thought of one who, for the sake of a sweet
fruit, should deliberately run the risk of bringing a
plague upon his family and his neighbours ?

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. ((&?}

And, as in other such cases, it is not the risk only
which has to be considered ; for a bad action is always
bad at the time when it is done, no matter what happens
afterwards. Every time we let ourselves believe for >
unworthy reasons, we weaken our powers of self-control,
of doubting, of judicially and fairly weighing evidence. ,
We all suffer severely enough from the maintenance and
support of false beliefs and the fataUy wrong actions
which they lead to, and the evil born when one such
belief is entertained is great and wide. But a greater
•and wider evil arises when the credulous character is
maintained and supported, when a habit of believing for
unworthy reasons is fostered and made permanent. If
I steal money from any person, there may be no harm
done by the mere transfer of possession ; he may not
feel the loss, or it may prevent him from using the
money badly. But I cannot help doing this great
wrong towards Man, that I make myself dishonest.
What hurts society is not that it should lose its property,
but that it should become a den of thieves ; for then it
must cease to be society. This is why we ought not to
do evil that good may come ; for at any rate this great
evil has come, that we have done evil and are made
wicked thereby. In like manner, if I let myself believe
anything on insufficient evidence, there may be no great
harm done by the mere belief ; it may be true after all,
or I may never have occasion to exhibit it in outward
acts. But I cannot help doing this great wrong towards
Man, that I make myself credulous. The danger to
society is not merely that it should believe wrong things,
though that is great enough ; but that it should be-
come credulous, and lose the habit of testing things and I

186 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

inquiring into them ; for then it must sink back into

i savagery.

The harm which* is done ,by credulity in a man is
not confined to the fostering of a credulous character
in others, and consequent support of false beliefs.
Habitual want of care about what I believe leads to I
habitual want of care in others about the truth of whatl
is told to me. Men speak the truth to one another
when each reveres the truth in his own mind and in
the other's mind ; but how shall my friend revere the
truth in my mind when I myself am careless about it,
when I believe things because I want to believe them,
and because they are comforting and pleasant ? Will
he not learn to cry, ' Peace,' to me, when there is no
peace ? By such a course I shall surround myself with
a thick atmosphere of falsehood and fraud, and in that
I must live. It may matter little to me, in my cloud-
castle of sweet illusions and darling lies ; but it matters
much to Man that I have made my neighbours ready
to deceive. The credulous man is father to the liar and

/-" the cheat ; he lives in the bosom of this his family, and

\ it is no marvel if he should become even as they are.

*x So closely are our duties knit together, that whoso shall
/ keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is
^guilty of all.

To sum up : it is wrong always, everywhere, and
for anyone, to believe anything upon insufficient evi-
dence.

If a man, holding a belief which he was taught in
childhood or persuaded of afterwards, keeps down and
pushes away any doubts which arise about it in his
mind, purposely avoids the reading of books and the

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 187

company of men that call in question or discuss it, and
regards as impious those questions which cannot easily \
be asked without disturbing it — the life of that man is j
one long sin against mankind. /

If this judgment seems harsh when applied to those
simple souls who have never known better, who have
been brought up from the cradle with a horror of doubt,
and taught that their eternal welfare depends on what
they believe, then it leads to the very serious question,
Who hath made Israel to sin ?

It may be permitted me to fortify this judgment
with the sentence of Milton 1 —

' A man may be a heretic in the truth ; and if he
believe things only because his pastor says so, or the
assembly so determine, without knowing other reason,
though his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds
becomes his heresy.'

And with this famous aphorism of Coleridge 2 —

' He who begins by loving Christianity better than
Truth, will proceed by loving his own sect or Church
better than Christianity, and end in loving himself better
than all.'

Inquiry into the evidence of a doctrine is not to be
made once for all, and then taken as finally settled. It 1
is never lawful to stifle a doubt ; for either it can be
honestly answered by means of the inquiry already
made, or else it proves that the inquiry Avas not com-
plete.

6 But,' says one, ' I am a busy man ; I have no time
for the long course of study which would be necessary
to make me in any degree a competent judge of certain

1 Areopagiticct. 2 Aids to Reflection.

188 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

questions, or even able to understand the nature of
the arguments.' Then he should have no time to
believe.

IT.— The Weight of Authority.

Are we then to become universal sceptics, doubting
everything, afraid always to put one foot before the
other until we have personally tested the firmness of the
road ? Are we to deprive ourselves of the help and
guidance of that vast body of knowledge which is daily
growing upon the world, because neither we nor any
other one person can possibly test a hundredth part of it
by immediate experiment or observation, and because it
would not be completely proved if we did ? Shall we
steal and tell lies because we have had no personal ex-
perience wide enough to justify the belief that it is
wrong to do so ?

There is no practical danger that such consequences
will ever follow from scrupulous care and self-control in
the matter of belief. Those men who have most nearly
done their duty in this respect have found that certain
great principles, and these most fitted for the guidance
of life, have stood out more and more clearly in propor-
tion to the care and honesty with which they were
tested, and have acquired in this way a practical
certainty. The beliefs about right and wrong which
guide our actions in dealing with men in society, and
the beliefs about physical nature which guide our
actions in dealing with animate and inanimate bodies,
these never suffer from investigation « they can take
care of themselves, without being propped up by

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 189

'acts of faith,' the clamour of paid advocates, or the
suppression of contrary evidence. Moreover there are
many cases in which it is our duty to act upon proba-
bilities, although the evidence is not such as to justify
present belief ; because it is precisely by such action,
and by observation of its fruits, that evidence is got
whicli may justify future belief. So that we have no
reason to fear lest a habit of conscientious inquiry
should paralyse the actions of our daily life.

But because it is not enough to say, ' It is wrong to
believe on unworthy evidence,' without saying also what
evidence is worthy, we shall now go on to inquire
under what circumstances it is lawful to believe on the
testimony of others ; and then, further, we shall inquire
more generally when and why we may believe that
which goes beyond our own experience, or even beyond
the experience of mankind.

In what cases, then, let us ask in the first place, is
the testimony of a man unworthy of belief? He may
say that which is untrue either knowingly or unknow-
ingly. In the first case he is lying, and his moral
character is to blame ; in the second case he is ignorant
or mistaken, and it is only his knowledge or his judg-
ment which is in fault. In order that we may have the
right to accept his testimony as ground for believing
what he says, we must have reasonable grounds for
trusting his veracity, that he is really trying to speak
the truth so far as he knows it ; his knowledge, that he
has had opportunities of knowing the truth about this
matter ; and his judgment, that he has made proper use
of those opportunities in coming to the conclusion which
he affirms.

190 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

However plain and obvious these reasons may be, so
that no man of ordinary intelligence, reflecting upon the
matter, could fail to arrive at them, it is nevertheless
true that a great many persons do habitually disregard
them in weighing testimony. Of the two questions,
equally important to the trustworthiness of a witness,
'Is he dishonest?' and 'May he be mistaken ? '~ the
majority of mankind are perfectly satisfied if one can,
with some show of probability, be answered in the nega-
tive. The excellent moral character of a man is alleged
as ground for accepting his statements about things
which he cannot possibly have known. A Mohammedan,
for example, will tell us that the character of his
Prophet was so noble and majestic that it commands
the reverence even of those who do not believe in his
mission. So admirable was his moral teaching, so
wisely put together the great social machine which
he created, that his precepts have not only been
accepted by a great portion of mankind, but have
actually been obeyed. His institutions have on the one
hand rescued the negro from savagery, and on the other
hand have taught civilization to the advancing West ;
and although the races which held the highest forms of
his faith, and most fully embodied his mind and thought,
have all been conquered and swept away by barbaric
tribes, yet the history of their marvellous attainments
remains as an imperishable glory to Islam. Are we to
doubt the word of a man so great and so good ? Can
we suppose that this magnificent genius, this splendid
moral hero, has lied to us about the most solemn and
sacred matters ? The testimony of Mohammed is clear,
that there is but one God, and that he, Mohammed, is his

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 191

prophet ; that if we believe in him we shall enjoy
everlasting felicity, but that if we do not we shall
be damned. This testimony rests on the most awful
of foundations, the revelation of heaven itself; for was
he not visited by the angel Gabriel, as he fasted and
prayed in his desert cave, and allowed to enter into the
blessed fields of Paradise ? Surely God i^ God and
Mohammed is the Prophet of God.

What should we answer to this Mussulman ? ^ First,
no doubt, we should be tempted to take exception
against his view of the character of the Prophet and
the uniformly beneficial influence of Islam : before we
could go with him altogether in these matters it might
seem that we should have to forget many terrible things
of which we have heard or read. But if we chose to
grant him all these assumptions, for the sake of argu-
ment, and because it is difficult both for the faithful and
for infidels to discuss them fairly and without passion,
still we should have something to say which takes away
the ground of his belief, and therefore shows that it is
wrong to entertain it. Namely this : the character of
Mohammed is excellent evidence that he was honest
and spoke the truth so far as he knew it ; but it is
no evidence at all that he knew what the truth was.
What means could he have of knowing that the form
which appeared to him to be the angel Gabriel was not
a hallucination, and that his apparent visit to Paradise
was not a dream ? Grant that he himself was fully per-
suaded and honestly believed that he had the guidance
of heaven, and was the vehicle of a supernatural reve-
lation, how could he know that this strong conviction
was not a mistake ? Let us put ourselves in his place ;

192 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

we shall find that the more completely we endeavour to
realize what passed through his mind, the more clearly
we shall perceive that the Prophet could have had no
adequate ground for the belief in his own inspiration.
It is most probable that he himself never doubted of the
matter, or thought of asking the question ; but we are
in the position of those to whom the question has been
asked, and who are bound to answer it. It is known
to medical observers that solitude and want of food are
powerful means of producing delusion and of fostering
a tendency to mental disease. Let us suppose, then,
that I, like Mohammed, go into desert places to fast and
pray ; what things can happen to me which will give
me the right to believe that I am divinely inspired ?
Suppose that I get information, apparently from a celes-
tial visitor, which upon being tested is found to be
correct. I cannot be sure, in the first place, that the
celestial visitor is not a figment of my own mind, and
that the information did not come to me, unknown at
the time to my consciousness, through some subtle
channel of sense. But if my visitor were a real visitor,
and for a long time gave me information which was
found to be trustworthy, this would indeed be good
ground for trusting him in the future as to such matters
as fall within human powers of verification ; but it would
not be ground for trusting his testimony as to any other I
matters. For although his tested character would justify f
me in believing that he spoke the truth so far as he
knew, yet the same question would present itself — what
ground is there for supposing that he knows ?

Even if my supposed visitor had given me such in-
formation, subsequently verified by me, as proved him

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 193

to have means of knowledge about verifiable matters
far exceeding my own ; this would not justify me in
believing what he said about matters that are not at
present capable of verification by man. It would be
ground for interesting conjecture, and for the hope that,
as the fruit of our patient inquiry, we might by-and-by
attain to such a means of verification as should rightly
turn conjecture into belief. For belief belongs to man.
and to the guidance of human affairs : no belief is reall
unless it guide our actions, and those very actions supply ]
a test of its truth.

But, it may be replied, the acceptance of Islam as a
system is just that action which is prompted by belief
in the mission of the Prophet, and which will serve for
a test of its truth. Is it possible to believe that a system
which has succeeded so well is really founded upon a
delusion ? Not only have individual saints found joy
and peace in believing, and verified those spiritual ex-
periences which are promised to the faithful, but nations
also have been raised from savagery or barbarism to a
higher social state. Surely we are at liberty to say that
the belief has been acted upon, and that it has been ;
verified.

It requires, however, but little consideration to show
that what has really been verified is not at all the
supernal character of the Prophet's mission, or the trust-
worthiness of his authority in matters which we ourselves
cannot test, but only his practical wisdom in certain
very mundane things. The fact that believers have
found joy and peace in believing gives us the right to say I
that the doctrine is a comfortable doctrine, and pleasant
to the soul ; but it does not give us the right to say that

VOL, II. 0

194 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

it is true. And the question which our conscience is
always asking about that which we are tempted to
believe is not, ' Is it comfortable and pleasant ? ' but, ' Is
it true ? ' That the Prophet preached certain doctrines,
and predicted that spiritual comfort would be found in
them, proves only his sympathy with human nature and
his knowledge of it ; but it does not prove his super-
human knowledge of theology.

And if we admit for the sake of argument (for it
seems that we cannot do more) that the progress made
by Moslem nations in certain cases was really due to
the system formed and sent forth into the world by
Mohammed, we are not at liberty to conclude from this
that he was inspired to declare the truth about things
which we cannot verify. We are only at liberty to infer
the excellence of his moral precepts, or of the means
which he devised for so working upon men as so get
them obeyed, or of the social and political machinery
which he set up. And it would require a great amount
of careful examination into the history of those nations
to determine which of these things had the greater share
in the result. So that here again it is the Prophet's
knowledge of human nature, and his sympathy with it,
that are verified ; not his divine inspiration, or his
knowledge of theology.

If there were only one Prophet, indeed, it might well
seem a difficult and even an ungracious task to decide
upon what points we would trust him, and on what we
would doubt his authority ; seeing what help and
furtherance all men have gained in all ages from those
who saw more clearly, who felt more strongly, and
who sought the truth with more single heart than their

X

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 19o

weaker brethren. But there is not only one Prophet ;
and while the consent of many upon that which, as men,
they had real means of knowing and did know, has
endured to the end, and been* honourably built into the
great fabric of human knowledge, the diverse witness
of some about that which they did not and could not
know remains as a warning to us that to exaggerate
the prophetic authority is to misuse it, and to dishonour
those who have sought only to help and further us after
their power. It is hardly in human nature that a man
should quite accurately gauge the limits of his own
insight ; but it is the duty of those who profit by his
work to consider carefully where he may have been
carried beyond it. If we must needs embalm his
possible errors along with his solid achievements, and
use his authority as an excuse for believing what he
cannot have known, w^e make of his goodness an oc-
casion to sin.

•- To consider only one other such witness : the
followers of the Buddha have at least as much right to
appeal to individual and social experience in support of
the authority of the Eastern saviour. The special mark
of his religion, it is said, that in which it has never been
surpassed, is the comfort and consolation which it gives
to the sick and sorrowful, the tender sympathy with
which it soothes and assuages all the natural griefs of
men. And surely no triumph of social morality can be
greater or nobler than that which has kept nearly half
the human race from persecuting in the name of religion.
If we are to trust the accounts of his early followers, he
believed himself to have come upon earth with a divine
and cosmic mission to set rolling the wheel of the law.

o -2

196 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

Being a prince, he divested himself of his kingdom, and
of his free will became acquainted with misery, that he
might learn how to meet and subdue it. Could such a
man speak falsely about solemn things ? And as for his
knowledge, was he not a man miraculous with powers
more than man's ? He was born of woman without the
help of man ; he rose into the air and was transfigured
before his kinsmen ; at last he went up bodily into
heaven from the top of Adam's Peak. Is not his word
to be believed in when he testifies of heavenly things ?

If there were only he, and no other, with such
claims ! But there is Mohammed with his testimony ;
we cannot choose but listen to them both. The Prophet
tells us that there is one God, and that we shall live for
ever in joy or misery, according as we believe in the
Prophet or not. The Buddha says that there is no GodA
and that we shall be annihilated by-and-by if we are )
good enough. Both cannot be infallibly inspired ; one
or the other must have been the victim of a delusion,
and thought he knew that which he really did not know. \
Who shall dare to say which ? and how can we justify
ourselves in believing that the other was not also
deluded ?

We are led, then, to these judgments following.
The goodness and greatness of a man do not justify us i
in accepting a belief upon the warrant of his authority, !
unless there are reasonable grounds for supposing that ^
he knew the truth of what he was saying. And there
can be no grounds for supposing that a man knows that
which we, without ceasing to be men, could not be
supposed to verify.

If a chemist tells me, who am no chemist, that a

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 197

certain substance can be made by putting together
other substances in certain proportions and subjecting
them to a known process, I am quite justified in believ-
ing this upon his authority, unless I know anything
against his character or his judgment. For his pro-
fessional training is one which tends to encourage
veracity and the honest pursuit of truth, and to produce
a dislike of hasty conclusions and slovenly investigation.
And I have reasonable ground for supposing that he
knows the truth of what he is saying, for although I am
no chemist, I can be made to understand so much of the
methods and processes of the science as makes it con-
ceivable to me that, without ceasing to be man, I might
verify the statement. I may never actually verify it, or
even see any experiment which goes towards verifying
it ; but still I have quite reason enough to justify me in
believing that the verification is within the reach of
human appliances and powers, and in particular that
it has been actually performed by my informant. His
result, the belief to which he has been led by his in-
quiries, is valid not only for himself but for others ; it
is watched and tested by those who are working in the
same ground, and who know that no greater service
can be rendered to science than the purification of
accepted results from the errors which may have crept
into them. It is in this way that the result becomes
common property, a right object of belief, which is a
social affair and matter of public business. Thus it is to
be observed that his authority is valid because there are
those who question it and verify it ; that it is precisely
this process of examining and purifying that keeps
alive among investigators the love of that which shall

198 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

stand all possible tests, the sense of public responsibility
as of those whose work, if well done, shall remain as the
enduring heritage of mankind.

But if my chemist tells me that an atom of oxygen
has existed unaltered in weight and rate of vibration
throughout all time, I have no right to believe this on
his authority, for it is a thing which he cannot know
without ceasing to be man. He may quite honestly
believe that this statement is a fair inference from his
experiments, but in that case his judgment is at fault. \
A very simple consideration of the character of experi- *
ments would show him that they never can lead to
results of such a kind ; that being themselves only
approximate and limited, they cannot give us knowledge
which is exact and universal. No eminence of charac-
ter and genius can give a man authority enough to
justify us in believing him when he makes statements
implying exact or universal knowledge.

Again, an Arctic explorer may tell us that in a given
latitude and longitude he has experienced such and such
a degree of cold, that the sea was of such a depth, and
the ice of such a character. We should be quite right
to believe him, in the absence of any stain upon his
veracity. It is conceivable that we might, without
ceasing to be men, go there and verify his statement ;
it can be tested by the witness of his companions, and
there is adequate ground for supposing that he knows
the truth of what he is saying. But if an old whaler
tells us that the ice is three hundred feet thick all the
way up to the Pole, we shall not be justified in believ-
ing him. For although the statement may be capable
of verification by man, it is certainly not capable of

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 199

I verification by him, with any means and appliances
which he has possessed ; and he must have persuaded
himself of the truth of it by some means which does
not attach any credit to his testimony. Even if, there-
fore, the matter affirmed is within the reach of human
knowledge, we have no right to accept it upon authority
unless it is within the reach of our informant's know-
ledge.

What shall we say of that authority, more venerable
and august than any individual witness, the time-
honoured tradition of the human race? An atmo-
sphere of beliefs and conceptions has been formed by
the labours and struggles of our forefathers, which
enables us to breathe amid the various and complex
circumstances of our life. It is around and about us
and within us ; we cannot think except in the forms
and processes of thought which it supplies. Is it pos-
sible to doubt and to test it? and if possible, is it
right ?

/(We shall find reason to answer that it is not only
possible and right, but our bounden duty ; that the main
purpose of the tradition itself is to supply us with the
means of asking questions, of testing and inquiring into
things ; that if we misuse it, and take it as a collection
of cut-and-dried statements, to be accepted without
further inquiry, we are not only injuring ourselves here,
p do our part towards the building up

of the fabric which shall be inherited by our children,
we are tending to cut off ourselves and our race from
the human line.

Let us first take care to distinguish a kind of tradi-
tion which especially requires to be examined and called

200 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

in question, because it especially shrinks from inquiry.
Suppose that a medicine-man in Central Africa tells his
tribe that a certain powerful medicine in his tent will be
propitiated if they kill their cattle ; and that the tribe
believe him. Whether the medicine was propitiated
or not, there are no means of verifying, but the cattle
are gone. Still the belief may be kept up in the tribe
that propitiation has been effected in this way ; and in
a later generation it will be all the easier for another
medicine-man to persuade them to a similar act. Here
the only reason for belief is that everybody has believed
the thing for so long that it must be true. And yet the
belief was founded on fraud, and has been propagated
by credulity. That man will undoubtedly do right, and J
be a friend of men, who shall call it in question and see
that there is no evidence for it, help his neighbours to
see as he does, and even, if need be, go into the holy
tent and break the medicine.

The rule which should guide us in such cases is
simple and obvious enough : that the aggregate testi-
mony of our neighbours is subject to the same conditions
as the testimony of any one of them. Namely, we have'
no right to believe a thing true because everybody says
so, unless there are good grounds for believing that
some one person at least has the means of knowing
what is true, and is speaking the truth so far as he
knows it. However many nations and generations of
men are brought into the witness-box, they cannot
testify to anything which they do not know. Every
man who has accepted the statement from somebody
else, without himself testing and verifying it, is out of
court ; his word is worth nothing at all. And when we

I

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. X^"'01

x<3?Rtfu

get back at last to the true birth and beginning of the
statement, two serious questions must be disposed of in
regard to him who first made it : was he mistaken in
thinking that he knew about this matter, or was he
lying?

This last question is unfortunately a very actual and
practical one even to us at this day and in this country.
We have no occasion to go to La Salette, or to Central
Africa, or to Lourdes, for examples of immoral and de-
basing superstition. It is only too possible for a child
to grow up in London surrounded by an atmosphere
of beliefs fit only for the savage, which have in our
own time been founded in fraud and propagated by
credulity.

Laying aside, then, such tradition as is handed on
without testing by successive generations, let us consi-
der that which is truly built up out of the common ex-
perience of mankind. This great fabric is for the gui-
dance of our thoughts, and through them of our actions,
both in the moral and in the material world. In the
moral world, for example, it gives us the conceptions of
right in general, of justice, of truth, of beneficence, and
the like. These are given as conceptions, not as state-
ments or propositions ; they answer to certain definite
instincts, which are certainly within us, however they
came there. That it is right to be beneficent is matter
of immediate personal experience ; for when a man re-
tires within himself and there finds something, wider
and more lasting than his solitary personality, which
says, ' I want to do right,' as well as, ' I want to do good
to man,' he can verify by direct observation that one
instinct is founded upon and agrees fully with the other.

202 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

And it is his duty so to verify this and all similar state-
ments.

The tradition says also, at a definite place and time,
that such and such actions are just, or true, or benefi-
cent. For all such rules a further inquiry is necessary,
since they are sometimes established by an authority
other than that of the moral sense founded on experience.
Until recently, the moral tradition of our own country —
and indeed of all Europe — taught that it was beneficent
to give money indiscriminately to beggars. But the
questioning of this rule, and investigation into it, led
men to see that true beneficence is that which helps a
man to do the work which he is most fitted for, not that
which keeps and encourages him in idleness ; and that
to neglect this distinction in the present is to prepare
pauperism and misery for the future. By this testing
and discussion, not only has practice been purified and
made more beneficent, but the very conception of
beneficence has been made wider and wiser .j^ Now here
the great social heirloom consists of two parts : the in-
stinc^oXbeneficence, which makes a certain side of our
nature, when predominant, wish tojio good to men ;
and the intelkctualconception of beneficence, which we
can compare with any proposed course of conduct and
ask, ' Is this beneficent_or not ? ' C By the continual ask-
ing ano: answering of such questions the conception
grows in breadth and distinctness, and the instinct be-
i comes strengthened and purified. } It appears then that
1 the great use of the conception, the intellectual part of
\ the heirloom, is to enable us to ask questions ; that it
\grows and is kept straight by means of these questions ;
and if we do not use it for that purpose we shall gradu-

THE ETHICS OF BELIED 203

V" •**

ally lose it altogether, and be left with a\jnere code of
regulations which cannot rightly be called morality at

Such considerations apply even more obviously and
clearly, if possible, to the store of beliefs and conceptions
which our fathers have amassed for us in respect of the
material world. We are ready to laugh at the rule of
thumb of the Australian, who continues to tie his hat-
chet to the side of the handle, although the Birmingham
fitter has made a hole on purpose for him to put the
handle in. His people have tied up hatchets so for ages :
who is he that he should set himself up against their
wisdom ? He has sunk so low that he cannot do what
some of them must have done in the far distant past —
call in question an established usage, and invent or learn
something better. Yet here, in the dim beginning of
knowledge, where science and art are one, we find only
the same simple rule which applies to the highest and
deepest growths of that cosmic Tree ; to its loftiest
flower-tipped branches as well as to the profoundest of
its hidden roots ; the rule, namely, that what is stored
up and handed down to us is rightly used by those who
act as the makers acted, when they stored it up ; those
who use it to ask further questions, to examine, to in-
vestigate ; who try honestly and solemnly to find out
what is the right way of looking at things and of dealing
with them.

A question rightly asked is already half answered,
said Jacobi ; we may add that the method of solution is
the other half of the answer, and that the actual result
counts for nothing by the side of these two. For an
example let us go to the telegraph, where theory and

204 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

practice, grown each to years of discretion, are mar-
vellously wedded for the fruitful service of men. Ohm
found that the strength of an electric current is directly
proportional to the strength of the battery which pro-
duces it, and inversely as the length of the wire along
which it has to travel. This is called Ohm's law ; but
the result, regarded as a statement to be believed, is
not the valuable part of it. The first half is the ques-
tion : what relation holds good between these quantities ?
So put, the question involves already the conception of
strength of current, and of strength of battery, as
quantities to be measured and compared ; it hints
clearly that these are the things to be attended to in the
study of electric currents. The second half is the
method of investigation ; how to measure these quan-
tities, what instruments are required for the experiment,
and how are they to be used ? The student who begins
to learn about electricity is not asked to believe in
Ohm's law : he is made to understand the question, he is
placed before the apparatus, and he is taught to verify
it. He learns to do things, not to think he knows things ;
to use instruments and to ask questions, not to accept a
traditional statement. The question which required a
genius to ask it rightly is answered by a tyro. If Ohm's
law were suddenly lost and forgotten by all men, while
the question and the method of solution remained, the
result could be rediscovered in an hour. But the result
by itself, if known to a people who could not compre-
hend the value of the question or the means of solving
it, would be like a watch in the hands of a savage who
could not wind it up, or an iron steamship worked by
Spanish engineers.

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 205

In regard, then, to the sacred tradition of humanity,
re learn that it consists, not in propositions or state-
ments which are to be accepted and believed on the.
authority of the tradition, but in questions rightly asked, j
in conceptions which enable us to ask further questions,!
and in methods of answering questions. The value oft
all these things depends on their being tested day by 1
day. The very sacredness of the precious deposit I
imposes upon us the duty and the responsibility of test-
ing it, of purifying and enlarging it to the utmost of our
power. He who makes use of its results to stifle his
own doubts, or to hamper the inquiry of others, is
guilty of a sacrilege which centuries shall never be able
to blot out. When the labours and questionings of
honest and brave men shall have built up the fabric of
known truth to a glory which we in this generation can
neither hope for nor imagine, in that pure and holy
temple he shall have no part nor lot, but his name and
his works shall be cast out into the darkness of oblivion
for ever.

///. — The Limits of Inference.

The question in what cases we may believe that
which goes beyond our experience, is a very large and
delicate one, extending to the whole range of scientific
method, and requiring a considerable increase in the
application of it before it can be answered with anything
approaching to completeness. But one rule, lying on
the threshold of the subject, of extreme simplicity and
vast practical importance, may here be touched upon
and shortly laid down.

206 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

A little reflection will show us that every belief,
even the simplest and most fundamental, goes beyond
experience when regarded as a guide to our actions. A
burnt child dreads the fire, because it believes that the
fire will burn it to-day just as it did yesterday ; but this
belief goes beyond experience, and assumes that the
unknown fire of to-day is like the known fire of yester-
day. Even the belief that the child was burnt yester-
day goes beyond present experience, which contains only
the memory of a burning, and not the burning itself ; it
assumes, therefore, that this memory is trustworthy,
although we know that a memory may often be mis-
taken. But if it is to be used as a guide to action, as a
hint of what the future is to be, it must assume some-
thing about that future, namely, that it will be consis-
tent with the supposition that the burning really took
place yesterday; which is going beyond experience.
Even the fundamental ' I am,' which cannot be doubted,
is no guide to action until it takes to itself ; I shall be,'
which goes beyond experience. The question is not,
therefore, ' May we believe what goes beyond experi-
ence ? ' for this is involved in the very nature of belief ;
but ' How far and in what manner may we add to our
experience in forming our beliefs ? '

And an answer, of utter simplicity and universality,
is suggested by the example we have taken : a burnt
child dreads the fire. We may go beyond experience
by assuming that what we do not know is like what
we do know ; or, in other words,/ we may add to our

••* "^ '~~>

experience on the assumption of a uniformity in nature./
What this uniformity precisely is, how we grow in the
knowledge of it from generation to generation, these are

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 207

questions which for the present we lay aside, being
content to examine two instances which may serve to
make plainer the nature of the rule.

From certain observations made with the spectro-
scope, we infer the existence of hydrogen in the sun.
By looking into the spectroscope when the sun is shining
on its slit, we see certain definite bright lines : and
experiments made upon bodies on the earth have taught
us that when these bright lines are seen hydrogen is the
source of them. We assume, then, that the unknown
bright lines in the sun are like the known bright lines
of the laboratory, and that hydrogen in the sun behaves
as hydrogen under similar circumstances would behave
on the earth.

But are we not trusting our spectroscope too much ?
Surely, having found it to be trustworthy for terrestrial
substances, where its statements can be verified by man,
we are justified in accepting its testimony in other like
cases ; but not when it gives us information about
things in the sun, where its testimony cannot be directly
verified by man ?

Certainly, we want to know a little more before this
inference can be justified ; and fortunately we do know
this. The spectroscope testifies to exactly the same
thing in the two cases ; namely, that light-vibrations of
a certain rate are being sent through it. Its construc-
tion is such that if it were wrong about this in one case,
it would be wrong in the other. When we come to
look into the matter, we find that we have really as-
sumed the matter of the sun to be like the matter of
the earth, made up of a certain number of distinct sub-
stances ; and that each of these, when very hot, has a

208 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

distinct rate of vibration, by which it may be recognized
and singled out from the rest. But this is the kind of
assumption which we are justified in using when we
add to our experience. It is an assumption of unifor-
mity in nature, and can only be checked by comparison
with many similar assumptions which we have to make
in other such cases.

But is this a true belief, of the existence of hydrogen
in the sun ? Can it help in the right guidance of human
action ?

Certainly not, if it is accepted on unworthy grounds,
and without some understanding of the process by
which it is got at. But when this process is taken in
as the ground of the belief, it becomes a very serious
and practical matter. For if there is no hydrogen in
the sun, the spectroscope — that is to say, the measure^-
ment of rates of vibration — must be an uncertain guide
in recognizing different substances ; and consequently it
ought not to be used in chemical analysis — in assaying,
for example — to the great saving of time, trouble, and
money. Whereas the acceptance of the spectroscopic
method as trustworthy has enriched us not only with
new metals, which is a great thing, but with new
processes of investigation, which is vastly greater.

For another example, let us consider the way in
which we infer the truth of an historical event — say
the siege of Syracuse in the Peloponnesian war. Our
experience is that manuscripts exist which are said to
be and which call themselves manuscripts of the history
of Thucydides ; that in other manuscripts, stated to be
by later historians, he is described as living during the
time of the war ; and that books, supposed to date

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 209

from the revival of learning, tell us how these manu-
scripts had been preserved and were then acquired.
We find also that men do not, as a rule, forge books
and histories without a special motive ; we assume that
in this respect men in the past were like men in the
present ; and we observe that in this case no special
motive was present. That is, we add to our experience
on the assumption of a uniformity in the characters of
men. Because our knowledge of this uniformity is far
less complete and exact than our knowledge of that
which obtains in physics, inferences of the historical
kind are more precarious and less exact than inferences
in many other sciences.

But if there is any special reason to suspect the
character of the persons who wrote or transmitted cer-
tain books, the case becomes altered. If a group of
documents give internal evidence that they were pro-
duced among people who forged books in the names of
others, and who, in describing events, suppressed those
things which did not suit them, while they amplified
such as did suit them ; who not only committed these
crimes, but gloried in them as proofs of humility and
zeal ; then we must say that upon such documents no
true historical inference can be founded, but only un-
satisfactory conjecture.

We may, then, add to our experience on the assump-
tion of a uniformity in nature ; we may fill in our
picture of what is and has been, as experience gives it
us, in such a way as to make the whole consistent with
this uniformity. And practically demonstrative infer-
ence— that which gives us a right to believe in the
result of it — is a clear showing that in no other way

VOL. n. P

210 THE ETHICS OF BELIEF.

than by the truth of this result can the uniformity of
nature be saved.

No evidence, therefore, can justify us in believing
the truth of a statement which is contrary to, or outside
of, the uniformity of nature. If our experience is such
that it cannot be filled up consistently with uniformity,
all we have a right to conclude is that there is some-
thing wrong somewhere ; but the possibility of inference
is taken away ; we must rest in our experience, and not
go beyond it at all. If an event really happened which
was not a part of the uniformity of nature, it would
have two properties : no evidence could give the right
to believe it to any except those whose actual experi-
ence it was ; and no inference worthy of belief could be
founded upon it at all.

Are we then bound to believe that nature is abso-
lutely and universally uniform ? Certainly not ; we
have no right to believe anything of this kind. The
rule only tells us that in forming beliefs which go
beyond our experience, we may make the assumption
that nature is practically uniform so far as we are con-
cerned. Within the range of human action and veri-
fication, we may form, by help of this assumption,
actual beliefs ; beyond it, only those hypotheses which
serve for the more accurate asking of questions.

To sum up : —

We may believe what goes beyond our experience,
only when it is inferred from that experience by the
assumption that what we do not know is like what we
know.

We may believe the statement of another person,
when there is reasonable ground for supposing that he

THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. 2H

knows the matter of which he speaks, and that he is
speaking the truth so, far as he knows it.

It is wrong in all cases to believe on insufficient
evidence ; and where it is presumption to doubt and
to investigate, there it is worse than presumption to
believe.

p 2

212

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.1

THE word religion is used in many different meanings,
and there have been not a few controversies in which
the main difference between the contending parties was
only this, that they understood by religion two different
things. I will therefore begin by setting forth as clearly
as I can one or two of the meanings which the word
appears to have in popular speech.

First, then, it may mean a body of doctrines, as in
the common phrase, ' The truth of the Christian reli-
gion ; * or in this sentence, 4 The religion of the Buddha
teaches that the soul is not a distinct substance/
Opinions differ upon the question what doctrines may
properly be called religious ; some people holding that
there can be no religion without belief in a God and in
a future life, so that in their judgment the body of doc-
trines must necessarily include these two ; while others
would insist upon other special dogmas being included,
before they could consent to call the system by this
name. But the number of such people is daily diminish-
ing, by reason of the spread and the increase of our
knowledge about distant countries and races. To me,
indeed, it would seem rash to assert of any doctrine or
its contrary that it might not form part of a religion.
But, fortunately, it is not necessary to any part of the

1 Fortnightly Revieiv, July, 1877.

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 213

discussion on which I propose to enter that this ques-
tion should be settled.

Secondly, religion may mean a ceremonial or cult,
involving an organized priesthood and a machinery of
sacred things and places. In this sense we speak of the
clergy as ministers of religion, or of a state as tolerating
the practice of certain religions. There is a somewhat
wider meaning which it will be convenient to consider
together with this one, and as a mere extension of it,
namely, that in which religion stands for the influence
of a certain priesthood. A religion is sometimes said to
have been successful when it has got its priests into
power ; thus some writers speak of the wonderfully
rapid success of Christianity. A nation is said to have
embraced a religion when the authorities of that nation
have granted privileges to the clergy, have made them
as far as possible the leaders of society, and have given
them a considerable share in the management of public
affairs. So the northern nations of Europe are said to
have embraced the Catholic religion at an early date.
The reason why it seems to me convenient to take these
two meanings together is, that they are both related to
the priesthood. Although the priesthood itself is not
called religion, so far as I know, yet the word is used
for the general influence and professional acts of the
priesthood.

Thirdly, religion may mean a bqdy_oL-pr.eeepts or
code of rules, intended to guide human conduct, as in
this sentence of the authorized version of the New Tes-
tament : ' Pure religion and undefiled before God and
the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in
their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the

214 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

world ' (James, i. 27). It is sometimes difficult to draw
the line between this meaning and the last, for it is a
mark of the great majority of religions that they con-
found ceremonial observances with duties having real
moral obligation. Thus in the Jewish decalogue the
command to do no work on Saturdays is found side by
side with the prohibition of murder and theft. It might
seem to be the more correct as well as the more philo-
sophical course to follow in this matter the distinction
made by Butler between moral and positive commands,
and to class all those precepts which are not of universal
moral obligation under the head of ceremonial. And,
in fact, when we come to examine the matter from the
point of view of morality, the distinction is of the
utmost importance. But from the point of view of
religion there are difficulties in making it. In the first
place, the distinction is not made, or is not understood,
by religious folk in general. Innumerable tracts and
pretty stories impress upon us that Sabbath-breaking is
rather worse than stealing, and leads naturally on to
materialism and murder. Less than a hundred years
ago sacrilege was punishable by burning in JYance, and
murder by simple decapitation. In the next place, if
we pick out a religion at haphazard, we shall find that
it is not at all easy to divide its precepts into those
which are really of moral obligation and those which
are indifferent and of a ceremonial character. We may
find precepts unconnected with any ceremonial, and
yet positively immoral ; and ceremonials may be im-
moral in themselves, or constructively immoral on ac-
count of their known symbolism. On the whole, it seems
to me most convenient to draw the plain and obvious

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 215

distinction between those actions which a religion pre-
scribes to all its followers, whether the actions are
ceremonial or not, and those which are prescribed only
as professional actions of a sacerdotal class. The latter
will come under what I have called the second meaning
of religion, the professional acts and the influence of a
priesthood. In the third meaning will be included all
that practically guides the life of a layman, in so far as
this guidance is supplied to him by his religion.

Fourthly, and lastly, there is a meaning of the word
religion which has been coming more and more promi-
nently forward of late years, till it has even threatened
to supersede all the others. Religion has been defined
as morality touched with emotion. I will not here adopt
this definition, because I wish to deal with the concrete
in the first place, and only to pass on to the abstract in
so far as that previous study appears to lead to it. I
wish to consider the facts of religion as we find them,
and not ideal possibilities. ' Yes, but,' everyone will
say, ' if you mean my own religion, it is already, as a
matter of fact, morality touched with emotion. It is
the highest morality touched with the purest emotion,
an emotion directed towards the most worthy of objects.'
Unfortunately we do not mean your religion alone, but
all manner of heresies and heathenisms along with it :
the religions of the Thug, of the Jesuit, of the South Sea
cannibal, of Confucius, of the poor Indian with his un-
tutored mind, of the Peculiar People, of the Mormons,
and of the old cat-worshipping Egyptian. It must be
clear that we shall restrict ourselves to a very narrow
circle of what are commonly called religious facts, unless
we include in our considerations not only morality

216 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

touched with emotion, but also immorality touched with
emotion. In fact, what is really touched with emotion
in any case is that body of precepts for the guidance of
a layman's life which we have taken to be the third
meaning of religion. In that collection of precepts there
may be some agreeable to morality, and some repugnant
to it, and some indifferent, but being all enjoined by the
religion they will all be touched by the same religious
emotion. Shall we then say that religion means a feel-
ing, an emotion, an habitual attitude of mind towards
some object or objects, or towards life in general, which
has a bearing upon the way in which men regard the
rules of conduct ? I think the last phrase should be left
out. An habitual attitude of mind, of a religious char-
acter, does always have some bearing upon the way in
which men regard the rules of conduct ; but it seems
sometimes as if this were an accident, and not the
essence of the religious feeling. Some devout people
prefer to have their devotion pure and simple, without
admixture of any such application — they do not want
to listen to ' cauld morality.' And it seems as if the
religious feeling of the Greeks, and partly also of our
own ancestors, was so far divorced from morality that
it affected it only, as it were, by a side-wind, through
the influence of the character and example of the Gods.
So that it seems only likely to create confusion if we
mix up morality with this fourth meaning of religion.
Sometimes religion means a code of precepts, and some-
times it means a devotional habit of mind ; the two things
are sometimes connected, but also they are sometimes
quite distinct. But that the connexion of these two
things is more and more insisted on, that it is the key-

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 217

note of the apparent revival of religion which has taken
place in this century, is a very significant fact, about
which there is more to be said.

As to the nature of this devotional habit of mind,
there are no doubt many who would like a closer
definition. But I am not at all prepared to say what
attitude of mind may properly be called religious, and
what may not. Some will hold that religion must have
a person for its object ; but the Buddha was filled with
religious feeling, and yet he had no personal object.
Spinoza, the God -intoxicated man, had no personal
object for his devotion. It might be possible to frame
a definition which would fairly include all cases, but it
would require the expenditure of vast ingenuity and
research, and would not, I am inclined to think, be of
much use when it was obtained.

Nor is the difficulty to be got over by taking any
definite and well-organized sect, whose principles are
settled in black and white ; for example, the Eoman
Catholic Church, whose seamless unity has just been
exhibited and protected by an (Ecumenical Council.
Shall we listen to Mr. Mivart, who ' execrates without
reserve Marian persecutions, the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew, and all similar acts ' ? or to the editor of
the Dublin Review, who thinks that a teacher of false
doctrines ' should be visited by the law with just that
amount of severity which the public sentiment will
bear ' ? For assuredly common-sense morality will
pass very different judgments on these two distinct
religions, although it appears that experts have found
room for both of them within the limits of the Vatican
definitions.

218 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

Moreover, there is very great good to be got by
widening our view of what may be contained in religion.
If we go to a man and propose to test his own religion
by the canons of common-sense morality, he will be,
most likely, offended, for he will say that his religion is
far too sublime and exalted to be affected by considera-
tions of that sort. But he will have no such objection
in the case of other people's religion. And when he has
found that in the name of religion other people, in other
circumstances, have believed in doctrines that were
false, have supported priesthoods that were social evils,
have taken wrong for right, and have even poisoned
the very sources of morality, he may be tempted to ask
himself, ' Is there no trace of any of these evils in my
own religion, or at least in my own conception and
practice of it?' And that is just what we want him
to do. Bring your doctrines, your priesthoods, your
precepts, yea, even the inner devotion of your soul,
before the tribunal of conscience ; she is no man's and
no God's vicar, but the supreme judge of men and
Gods.

Let us enquire, then, what morality has to say in
regard to religious doctrines. It deals with the manner
of religious belief directly, and with the matter in-
directly. Eeligious beliefs must be founded on
evidence ; if they are not so founded, it is wrong to
hold them. The rule of right conduct in this matter is
exactly the opposite of that implied in the two famous
texts : ' He that believeth not shall be damned,' and
4 Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have
believed.' For a man who clearly felt and recognized
the duty of intellectual honesty, of carefully testing

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 219

every belief before he received it, and especially before
he recommended it to others, it would be impossible
to ascribe the profoundly immoral teaching of these
texts to a true prophet or worthy leader of humanity.
It will comfort those who wish to preserve their re-
verence for the character of a great teacher to
remember that one of these sayings is in the well-known
forged passage at the end of the second gospel, and that
the other occurs only in the late and legendary fourth ,
gospel ; both being described as spoken under utterly
impossible circumstances. These precepts belong to 7
the Church and not to the Gospel. But whoever
wrote either of them down as a deliverance of one
whom he supposed to' be a divine teacher, has thereby
written down himself as a man void of intellectual
honesty, as a man whose word cannot be trusted, as a
man who would accept and spread about any kind of \
baseless fiction for fear of believing too little.

So far as to the manner of religious belief. Let us
now inquire what bearing morality has upon its matter.
We may see at once that this can only be indirect ;
for the rightness or wrongness of belief in a doctrine de-
pends only upon the nature of the evidence for it, and
not upon what the doctrine is. But there is a very
important way in which religious doctrine may lead
to morality or immorality, and in which, therefore,
morality has a bearing upon doctrine. It is when that
doctrine declares the character and actions of the Gods
who are regarded as objects of reverence and worship.
If a God is represented as doing that which is clearly
wrong, and is still held up to the reverence of men,
they will be tempted to think that in doing this wrong

220 THE ETHICS OF BELIGION.

thing they are not so very wrong after all, but are only
following an example which all men respect. So says
Plato i—1

< We must not tell a youthful listener that he will be
doing nothing extraordinary if he commit the foulest
crimes, nor yet if he chastise the crimes of a father in
the most unscrupulous manner, but will simply be doing
what the first and greatest of the Gods have done before
him. . . .

' Nor yet is it proper to say in any case — what is
indeed untrue — that Gods wage war against Gods, and
intrigue and fight among themselves ; that is, if the
future guardians of our state are to deem it a most dis-
graceful thing to quarrel lightly with one another : far
less ought we to select as subjects for fiction and
embroidery the battles of the giants, and numerous
other feuds of all sorts, in which Gods and heroes fight
against their own kith and kin. But if there is any
possibility of persuading them that to quarrel with
one's fellow is a sin of which no member of a state was
ever guilty, such ought rather to be the language held
to our children from the first, by old men and old
women, and all elderly persons ; and such is the strain
in which our poets must be compelled to write. But
stories like the chaining of Hera by her son, and the
flinging of Hephaistos out of heaven for trying to take
his mother's part when his father was beating her, and
all those battles of the Gods which are to be found in
Homer, must be refused admittance into our state,
whether they be allegorical or not. For a child
cannot discriminate between what is allegory and what

1 Rep. ii. 378. Tr. Davies and Vaughan.

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 221

is not ; and whatever at that age is adopted as a matter
of belief has a tendency to become fixed and indelible,
and therefore, perhaps, we ought to esteem it of the
greatest importance that the fictions which children
first hear should be adapted in the most perfect manner
to the promotion of virtue.'

And Seneca says the same thing, with still more
reason in his day and country : ' What else is this
appeal to the precedent of the Gods for, but to
inflame our lusts, and to furnish licence and excuse for
the corrupt act under the divine protection?' And
again, of the character of Jupiter as described in the
popular legends : ' This has led to no other result than
to deprive sin of its shame in man's eyes, by showing
him the God no better than himself.' In Imperial Rome,
the sink of all nations, it was not uncommon to find
' the intending sinner addressing to the deified vice
which he contemplated a prayer for the success of his
desig«n ; the adulteress imploring of Venus the favours of
her paramour ; . . . the thief praying to Hermes Dolios
for aid in his enterprise, or offering up to him the first
fruits of his plunder ; . . . youths entreating Hercules
to expedite the death of a rich uncle.' :

When we reflect that criminal deities were wor-
shipped all over the empire, we cannot but wonder that
any good people were left ; that man could still be holy,
although every God was vile. Yet this was undoubtedly
the case ; the social forces worked steadily on wherever
there was peace and a settled government and municipal
freedom ; and the wicked stories of theologians were
somehow explained away and disregarded. If men

1 North British JReciew, 1867, p, 284.

222 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

were no better than their religions, the world would be
a hell indeed.

It is very important, however, to consider what
really ought to be done in the case of stories like these.
When the poet sings that Zeus kicked Hephaistos out of
heaven for trying to help his mother, Plato says that
this fiction must be suppressed by law. We cannot
follow him there, for since his time we have had too
much of trying to suppress false doctrines by law.
Plato thinks it quite obviously clear that God cannot
produce evil, and he would stop everybody's mouth
who ventured to say that he can. But in regard to the
doctrine itself, we can only ask, ' Is it true ? ' And that
is a question to be settled by evidence. Did Zeus commit
this crime, or did he not ? We must ask the apologists,
the reconcilers of religion and science, what evidence
they can produce to prove that Zeus kicked Hephaistos
out of heaven. That a doctrine may lead to immoral
consequences is no reason for disbelieving it. But
whether the doctrine were true or false, one thing does
clearly follow from its moral character : namely this,
that if Zeus behaved as he is said to have behaved,
he ought not to be worshipped. To those who com-
plain of his violence and injustice, it is no answer to
say that the divine attributes are far above human
comprehension ; that the ways of Zeus are not our ways,
neither are his thoughts our thoughts. If he is to be
worshipped, he must do something vaster and nobler
and greater than good men do, but it must be like what
they do in its goodness. His actions must not be
merely a magnified copy of what bad men do. So soon
as they are thus represented, morality has something to

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 223

say. Not indeed about the fact ; for it is not conscience,
but reason, that has to judge matters of fact ; but about
the worship of a character so represented. If there
really is good evidence that Zeus kicked Hephaistos
out of heaven, and seduced Alkmene by a mean trick,
say so by all means ; but say also that it is wrong to
salute his priests or to make offerings in his temple.

When men do their duty in this respect, morality
has a very curious indirect effect on the religious
doctrine itself. As soon as the offerings become less
frequent, the evidence for the doctrine begins to fade
away ; the process of theological interpretation gradu-
ally brings out the true inner meaning of it, that Zeus
did not kick Hephaistos out of heaven, and did not
seduce Alkmene.

Is this a merely theoretical discussion about far-
away things ? Let us come back for a moment to our
own time and country, and think whether there can
be any lesson for us in this refusal of common-sense
morality to worship a deity whose actions are a magni-
fied copy of what bad men do. There are three
doctrines which find very wide acceptance among our
countrymen at the present day : the doctrines of
original sin, of a vicarious sacrifice, and of eternal
punishments. We are not concerned with any refined
evaporations of these doctrines which are exhaled by
courtly theologians, but with the naked statements
which are put into the minds of children and of ignorant
people, which are taught broadcast and without shame
in denominational schools. Father Faber, good soul,
persuaded himself that after all only a very few people
would be really damned, and Father Oxenham gives

224 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

one the impression that it will not hurt even them very
much. But one learns the practical teaching of the
Church from such books as ' A Glimpse of Hell,' where
a child is described as thrown between the bars upon
the burning coals, there to writhe for ever. The
masses do not get the elegant emasculations of Father
Faber and Father Oxenham ; they get ' a Glimpse of
Hell.'

Now to condemn all mankind for the sin of Adam
and Eve ; to let the innocent suffer for the guilty ; to
keep anyone alive in torture for ever and ever ; these
actions are simply magnified copies of what bad men
do. No juggling with ' divine justice and mercy ' can
make them anything else. This must be said to all
kinds and conditions of men : that if God holds all
mankind guilty for the sin of Adam, if he has visited
upon the innocent the punishment of the guilty, if he
is to torture any single soul for ever, then it is wrong to
worship him.

But there is something to be said also to those who
think that religious beliefs are not indeed true, but are
useful for the masses ; who deprecate any open and
public argument against them, and think that all scepti-
cal books should be published at a high price ; who go
to church, not because they approve of it themselves,
but to set an example to the servants. Let us ask them
to ponder the words of Plato, who, like them, thought
that all these tales of the Gods were fables, but still
fables which might be useful to amuse children with :
' We ought to esteem it of the greatest importance that the
fictions which children first hear should be adapted in the
most perfect manner to the promotion of virtue.' If we

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 225

grant to you that it is good for poor people and children
to believe some of these fictions, is it not better, at least,
that they should believe those which are adapted to the
promotion of virtue ? Now the stories which you send
your servants and children to hear are adapted to the
promotion of vice. So far as the remedy is in your own
hands, you are bound to apply it ; stop your voluntary
subscriptions and the moral support of your presence
from any place where the criminal doctrines are taught.
You will find more men and better men to preach
that which is agreeable to their conscience, than to
thunder out doctrines under which their minds are
always uneasy, and which only a continual self-decep-
tion can keep them from feeling to be wicked.

Let us now go on to enquire what morality has to
say in the matter of religious ministrations, the official
acts and the general influence of a priesthood. This
question seems to me a more difficult one than the
former ; at any rate it is not so easy to find general
principles which are at once simple in their nature and
clear to the conscience of any man who honestly
considers them. One such principle, indeed, there is,
which can hardly be stated in a Protestant country
without meeting with a cordial response ; being indeed
that characteristic of our race which made the Eeform-
ation a necessity, and became the soul of the Protes-
tant movement. I mean the principle which forbids the
priest to come between a man and his conscience. If it be
true, as our daily experience teaches us, that the moral
sense gains in clearness and power by exercise, by the
constant endeavour to find out and to see for ourselves
what is right and what is wrong, it must be nothing

VOL. II. Q

226 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

short of a moral suicide to delegate our conscience to
another man. It is true that when we are in difficulties
and do not altogether see our way, we quite rightly
seek counsel and advice of some friend who has more
experience, more wisdom begot by it, more devotion to
the right than ourselves, and who, not being involved
in the difficulties which encompass us, may more easily
see the way out of them. But such counsel does not
and ought not to take the place of our private judg-
ment ; on the contrary, among wise men it is asked and
given for the purpose of helping and supporting private
judgment. I should go to my friend, not that he may
tell me what to do, but that he may help me to see what
is right.

Now, as we all know, there is a priesthood whose in-
fluence is not to be made light of, even in our own land,
which claims to do two things : to declare with infallible
authority what is right and what is wrong, and to take
away the guilt of the sinner after confession has been
made to it. The second of these claims we shall come
back upon in connexion with another part of the sub-
ject. But that claim is one which, as it seems to me,
ought to condemn the priesthood making it in the eyes
of every conscientious man. We must take care to keep
this question to itself, and not to let it be confused with
quite different ones. The priesthood in question, as we
all know, has taught that as right which is not right,
and has condemned as wrong some of the holiest duties
of mankind. But this is not what we are here concerned
with. Let us put an ideal case of a priesthood which,
as a matter of fact, taught a morality agreeing with the
healthy conscience of all men at a given time ; but which,

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 227

nevertheless, taught this as an infallible revelation. The
tendency of such teaching, if really accepted, would be
to destroy morality altogether, for, it is of the very essence
of^the moral sense that it is a common perceptionjjyjaien
of what is ffood for man. It arises, not in one man's
mind by a flash of genius or a transport of ecstasy, but
in all men's minds, as the fruit of their necessary inter-
united labour for a common object. When

an infallible authority is set up, the voice of this natural
human conscience must be hushed and schooled, and
made to speak the words of a formula. Obedience be-
comes the whole duty of man ; and the notion of right
is attached to a lifeless code of rules, instead of being
the informing character of a nation. The natural con-
sequence is that it fades gradually out and ends by dis-
appearing altogether. I am not describing a purely
conjectural state of things, but an effect which has
actually been produced at various times and in con-
siderable populations by the influence of the Catholic
Church. It is true that we cannot find an actually
crucial instance of a pure morality taught as an infallible
revelation, and so in time ceasing to be morality for that
reason alone. There are two circumstances which pre-
vent this. One is that the Catholic priesthood has
always practically taught an imperfect morality, and
that it is difficult to distinguish between the effects of
precepts which are wrong in themselves, and precepts
which are only wrong because of the manner in which
they are enforced. The other circumstance is that the
priesthood has very rarely found a population willing
to place itself completely and absolutely under priestly
control. Men must live together and work for common

Q 2

223 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

objects even in priest-ridden countries ; and those condi-
tions which in the course of ages have been able to create
the moral sense cannot fail in some degree to recall it
to men's minds and gradually to reinforce it. Thus it
comes about that a great and increasing portion of life
breaks free from priestly influences, and is governed
upon right and rational grounds. The goodness of men
shows itself in time more powerful than the wickedness
of some of their religions.

The practical inference is, then, that we ought to do
all in our power to restrain and diminish the influence
of any priesthood which claims to rule consciences. But
when we attempt to go beyond this plain Protestant
principle, we find that the question is one of history and
politics. The question which we want to ask ourselves
— ' Is it right to support this or that priesthood ? ' — can
only be answered by this other question, ' What has it
done or got done ? '

In asking this question, we must bear in mind that
the word priesthood, as we have used it hitherto, has a
very wide meaning — namely, it means any body of men
who perform special ceremonies in the name of religion ;
a ceremony being an act which is prescribed by religion
to that body of men, but not on account of its intrinsic
rightness or wrongness. It includes, therefore, not only
the priests of Catholicism, or of the Obi rites, who lay
claim to a magical character and powers, but the more
familiar clergymen or ministers of Protestant denomina-
tions, and the members of monastic orders. But there
is a considerable difference, pointed out by Hume, be-
tween a priest, who lays claim to a magical character
and powers, and a clergyman, in the English sense, as it

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 229

was understood in Hume's day, whose office was to re-
mind people of their duties every Sunday, and to repre-
sent a certain standard of culture in remote country
districts. It will, perhaps, conduce to clearness if we
use the word priest exclusively in the first sense.

There is another confusion which we must en-
deavour to avoid, if we would really get at the truth of
this matter. When one ventures to doubt whether the
Catholic clergy has really been an unmixed blessing to
Europe, one is generally met by the reply, ' You cannot
find any fault with the Sermon on the Mount.' Now it
would be too much to say that this has nothing to dc
with the question we were proposing to ask, for there
is a sense in which the Sermon on the Mount and the
Catholic clergy have something to do with each other.
The Sermon on the Mount is admitted on all hands to
be the best and most precious thing that Christianity
has offered to the world ; and it cannot be doubted that
the Catholic clergy of East and West were the only
spokesmen of Christianity until the Reformation, and are
the spokesmen of the vast majority of Christians at this
moment. But it must surely be unnecessary to say in
a Protestant country that the Catholic Church and the
Gospel are two very different things. The moral teach-
ing of Christ, as partly preserved in the three first
gospels, or — which is the same thing — the moral teach-
ing of the great Eabbi Hillel, as partly preserved in the
Pirke Aboth, is the expression of the conscience of a
people who had fought long and heroically for their
national existence. In that terrible conflict they had
learned the supreme and overwhelming importance of
conduct, the necessity for those who would survive of

230 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

fighting manfully for their lives and making a stand
against the hostile powers around ; the weakness and
uselessness of solitary and selfish efforts, the necessity
for a man who would be a man to lose his poor single
personality in the being of a greater and nobler com-
batant— the nation. And they said all this, after their
fashion of short and potent sayings, perhaps better than
any other men have said it before or since. ' If I am
not for myself,' said the great Hillel, ' who is for me ?
And if I am only for myself, where is the use of me ?
And if not now, when ? ' It would be hard to find a
more striking contrast than exists between the sturdy
unselfish independence of this saying, and the abject
and selfish servility of the priest-ridden claimant of the
skies. It was this heroic people that produced the
morality of the Sermon on the Mount. But it was not
they who produced the priests and the dogmas of
Catholicism. Shaven crowns, linen vestments, and the
claim to priestly rule over consciences, these were
dwellers on the banks of the Nile. The gospel indeed
came out of Judsea, but the Church and her dogmas
came out of Egypt. Not, as it is written, ' Out of Egypt
have I called my son,' but, ' Out of Egypt have I called
my daughter.' St. Gregory of Nazianzum remarked with
wonder that Egypt, having so lately worshipped bulls,
goats, and crocodiles, was now teaching the world the
worship of the Trinity in its truest form.1 Poor,
simple St. Gregory ! it was not that Egypt had risen
higher, but that the world had sunk lower. The
empire, which in the time of Augustus had dreaded,
and with reason, the corrupting influence of Egyptian

1 See Sharpe, ' Egyptian Mythology and Egyptian Christianity/ p. 114.

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 231

superstitions, was now eaten up by them, and rapidly
rotting away.

Then, when we ask what has been the influence of
the Catholic clergy upon European nations, we are not
inquiring about the results of accepting the morality of
the Sermon on the Mount ; we are inquiring into the
effect of attaching an Egyptian priesthood, which teaches
Egyptian dogmas, to the life and sayings of a Jewish
prophet.

In this inquiry, which requires the knowledge of
facts beyond our own immediate experience, we must
make use of the great principle of authority, which
enables us to profit by the experience of other men.
The great civilized countries on the continent of Europe
at the present day — France, Germany, Austria, and
Italy — have had an extensive experience of the
Catholic clergy for a great number of centuries, and
they are forced by strong practical reasons to form a
judgment upon the character and tendencies of an
institution which is sufficiently powerful to command
the attention of all who are interested in public affairs.
We might add the experience of our forefathers three
centuries ago, and of Ireland at this moment ; but home
politics are apt to be looked upon with other eyes than
those of reason. Let us hear, then, the judgment of the
civilized people of Europe on this question.

It is a matter of notoriety that an aider and abettor
of clerical pretensions is regarded in France as an enemy
of France and of Frenchmen ; in Germany as an enemy
of Germany and of Germans ; in Austria as an enemy of
Austria and Hungary, of both Austrians and Magyars ;
and in Italy as an enemy of Italy and the Italians. He

232 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

is so regarded, not by a few wild and revolutionary en-
thusiasts who have cast away all the beliefs of their
childhood and all bonds connecting them with the past,
but by a great and increasing majority of sober and con-
scientious men of all creeds and persuasions, who are
filled with a love for their country, and whose hopes and
aims for the future are animated and guided by the
examples of those who have gone before them, and by a
sense of the continuity of national life. The profound
conviction and determination of the people in all these
countries, that the clergy must be restricted to a purely
ceremonial province, and must not be allowed to inter-
fere, as clergy, in public affairs — this conviction and de-
termination, I say, are not the effect of a rejection of the
Catholic dogmas. Such rejection has not in fact been
made in Catholic countries by the great majority. It
involves many difficult speculative questions, the pro-
found disturbance of old habits of thought, and the toil-
some consideration of abstract ideas. But such is the
happy inconsistency of human nature, that men who
would be shocked and pained by a doubt about the cen-
tral doctrines of their religions are far more really and
practically shocked and pained by the moral conse-
quences of clerical ascendency. About the dogmas they
do not know ; they were taught them in childhood, and
have not inquired into them since, and therefore they
are not competent witnesses to the truth of them. But
about the priesthood they do know, by daily and hourly
experience ; and to its character they are competent
witnesses. No man can express his convictions more
forcibly than by acting upon them in a great and solemn
matter of national importance. In all these countries

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 233

the conviction of the serious and sober majority of the
people is embodied, and is being daily embodied, in
special legislation, openly and avowedly intended to
guard against clerical aggression. The more closely the
legislature of these countries reflects the popular will,
the more clear and pronounced does this tendency be-
come. It may be thwarted or evaded for the moment
by constitutional devices and parliamentary tricks, but
sooner or later the nation will be thoroughly represented
in all of them : and as to what is then to be expected,
let the panic of the clerical parties make answer.

This is a state of opinion and of feeling which we in
our own country find it hard to understand, although it
is one of the most persistent characters of bur nation in
past times. We have spoken so plainly and struck so
hard in the past, that we seem to have won the right to
let this matter alone. We think our enemies are dead,
and we forget that our neighbour's enemies are plainly
alive : and then we wonder that he does not sit down
and be quiet as we are. We are not much accustomed
to be afraid, and we never know when we are beaten.
But those who are nearer to the danger feel a very real
and, it seems to me, well-grounded fear. The whole
structure of modern society, the fruit of long and painful
efforts, the hopes of further improvement, the triumphs
of justice, of freedom, and of light, the bonds of patriot-
ism which make each nation one, the bonds of humanity
which bring different nations together — all these they
see to be menaced with a great and real and even press-
ing danger. For myself I confess that I cannot help
feeling as they feel. It seems to me quite possible that
the moral and intellectual culture of Europe, the light

234 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

and the right, what makes life worth having and men
worthy to have it, may be clean swept away by a revival
of superstition. We are, perhaps, ourselves not free
from such a domestic danger ; but no one can doubt that
the danger would speedily arise if all Europe at our side
should become again barbaric, not with the weakness
and docility of a barbarism which has never known
better, but with the strength of a past civilization per-
verted to the service of evil.

Those who know best, then, about the Catholic priest-
hood at present, regard it as a standing menace to the
state and to the moral fabric of society.

Some would have us believe that this condition of
things is quite new, and has in fact been created by the
Vatican Council. In the Middle Ages, they say, the
Church did incalculable service ; or even if you do not
allow that, yet the ancient Egyptian priesthood invented
many useful arts ; or if you have read anything which
is not to their credit, there were the Babylonians and
Assyrians who had priests, thousands of years ago ; and
in fact, the more you go back into prehistoric ages, and
the further you go away into distant countries, the less
you can find to say against the priesthoods of those
times and places. This statement, for which there is
certainly much foundation, may be put into another
form : the more you come forward into modern times
and neighbouring countries, where the facts can actually
be got at, the more complete is the evidence against the
priesthoods of these times and places. But the whole
argument is founded upon what is at least a doubtful
view of human nature and of society. Just as an early
school of geologists were accustomed to explain the pre-

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 235

sent state of the earth's surface by supposing that in
primitive ages the processes of geologic change were far
more violent and rapid than they are now — so cata-
strophic, indeed, as to constitute a thoroughly different
state of things — so there is a school of historians who
think that the intimate structure of human nature, its
capabilities of learning and of adapting itself to society,
have so far altered within the historic period as to make
the present processes of social change totally different in
character from those even of the moderately distant past.
They think that institutions and conditions which are
plainly harmful to us now have at other times and places
done good and serviceable work. War, pestilence, priest-
craft, and slavery have been represented as positive
boons to an early state of society. They are not
blessings to us, it is true ; but then times have altered
very much.

On the other hand, a later school of geologists have
seen reason to think that the processes of change have
never, since the earth finally solidified, been very differ-
ent from what they are now. More rapid, indeed, they
must have been in early times, for many reasons ; but
not so very much more rapid as to constitute an entirely
different state of things. And it does seem to me in
like manner that a wider and more rational view of his-
tory will recognize more and more of the permanent, and
less and less of the changeable, element in human nature.
No doubt our ancestors of a thousand generations back
were very different beings from ourselves ; perhaps fifty
thousand generations back they were not men at all.
But the historic period is hardly to be stretched beyond
two hundred generations ; and it seems unreasonable to

230 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

expect that in such a tiny page of our biography we can
trace with clearness the growth and progress of a long
life. Compare Egypt in the time of King Menes, say
six thousand years ago, with Spain in this present cen-
tury, before Englishmen made any railways there : I
suppose the main difference is that the Egyptians washed
themselves. It seems more analogous to what we find
in other fields of inquiry to suppose that there are cer-
tain great broad principles of human life which have
been true all along ; that certain conditions have always
been favourable to the health of society, and certain
other conditions always hurtful.

Now, although I have many times asked for it from
those who said that somewhere and at some time man-
kind had derived benefits from a priesthood laying claim
to a magical character and powers, I have never been
able to get any evidence for their statement. Nobody
will give me a date, and a latitude and longitude, that I
may examine into the matter. 4 In the Middle Ages
the priests and monks were the sole depositaries of
learning.' Quite so ; a man burns your house to the
ground, builds a wretched hovel on the ruins, and then
takes credit for whatever shelter there is about the
place. In the Middle Ages nearly all learned men were
obliged to become priests and monks. ' Then again,
the bishops have sometimes acted as tribunes of the
people, to protect them against the tyranny of kings/
No doubt, when Pope and Csesar fall out, honest men
may come by their own. If two men rob you in a dark
lane, and then quarrel over the plunder, so that you
get a chance to escape with your life, you will of course
be very grateful to each of them for having prevented

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 237

the other from killing you ; but you would be much
more grateful to a policeman who locked them both up.
Two powers have sought to enslave the people, and
have quarrelled with each other ; certainly we are very
much obliged to them for quarrelling, but a condition
of still greater happiness and security would be the
non-existence of both.

I can find no evidence that seriously militates against
the rule that the priest is at all times and in all places
the enemy of all men — Sacerdos semper, ubique, et omni-
bus inimicus. I do not deny that the priest is very often
a most earnest and conscientious man, doing the very
best that he knows of as well as he can do it. Lord
Amberley is quite right in saying that the blame rests
more with the laity than with the priesthood ; that it
has insisted on magic and mysteries, and has forced the
priesthood to produce them. But then, how dreadful
is the system that puts good men to such uses !

And although it is true that in its origin a priest-
hood is the effect of an evil already existing, a symptom
of social disease rather than a cause of it, yet, once
being created and made powerful, it tends in many ways
to prolong and increase the disease which gave it birth.
One of these ways is so marked and of such practical
importance that we are bound to consider it here : I
m ean the education of children. If there is one lesson
which history forces upon us in every page, it is this :
Keep your children away from the priest, or he will make
them the enemies of mankind. It is not the Catholic
clergy and those like them who are alone to be dreaded
in this matter ; even the representatives of apparently
harmless religions may do incalculable mischief if they

238 THE ETHICS OF HELIGION.

get education into their hands. To the early Moham-
medans the mosque was the one public building in every
place where public business could be transacted ; and
so it was naturally the place of primary education, which
they held to be a matter of supreme importance. By-
and-by, as the clergy grew up, the mosque was gradu-
ally usurped by them, and primary education fell into
their hands. Then ensued a ' revival of religion ; '
religion became a fanaticism : books were burnt and
universities were closed ; the empire rotted away in
East and West, until it was conquered by Turkish
savages in Asia and by Christian savages in Spain.

The labours of students of the early history of institu-
tions— notably Sir Henry Maine and M. de Laveleye—
have disclosed to us an element of society which appears
to have existed in all times and places, and which is the
basis of our own social structure. The village commu-
nity, or commune, or township, found in tribes of the
most varied race and time, has so modified itself as to
get adapted in one place or another to all the different
conditions of human existence. \ This union of men to
work for a common object has transformed them from
wild animals into tame ones.\ Century by century the
educating process of the social life has been working at
human nature ; it has built itself into our inmost soul.
Such as we are — moral and rational beings — thinking
and talking in general conceptions about the facts that
make up our life, feeling a necessity to act, not for our-
selves, but for Ourself. for the larger life of Man in
which we are elements ; such moral and rational beings,
I say, Man has made us. By Man I mean men organized
jnto a society, which fights for its life, not only as a mere

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 239

collection of men who must separately be kept alive, but
as a society. It must fight, not only against external
enemies, but against treason and disruption within it.
Hence comes the unity of interest of all its members ;
each of them has to feel that he is not himself only but
a part of all the rest. Conscience — the sense^of right
a^nd wrong — springs out of the habit of judging things
from the point of view of all and not of one. It is Our-
self, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness.

The codes of morality, then, which are adopted into
various religions, and afterwards taught as parts of reli-
gious systems, are derived from secular sources. The
most ancient version of the Ten Commandments, what-
ever the investigations of scholars may make it out to
be, originates, not in the thunders of Sinai, but in the
peaceful life of men on the plains of Chaldgea. Con- y
science is the voice of Man ingrained into our heartsj
commanding us to work for Man.

Eeligions differ in the treatment which they give to
this most sacred heirloom of our past history. Some-
times they invert its precepts — telling men to be sub-
missive under oppression because the powers that be
are ordained of God ; telling them to believe where they
have not seen, and to play with falsehood in order that
a particular doctrine may prevail, instead of seeking for
truth whatever it may be ; telling them to betray their
country for the sake of their church. But there is one
great distinction to which I wish, in conclusion, to call
special attention — a distinction between two kinds of
religious emotion which bear upon the conduct of men.

We said that conscience is the voice of Man within
us, commanding us to work for Man. We do not know

240 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

this immediately by our own experience ; we only know
that something within us commands us to work for Man.
This fact men have tried to explain; and they have
thought, for the most part, that this voice was the voice
of a God. But the explanation takes two different forms :
the God may speak in us for Man's sake, or for his own
sake. If he speaks for his own sake — and this is what
generally happens when he has priests who lay claim to
a magical character and powers — our allegiance is apt
to be taken away from Man, and transferred to the God.
When we love our brother for the sake of our brother,
we help all men to grow in the right ; but when we
love our brother for the sake of somebody else, who is
very likely to damn our brother, it very soon comes to
burning him alive for his soul's health. When men
respect human life for the sake of Man, tranquillity,
order, and progress go hand in hand ; but those who
only respected human life because God had forbidden
murder have set their mark upon Europe in fifteen
centuries of blood and fire.

These are only two examples of a general rule.
Wherever the allegiance of men has been diverted from
Man to some divinity who speaks to men for his own
sake and seeks his own glory, one thing has happened.
The right precepts might be enforced, but they were
enforced upon wrong grounds, and they were not
obeyed. But right precepts are not always enforced ;
the fact that the fountains of morality have been poisoned
makes it easy to substitute wrong precepts for right
ones.

To this same treason against humanity belongs the
claim of the priesthood to take away the guilt of a sinner

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 241

after confession has been made to it. The Catholic
priest professes to act as an ambassador for his God, and
to absolve the guilty man by conveying to him the for-
giveness of heaven. If his credentials were ever so sure,
if he were indeed the ambassador of a superhuman
power, the claim would be treasonable. Can the favour
of the Czar make guiltless the murderer of old men and
women and children in Circassian valleys ? Can the
pardon of the Sultan make clean the bloody hands of a
Pasha ? As little can any God forgive sins committed
against man. When men think he can, they compound
for old sins which the God did not like by committing
new ones which he does like. Many a remorseful despot
has atoned for the levities of his youth by the persecu-
tion of heretics in his old age. That frightful crime,
the adulteration of food, could not possibly be so com-
mon amongst us if men were not taught to regard it as
merely objectionable because it is remotely connected
with stealing, of which God has expressed his disapproval
in the Decalogue ; and therefore as quite naturally set
right by a punctual attendance at church on Sundays.
When a Kitualist breaks his fast before celebrating the
Holy Communion, his deity can forgive him if he likes,
for the matter concerns nobody else ; but no deity can
forgive him for preventing his parishioners from setting
up a public library and reading-room for fear they
should read Mr. Darwin's works in it, That sin is com-
mitted against the people, and a God cannot take it
away.

I call those religions which undermine the supreme
allegiance of the conscience to Man ultramontane re-
ligions, because they seek their springs of action ultra

VOL. II. R

242 THE ETHICS OF RELIGION.

monies, outside of the common experience and daily life
of man. And I remark about them that they are espe-
cially apt to teach wrong precepts, and that even when
they command men to do the right things they put the
command upon wrong motives, and do not get the
things done.

But there are forms of religious emotion which do
not thus undermine the conscience. Far be it from me
to undervalue the help and strength which many of the
bravest of our brethren have drawn from the thought
of an unseen helper of men. He who, wearied or
stricken in the fight with the powers of darkness, asks
himself in a solitary place, ' Is it all for nothing ? shall
we indeed be overthrown ? ' — he does find something
which may justify that thought. In such a moment of
utter sincerity, when a man has bared his own soul
before the immensities and the eternities, a presence in
which his own poor personality is shrivelled into no-
thingness arises within him, and says, as plainly as
words can say, ' I am with thee, and I am greater than
thou.' Many names of Gods, of many shapes, have men
given to this presence ; seeking by names and pictures
to know more clearly and to remember more continually
the guide and the helper of men. No such comradeship
with the Great Companion shall have anything but
reverence from me, who have known the divine gentle-
ness of Denison Maurice, the strong and healthy practi-
cal instinct of Charles Kingsley, and who now revere
with all my heart the teaching of James Martineau.
They seem to me, one and all, to be reaching forward
with loving anticipation to a clearer vision which is yet
to come — tendentesque manus ripce ulterioris amore.

THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. 243

For, after all, such a helper of men, outside of humanity,
the truth will not allow us to see. The dim and ^
shadowy outlines of the superhuman deity fade slowly
away from before us ; and as the mist of his presence
floats aside, we perceive with greater and greater clear-
ness the shape of a yet grander and nobler figure — of
Him who made all Gods and shall unmake them. From
the dim dawn of history, and from the inmost depth of
every soul, the face of our father Man looks out upon
us with the fire of eternal youth in his eyes, and says, \
' Before Jehovah was, I am ! '

* 2

244

THE INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY OF A DECLINE
IN RELIGIOUS BELIEF.

FROM <A MODERN SYMPOSIUM.'

(In No. 2 of < The Nineteenth Century.' )

IN the third of the preceding discourses1 there is so
much which I can fully and fervently accept, that I
should find it far more grateful to rest in that feeling of
admiration and sympathy than to attend to points of
difference which seem to me to be of altogether second-
ary import. But for the truth's sake this must first be
done, because it will then be more easy to point out
some of the bearings of the position held in that dis-
course upon the question which is under discussion.

That the sense of duty in a man is the prompting of
a self other than his own, is the very essence of it. Not
only would morals not be self-sufficing, if there were no
such prompting of a wider self, but they could not
exist : one might as well suppose a fire without heat.
Not only is a sense of duty inherent in the constitution
of our nature, but the prompting of a wider self than
that of the individual is inherent in a sense of duty. It
is no more possible to have the right without unsel-
fishness than to have man without a feeling for the
right.

We may explain or account for these facts in various

1 Bv Dr. Martineau.

DECLINE IN RELIGIOUS BELIEF. 245

ways, but we shall not thereby alter the facts. No
theories about heat and light will ever make a cold fire.
And no doubt or disproof of any existing theory can
any more extinguish that self other than myself, which
speaks to me in the voice of conscience, than doubt or
disproof of the wave-theory of light can put out the
noonday sun.

One such theory is defended in the discourse here
dealt with, and, if I may venture to say so, is not
quite sufficiently distinguished from the facts which it
is meant to explain. The theory is this : that the voice "^
of conscience in my mind is the voice of a conscious
being external to me and to all men, who has made us
and all the world. When this theory is admitted, the
observed discrepancy between our moral sense and the
government of the world as a whole makes it necessary
to suppose another world and another life in it for men,
whereby this discord shall be resolved in a final \
harmony.

I fully admit that the theistic hypothesis, so
grounded, and considered apart from objections other-
wise arising, is a reasonable hypothesis and an explana--
tion of the facts. The idea of an external conscious be-
ing is unavoidably suggested, as it seems to me, by the
categorical imperative of the moral sense ; and more-
over, in a way quite independent, by the aspect of
nature, which seems to answer to our questionings with
an intelligence akin to our own. It is more reasonable
to assume one consciousness than two, if by that one
assumption we can explain two distinct facts ; just as if
we had been led to assume an ether to explain light,
and an ether to explain electricity, we might have run

246 INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY OF

before experiment and guessed that these two ethers
were but one. But since there is a discordance between
nature and conscience, the theory of their common
origin in a mind external to humanity has not met with
such acceptance as that of the divine origin of each. A
large number of theists have rejected it, and taken
refuge in ManichaBism and the doctrine of the Demiurgus
in various forms ; while others have endeavoured, as
aforesaid, to redress the balance of the old world by
calling into existence a new one.

It is, however, a very striking and significant fact
that the great majority of mankind who have thought
about these questions at all, while acknowledging
the existence of divine beings and their influence in
the government of the world, have sought for the
spring and sanction of duty in something above and
beyond the Gods. The religions of Brahmanism and of
Buddhism, and the moral system of Confucius, have
together ruled over more than two-thirds of the human
race during the historic period ; and in all of these the
moral sense is regarded as arising indeed out of a
universal principle, but not as personified in any con-
scious being. This vast body of dissent might well, it
should seem, make us ask if there is not something
unsatisfying in the theory which represents the voice of
conscience as the voice of a God.

Although, as I have said, the idea of an external
conscious being is unavoidably suggested by the moral
sense, yet, if this idea should be found untrue, it does
not follow that nature has been fooling us. The idea
is not in the facts, but in our inference from the
facts. A mirror unavoidably suggests the idea of a

A DECLINE IN RELIGIOUS BELIEF. 247

room behind it ; but it is not our eyes that deceive
us, it is only the inference we draw from their testimony.
Further consideration may lead to a different inference
of far greater practical value.

Now, whether or no it be reasonable and satisfying
to the conscience, it cannot be doubted that theistic
belief is a comfort and a solace to those who hold it, and
that the loss of it is a very painful loss. It cannot be
doubted, at least, by many of us in this generation, who
either profess it now, or received it in our childhood and
have parted from it since with such searching trouble
as only cradle-faiths can cause. We have seen the
spring sun shine out of an empty heaven, to light up a
soulless earth ; we have felt with utter loneliness that
the Great Companion is dead. Our children, it may be
hoped, will know that sorrow only by the reflex light
of a wondering compassion. But to say that theistic
belief is a comfort and a solace, and to say that it is
the crown or coping of morality, these are different
things.

For in what way shall belief in God strengthen my
sense of duty ? He is a great one working for the right
But I already know so many, and I know these so well.
His righteousness is unfathomable ; it transcends all ideals.
But I have not yet fathomed the goodness of living men
whom I know : still less of those who have lived, and
whom I know. And the goodness of all these is a
striving for something better ; now it is not the goal,
but the striving for it, that matters to me. The essence
of their goodness is the losing of the individual self in
another and a wider self ; but God cannot do this ; his
goodness must be something different. He is infinitely

248 INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY OF

great and powerful, and he lives for ever. I do not
understand this mensuration of goodness by foot-pounds
and seconds and cubic miles. A little field-mouse,
which busies itself in the hedge, and does not mind my
company, is more to me than the longest ichthyosaurus
that ever lived, even if he lived a thousand years. When
we look at a starry sky, the spectacle whose awfulness
Kant compared with that of the moral sense, does it
help out our poetic emotion to reflect that these specks
are really very very big, and very very hot, and very
very far away ? Their heat and their bigness oppress
us ; we should like them to be taken still farther away,
the great blazing lumps. But when we think of the
unseen planets that surround them, of the wonders of
life, of reason, of love that may dwell therein, then
indeed there is something sublime in the sight. Fitness
and kinship ; these are the truly great things for us,
not force and massiveness and length of days.

Length of days, said the old Eabbi, is measured not
by their number, but by the work that is done in them.
We are all to be swept away in the final ruin of the
earth. The thought of that ending is a sad thought ;
there is no use in trying to deny this. But it has
nothing to do with right and wrong ; it belongs to
another subject. Like All-father Odin, we must ride
out gaily to do battle with the wolf of doom, even
if there be no Balder to come back and continue our
work. At any rate the right will have been done ; and
the past is safer than all storehouses.

The conclusion of the matter is that belief in God
and in a future life is a source of refined and elevated
pleasure to those who can hold it. But the foregoing

A DECLINE IN RELIGIOUS BELIEF.\^£ /S^

of a refined and elevated pleasure, because it

that we have no right to indulge in it, is not in itself,

and cannot produce as its consequence, a decline of

morality.

There is another theory of the facts of the moral
sense set forth in the succeeding discourse,1 and this seems
to me to be the true one. The voice of conscience is ,
the voice of our Father Man who is within us ; the
accumulated instinct of the race is poured into each one
of us, and overflows us, as if the ocean were poured into a
cup. 2 Our evidence for this explanation is that the cause
assigned is a vera causa, it undoubtedly exists ; there
is no perhaps about that. And those who have tried
tell us that it is sufficient : the explanation, like the
fact, 'covers the whole voluntary field.' The lightest
and the gravest action may be consciously done in and
for Man. And the sympathetic aspect of nature is
explained to us ,in the same way. In so far as our con-
ception of nature is akin to our minds that conceive it,
Man made it ; and Man made us, with the necessity
to conceive it in this way.3

I do not, however, suppose that morality would
practically gain much from the wide acceptance of true
views about its nature, except in a way which I shall
presently suggest. I neither admit the moral influence
of theism in the past, nor look forward to the moral
influence of humanism in the future. Virtue is a habit,

1 By Mr. Frederic Harrison.

2 Schopenhauer. There is a most remarkable article on the ' Natural
History of Morals ' in the North British Review, Dec. 1867.

3 For an admirable exposition of the doctrine of the social origin of our
conceptions, see Professor Croom Robertson's paper, 'How we come by our
Knowledge,' in the first number of the Nineteenth Century.

250 INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY OF

not a sentiment or an -ism. The doctrine of total de-
pravity seems to have been succeeded by a doctrine of
partial depravity, according to which there is hope for
human affairs, but still men cannot go straight unless
some tremendous all-embracing theory has a finger in
the pie. Theories are most important and excellent
things when they help us to see the matter as it really
is, and so to judge what is the right thing to do in
regard to it. They are the guides of action, but not the
springs of it. Now the spring of virtuous action is the
social instinct, which is set to work by the practice of
comradeship. The union of men in a common effort
for a common object — band-work, if I may venture to
translate co-operation into English — this is and always
has been the true school of character. Except in times
of severe struggle for national existence, the practice of
virtue by masses of men has always been coincident with
municipal freedom, and with the vigour of such unions
as are not large enough to take from each man his con-
scious share in the work and in the direction of it.

What really affects morality is not religious belief,
but a practice which, in some times and places, is
thought to be religious — namely, the practice of sub-
mitting human life to clerical control. The apparently
destructive tendency of modern times, which arouses
fear and the foreboding of evil in the minds of many of
the best of men, seems to me to be not mainly an intel-
lectual movement. It has its intellectual side, but that
side is the least important, and touches comparatively
few souls. The true core of it is a firm resolve of men
to know the right at first hand, which has grown out of
the strong impulse given to the moral sense by political

A DECLINE IN RELIGIOUS BELIEF. 251

freedom. Such a resolve is a necessary condition to
the existence of a pure and noble theism like that of
the third discourse,1 which learns what God is like by
thinking of man's love for man. Although that doctrine
has been prefigured and led up to for many ages by the
best teaching of Englishmen, and — what is far more
important — by the best practice of Englishmen, yet it
cannot be accepted on a large scale without what will
seem to many a decline of religious belief. (For assuredly
if men learn the nature of God from the moral sense
of man, they cannot go on believing the doctrines of
popular theology. \ Such change of belief is of small
account in itself, for any consequences it can bring
about ; but it is of vast importance as a symptom of the
increasing power and clearness of the sense of duty.

On the other hand there is one ' decline of religious
belief,' inseparable from a revolution in human conduct,
which would indeed be a frightful disaster to mankind.
A revival of any form of sacerdotal Christianity would
be a matter of practice and not a matter of theory. The
system which sapped the foundations of patriotism in
the old world ; which well-nigh eradicated the sense of
intellectual honesty, and seriously weakened the habit of
truth-speaking ; which lowered men's reverence for the
marriage-bond by placing its sanctions in a realm out-
side of nature instead of in the common life of men, and
by the institutions of monasticism and a celibate clergy ;
which stunted the moral sense of the nations by putting
a priest between every man and his conscience ; this
system, if it should ever return to power, must be
expected to produce worse evils than those which it has

1 Dr. Martineau's.

252 INFLUENCE UPON MORALITY, ETC.

worked in the past. The house which it once made
desolate has been partially swept and garnished by the
free play gained for the natural goodness of men. It
would come back accompanied by social diseases perhaps
worse than itself, and the wreck of civilized Europe
would be darker than the darkest of past ages.

253

COSMIC EMOTION.1

BY a cosmic emotion — the phrase is Mr. Henry Sidgwick's
— I mean an emotion which is felt in regard to the
universe or sum of things, viewed as a cosmos or order.
There are two kinds of cosmic emotion — one having
reference to the Macrocosm or universe surrounding
and containing us, the other relating to the Microcosm
or universe of our own souls. When we try to put
together the most general conceptions that we can form
about the great aggregate of events that are always
going on, to strike a sort of balance among the feelings
which these events produce in us, and to add to these
the feeling of vastness associated with an attempt to
represent the whole of existence, then we experience a
cosmic emotion of the first kind. It may have the
character of awe, veneration, resignation, submission ;
or it may be an overpowering stimulus to action, like
the effect of the surrounding orchestra upon a. musician I
who is thereby caught up and driven to play his proper '
part with force and exactness of time and tune. If, on
the other hand, we consider the totality of our own
actions and of the feelings that go with them or spring
out of them, if we frame the highest possible general-
ization to express the character of those which we call
good, and if we contemplate this with the feeling of

1 Nineteenth Century, October, 1877.

254 COSMIC EMOTION.

vastness which belongs to that which concerns all
things that all men do, we shall experience a cosmic
emotion of the second kind. Such an emotion finds
voice in Wordsworth's Ode to Duty :

Stern daughter of the voice of God !
O Duty, if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove •;
Thou who art victory and law
* When empty terrors overawe ;
From vain temptations dost set free
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity !

A special form of each of these kinds of cosmic
emotion has been expressed in a sentence by Immanuel
Kant, which has been perfectly translated by Lord
Houghton :

Two things I contemplate with ceaseless awe ;
The stars of Heaven, and Man's sense of Law.

For the star-full sky on a clear night is the most direct
presentation of the sum of things that we can find, and
from the nature of the circumstances is fitted to pro-
duce a cosmic emotion of the first kind. And the moral
faculty of man was thought of by Kant as possessing
universality in a peculiar sense ; for the form of all right
maxims, according to him, is that they are fit for uni-
versal law, applicable to all intelligent beings whatever.
This mode of viewing the faculty is clearly well adapted '
for producing cosmic emotion of the second kind.

The character of the emotion with which men con-
template the world, the temper in which they stand in
the presence of the immensities and the eternities, must
depend first of all on what they think the world is.

COSMIC EMOTION. 255

The theory of the universe, the view of things, preva-
lent at any time and place, will rouse appropriate
feelings in those who contemplate it ; not the same in
all, for temperament varies with the individual, and the
same facts stir differently different souls, yet so that, on
the whole, the character of cosmic emotion depends on
the nature of cosmic ideas.

When, therefore, the inevitable progress of know-
ledge has changed the prevalent cosmic ideas, so that
the world as we know it is not the world which our
fathers knew, the oldest cosmic emotions are no longer
found to fit. Knowledge must have been in men's
possession for a long time before it has acquired the
certainty, the precision, the familiarity, the wide diffu-
sion and comprehension which make it fit to rouse
feelings strong enough and general enough for true
poetic expression. For the true poetry is that which
expresses our feelings, and not my feelings only — that
which appeals to the universal in the heart of each one of
us. So it has come about that the world of the poet, the
world in its emotional aspect, always lags a little behind
the world of science, not merely as it appears to the few
who are able to assist at the birth of its conceptions, but
even as it is roughly and in broad strokes revealed to
the many. We always know a little more than our
imaginations have thoroughly pictured. To some minds
'there is hope and renewing of youth in the sense that
the last word is not yet spoken, that greater mysteries
yet lie behind the veil. The prophet himself may say
with gladness, ' He that cometh after me shall be pre-
ferred before me.' But others see in the clearer and
wider vision that approaches them the end of all beauty

256 COSMIC EMOTION.

and joy in the earth ; because their old feelings are not
suited to the new learning, they think that learning can
stir no feelings at all. Even the great poet already
quoted, whom no science will put out of date, com-
plained of the prosaic effects of explanation, and said,
' We murder to dissect.'

I propose to consider and compare an ancient and a
modern system of cosmic ideas, and to show how the
emotions suited to the latter have already in part
received poetic expression.

In the early part of the fifth century of our era
the Neoplatonic philosopher Hierokles was teaching at
Alexandria. He was an Alexandrian by birth, and
had studied with Proklos, or a little before him, under
Plutarch at Athens. He was a man of great eloquence,
and of better Greek than most of his contemporaries.
He astonished his hearers everywhere, says Suidas, by
the calm, the magnificence, the width of his superlative
intellect, and by the sweetness of his speech, full of the
most beautiful words and things. A man of manly
spirit and courage ; for being once at Byzantium he
came into collision with the ecclesiastical authorities
(rots KpaTovcTi) and was scourged in court ; then, stream-
ing with blood, he caught some of it in his hand and
threw it at the magistrate, with this verse of the Odyssey":
' Here, Cyclops, drink wine, since you eat human flesh ! '
For which contempt of court he was banished, but sub-
sequently made his way back to Alexandria. Here he
lectured on various topics, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
expounding also some of the dialogues of Plato and other
philosophical writings.

But the matter of one course of lectures is preserved

COSMIC EMOTION. 257

to us. It is a commentary on a document in hexameter
verse belonging to the Pythagorean scriptures, dating
apparently from the third century B.C. These lines
were called by Jamblichus the Golden Verses ; but
Gregory of Nazianzum did them the honour to say they
were rather made of lead. They are not elegant as
poetry ; the form of verse seems to have been adopted
as an aid to the memory. More than half of them con-
sist of a sort of versified ' duty to God and my neighbour,'
except that it is not designed by the rich to be obeyed
by the poor, that it lays stress on the laws of health,
and that it is just such sensible counsel for the good
and right conduct of life as an English gentleman might
now-a-days give to his son. We need not be astonished
that the step from the Mediterranean to Great Britain,
over two thousand years of time, should make no great
difference in the validity of maxims like these. We
might go back four thousand years further, and find the
same precepts handed down at Memphis as the wisdom
of a hoar antiquity. ' There's some things as I've never
felt i' the dark about,' says Mrs. Winthrop, ' and they're
mostly what comes i' the day's work.'

There are curious indications that the point of view
of the commentator is not that of the verses themselves.
' Before all things honour the immortal Gods, as they
are ordained by law,' begin the verses, with the frank
Erastianism of the Greeks, who held that every man
should worship the Gods in the manner belonging to his
city and country ; that matter being settled for themselves
by the oracle of the Delphian Apollo. But this did not
suit the Neoplatonist of the fifth century, whom the
law of his country required to worship images of Mary

VOL. II. S

258 COSMIC EMOTION.

and her son (to be sure, they might be adapted figures
of Isis and Horus) and the miraculous toe-nails of some
filthy and ignorant monk. The law named in the verses
could not be that which had scourged and banished a
philosopher ; so it is explained to mean the demiurgic
law, which assigns to the Gods their several orders, the
law of the divine nature. We are to honour the im-
mortal Gods, says the commentator, in the order which
is assigned to them by the law of their being. For
Hierokles there is one supreme deity and three orders
of angels — the immortal Gods, the illustrious heroes, and
the terrestrial daemons or partially deified souls of men.
The bishops, as we all know, multiplied these numbers
by three.

As to the kind of worship, our commentator quotes
some old Pythagorean maxims. You shall honour the
God best by becoming godlike in your thoughts. Whoso
giveth God honour as to one that needeth it, that man in
his folly hath made himself greater than God. The wise
man only is a priest, is a lover of God, is skilled to pray.
' For,' he says, ' that man only knows how to worship
who does not confound the relative dignity of worship-
ful things, who begins by offering himself as the victim,
fashions his own soul into a divine image, and furnishes
his mind as a temple for the reception of the divine
light.' 'The whole force of worship,' he says in another
place, 'lies in knowledge of the nature of that which is
worshipped.'

(It is interesting to compare this last maxim with
the proposition of Spinoza : 1 ' He who clearly and dis-

1 Qui se suosque affectus clare et distincte inteUigit, Deum amat, et eo
magis, quo se suosque affectus magis intelligit.'— Eth. v. prop. xv. Cf.
Affectuum definitiones ad fin. part. iii.

COSMIC EMOTION. 250

tinctly understands himself and his own emotions, loves
God, and that the more, the more he understands him-
self and his own emotions.' For to understand clearly
and distinctly is to contemplate in relation to God, to
the cosmic idea. When the mind contemplates itself
in relation to God, it necessarily rises from a lower to a
higher grade of perfection. Now joy is the passage from
a lower to a higher grade of perfection, and love is joy
associated with the idea of an external cause. He, then,
that rises to higher perfection in the presence of the
idea of God, loves God.)

But it is in the latter portion of the Golden Verses
that we find a general view of life and of nature assigned
as the ground of the precepts which have gone before.
There are in all seventy-one lines ; of the last thirty-two
I venture to subjoin a translation as nearly literal as is
consistent with intelligibility.1

' Let not soft sleep come upon thy eyelids, till thou
hast pondered thy deeds of the day :

' Wherein have I sinned ? What work have I done ?
What left undone that I was bound to do ?

' Beginning at the first, go through even unto the last ;
and then let thy heart smite thee for the evil deed, but
rejoice in the good work.

' Work at these commandments, and think upon
them ; these commandments shalt thou love.

'They shall surely set thee in the way of divine
righteousness ; yea, by Him who gave into our soul the
Tetrad, well-spring of Nature everlasting.

1 The text followed is that of Mullach, in the Fragmenta PhUosoph&rum
Grcecorum, Paris, 1860, from the prolegomena to which my information is
derived.

s 2

200 COSMIC EMOTION.

' Set to thy work with a will, beseeching the Gods for
the end thereof.

' And when thou hast mastered these commandments,
thou shalt know the being of the Gods that die not, and
of men that die ; thou shalt know of things, wherein
they are diverse, and the kinship that binds them in one

' Know, so far as is permitted thee, that Nature in all
things is like unto herself :

' That thou mayest not hope that of which there is
no hope, nor be ignorant of that which may be.

' Know thou also that the woes of men are the work
of their own hands :

' Miserable are they, because they see not and hear
not the good that is very nigh them ; and the way of
escape from evil, few there be that understand it.

'Like rollers they roll to and fro, having endless
trouble ; so hath fate broken the wits l of mortal men.

' A baneful strife lurketh inborn in us, and goeth on
the way with us to hurt us ; this let not a man stir up,
but avoid and flee.

' Verily, Father Zeus, thou wouldst free all men from
much evil, if thou wouldst teach all men what manner
of spirit they are of.

' But do thou be of good cheer ; for they are Gods'
kindred whom holy Nature leadeth onward, and in due
order showeth them all things.

' And if thou hast any part with them, and keepest
these commandments, thou shalt utterly heal thy soul,
and save it from travail.

'Keep from the meats aforesaid, using judgment
both in cleansing and in setting free thy soul.

1 ' My brains are broken.' — Sir Walter Raleigh.

COSMIC EMOTION. 261

{ Give heed to every matter, and set Keason on high,
who best holdeth the reins of guidance.

4 Then, when thou leavest the body, and coniest into
the free aether, thou shalt be a God undying, everlasting,
neither shall death have any more dominion over thee.'

It is worth while to notice the comment of Hierokles
on the self-judgment enjoined in the first of these lines.

' The judge herein appointed,' he says, ' is the most
just of all, and the one which is most at home with
us ; namely conscience itself, arid right reason. And
each man is to be judged by himself, before whom our
bringing-up has taught us to be more shamefast than
before any other. (As a previous verse commands ; of
all men be most shamefast before thyself: iravTuv 8e
/ictXio-r' aicrxyvto cravrov.) For what is there of which
one man can so admonish another, as he can himself?
For the free will, misusing the liberty of its nature,
turns away from the counsels of others, when it does
not wish to be led by them ; but a man's own reason
must needs obey itself.'

Whether the clear statement of this doctrine of the
conscience, dominans ille deus in nobis, as Cicero calls
it, is originally Stoic or Pythagorean, must be left
for the learned to decide. Hierokles, however, says
expressly that the image of Eeason guiding the lower
faculties as the charioteer guides his chariot was derived
by Plato from the Pythagoreans.

Very remarkable indeed is the view of Nature set
forth in the subsequent verses. 4 Know, so far as is
permitted thee, that Nature is in all things uniform '
(<f)V(j-Lv TTc.pl TTCJLVTOS bpoirjv). This conception of the
world as a great cosmos or order is the primary con-

262 COSMIC EMOTION.

dition of human progress. In the earliest steps of pri-
mitive men in the simplest arts of life there is involved a
dim recognition and practical use of it to the extent of
its application in that stage. Every step forward is
an increase in the range of its application. In the
industrial arts, in the rules of health, the methods of
healing, the preparation of food, in morals and politics,
every advance is an application of past experience to
new circumstances, in accordance with an observed
order of nature. Philosophy consists in the conscious

I recognition of this method, and in the systematic use of
it for the complete guidance of life. Aberration from
it is the death of the rational soul ; not, says Hierokles,
that it ceases thereby to exist, but that it falls away
from harmony with divine Nature and with reason. This
fatal falling away brings about endless waste and per-
version of strenuous effort ; a hoping for things of which
there is no hope, an ignorance of what may be ; a
perpetual striving to clamber up the back stairs of a
universe that has no back stairs.^Che Neoplatonists
were not wholly spotless in this regard. They had
learned evil things of the Egyptians : magic, astrology,
converse with spirits, theurgy, and the endeavour by
trances and ecstasies to arrive at feelings and ideas which
are alien to the healthy and wakeful mind. And so the
uniformity of nature gives our commentator some little
trouble, and requires to be interpreted.

'Know so far as is permitted thee (77 0ep,i$ e'crrt),' say
the verses. c For we ought not to yield to unreasoning
prejudice, and accommodate the order and dignity of
things to our fancies ; but to keep within the bounds
of truth and know all things as it is permitted, namely,

COSMIC EMOTION. 263

as the Demiurgic law has assigned to every one its
place/

So the commentator, reading into the verses more
than the writer put there, not without edification. We,
then, on our part, may read into them this — that it is
not ' permitted ' to regard the uniformity of nature as
a dogma known with certainty, or exactness, or univer-
sality : but only within the range of human conduct, as
a practical rule for the guidance of the same, and as |
the only source of beliefs that will not lead astray. For
to affirm any general proposition of this kind to be
certainly, or exactly, or universally true, is to make a
mistake about the nature and limits of human knowledge.
But at present it is a venial mistake, because the doctrine
of the nature of human knowledge, Erkenntniss-theorie,
Ken-lore, is only now being thoroughly worked out, so
that our children will know a great deal more about it
than we do, and have what they know much better and
more simply expressed. It is almost infinitely more
important to keep in view that the uniformity of nature
is practically certain, practically exact, practically
universal, and to make this conception the guide of our
lives, than to remember that this certainty, exactness,
and universality are only known practically, not in a
theoretical or absolute way.

How far away is the doctrine of uniformity from •>
fatalism ! It begins directly to remind us that men |
suffer from preventible evils, that the people perisheth j
for lack of knowledge. ' Miserable are they, because
they see not and hear not the good that is very nigh
them ; and the way of escape from evil, few there be
that understand it.' The practical lesson is not that of

264 COSMIC EMOTION.

the pessimist, that we should give up the contest, recog-
nize that life is an evil, and get out of it as best we may ;
but on the contrary, that having found anything wrong,
we should set to work to mend it ; for the woes of men
are the work of their own hands.

' But be thou of good cheer, for they are of Gods'
kindred whom holy Nature leadeth onward, and in due
order showeth them all things.'

The expression (iepa Trpo^epovcra . . . SeiKvvcrLV
eKaa-ra) belongs to the rite of initiation into the mys-
teries. Nature is represented as the hierophant, the
guiding priest by whom the faithful were initiated into
the divine secrets one by one. The history of mankind
is conceived as such a mystic progress under the guid-
ance of divine Nature. It has been sometimes said
that the ancient world was entirely devoid of the con-
ception of progress. But like most sweeping antitheses
between ancient and modern, East and West, and the
like, when we come to look a little closely into this as-
sertion it becomes difficult to believe that any definite
meaning can ever have been assigned to it. Certainly
in the matter of physical science there is no case of
firmer faith in progress than that of Hipparchus, who
having made the great step of determining the solar and
lunar motions, and having failed to extend the same
methods to the planets, stored up observations in the
sure and certain hope that a more fortunate successor
would accomplish that work ; which indeed was done
by Ptolemy. And it is very important to notice that
the exact sciences were regarded as the standard to
which the others should endeavour to attain, as appears
by the commentary on a subsequent passage in these

COSMIC EMOTION. 265

very verses. On the phrase * using judgment both in
cleansing and in setting free thy soul,' Hierokles explains
that the cleansing or lustration of the rational soul
means the mathematic sciences, and that the upward-
leading liberation (a^aywyos Xucrts), the freedom that is
progressive, is scientific inquiry, or a scientific view of
things (StaXe/m/o) TUP OVTOJV eVoTrreia), the clear and
exact vision of one who has attained the highest grade
of initiation. Accordingly, the medical sciences never
lost the tradition of progress by continuous observation
impressed on them by Hippocrates ; and in the Alexan-
drian museum were trained that galaxy of famous phy-
sicians and naturalists .which kept the school illustrious
until the claims of culture were restored by the Arab
conquest. Nor is it possible to deny the conception and
practice of political progress to the great jurists of
Eome, any more than that of ethical progress to the
Stoic nxoralists. To the best minds, with whatever sub-
ject occupied, there was present this conception of
divine Nature patiently educating the human race,
ready to bring out of her storehouse good things with-
out number in the proper time.

Nor was this hope of continued progress altogether
a vain one, if we will only look in the right place for the
fulfilment of it. Greek polity and culture had been
planted in the East by Alexander's conquests from the
Nile to the Indus, there to suck up and gather together
the wisdom of centuries and of continents. When the
light and the right were driven out of Europe by the
Church, they found in the far East a home with the
Omaiyad and Abbasside Caliphs, whose reign gave peace
and breathing time to the old and young civilization that

266 COSMIC EMOTION.

was ready to grow. Across the north of Africa came
again the progressive culture of Greece and Eome, en-
riched with precious jewels of old-world lore ; it took
firm ground in Spain, and the light and the right were
flashed back into Europe from the blades of Saracen
swords. From Bagdad to Cordova, in the great days of
the Caliphate, the best minds had faith in human pro-
gress to be made by observation of the order of nature.
Here again the true culture was overridden and de-
stroyed by the development of the Mohammedan reli-
gion ; but not until the sacred torch had been safely
handed on to the new nations of convalescent Europe.

If the singer of the Golden Verses could have con-
templated on these lines the history of the two thou-
sand years that were to succeed him5 he would have
seen an uninterrupted succession of naturalists and phy-
sicians, philosophers and statesmen, all steadily reaching
forward to the good things that were before, never
losing hold of what had already been attained. And
we, looking back, may see that through overwhelming
difficulties and dangers and diseases holy Nature has
indeed been leading onward the kindred of the Gods,
slowly but surely unfolding to them the roll of the
heavenly mysteries.

Of course, if we restrict our view to Europe itself,
we meet with a far more complex and difficult problem ;
a problem of pathology as opposed to one of healthy
growth. We have to explain- the apparent anomaly of
two epochs of comparative sanity and civilization sepa-
rated by the disease and delirium of the Catholic
episode.

Just as the traveller, who has been worn to the bone

COSMIC EMOTION. 2C7

by years of weary striving among men of another skin,
suddenly gazes with doubting eyes upon the white face
of a brother, so, if we travel backwards in thought over
the darker ages of the history of Europe, we at length
reach back with such bounding of heart to men who
had like hopes with ourselves ; and shake hands across
that vast with the singers of the Golden Verses, our own
true spiritual ancestors.

Well may Greece sing to the earth her mother, in
the Litany of Nations : —

I am she that made thee lovely with my beauty

From north to south :
Mine, the fairest lips, took first the fire of duty

From thine own mouth.
Mine, the fairest eyes, sought first thy laws and knew them

Truths undefined ;
Mine, the fairest hands, took freedom first into them,

A weanling child. *

Let us now put together the view of Nature and of
Life which is presented to us by the Golden Verses, with
a view to considering its fitness for cosmic emotion. We
are taught therein to look upon Nature as a divine
Order or Cosmos, acting uniformly in all of its diverse
parts ; which order, by means of its uniformity, is con-
tinually educating us and teaching us to act rightly.
The ideal character, that which is best fitted to receive
the teaching of Nature, is one which has Conscience for
its motive power and Eeason for its guide. The main
point to be observed is that the two kinds of cosmic
emotion run together and become one. The macrocosm
is viewed only in relation to human action ; nature is
presented to the emotions as the guide and teacher of

1 Swinburne, Songs before Sunrise.

268 COSMIC EMOTION.

humanity. And the microcosm is viewed only as
tending to complete correspondence with the external ;
human conduct is a subject for reverence only in so far
as it is consonant to the demiurgic law, in harmony
with the teaching of divine Nature. This union of the
two sides of cosmic emotion belongs to the essence of
the philosophic life, as the corresponding intellectual
conception is of the essence of the scientific view of
things.

There were other parts of the Pythagorean concep-
tion of Nature and Man which we cannot at present so
easily accept. And even so much as is here suggested
we cannot hold as the Pythagoreans held it, because
there are the thoughts and the deeds of two thousand
years between. These ideas fall in very well with the
furniture of our minds ; but a great deal of the furniture
is new since their time, and changes their place and
importance. Of the detailed machinery of the Pytha-
gorean creed these verses say nothing. Of the sacred
fire, the hearth of the universe, with sun and planets
and the earth's double antichthon revolving round it,
the whole enclosed in a crystal globe with nothing out-
side— of the ' Great Age ' of the world, after which
everything occurs over again in exactly the same order
— of the mystic numbers, and so forth, we find no men-
tion in these verses, and they do not lose much by it,
though on that account Zeller calls them ' colourless.'
But a remembrance of these doctrines will help us to
appreciate the change that has come over our view of
the world.

First, then, the cosmos that we have to do with is
no longer a definite whole including absolutely all

COSMIC EMOTION. 2G9

existence. The old cosmos had a boundary in space, a
finite extent in time ; for the Great Age might be regarded
as a circle, on which you return to the same point after
going once round. Beyond the crystal sphere of the
fixed stars was nothing ; outside that circle of time no
history. But now the real universe extends at least far i
beyond the cosmos, the order that we actually know of. /
The sum total of our experience and of the inferences
that can fairly be drawn from it is only, after all, a part
of something larger. So sings one whom great poets
revere as a poet, but to whom writers of excellent prose,
and even of leading articles, refuse the name : —

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim
of the farther systems.

Wider and wider they spread, expanding always expanding,
Outward and outward, and for ever outward.

There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage ;

If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,
were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in
the long run ;

We should surely bring up again where we now stand,

And as surely go as much farther — and then farther and farther.

A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not
hazard the span, or make it impatient ;

They are but parts — anything is but a part.

See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that ;

Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.1

Whatever conception, then, we can form of the ex-
ternal cosmos must be regarded as only provisional and
not final, as waiting revision when we shall have pushed
the bounds of our knowledge further away into time |
and space. It must always, therefore, have a character

1 Whitman, Leaves of Grass.

270 COSMIC EMOTION.

of incompleteness about it, a want, a stretching out for
something better to come, the expectation of a further
lesson from the universal teacher, Experience. And
this not only by way of extension of space and time,
but by increase of our knowledge even about this part
that we know of. Our conception of the universe is for
us, and not for our children, any more than it was for
our fathers.

But again, this incompleteness does not belong to our
conception of the external cosmos alone, but to that of
the internal cosmos also. Human nature is fluent, it is
constantly though slowly changing, and the universe
of human action is changing also. Whatever general
conception we may form of good actions and bad ones,
we must regard it as quite valid only for ourselves ; the
next generation will have a slightly modified form of it,
but not the same thing. The Kantian universality is no
longer possible. No maxim can be valid at all times
and places for all rational beings ; a maxim valid for us
can only be valid for such portions of the human race
as are practically identical with ourselves.

Here then we have two limitations to keep in mind
when we form our cosmic conceptions. On both sides
they are provisional ; instead of picturing to ourselves
a universe, we represent only a changing part ; instead
of contemplating an eternal order, and absolute right,
we find only a changing property of a shifting organ-
ism.

Are we then to be disappointed ? I think not ; for
if we consider these limitations a little more closely, we
shall perceive an advantage in each of them.

First, of the external cosmos. Our conception is

COSMIC EMOTION. 271

limited to a part of things. But to what part ? Why,
precisely to the part that concerns us. The universe we
have to consider is the whole of that knowledge which can
rightly influence human action. For, wherever there is
a question of guiding human action, there is a possibility
of profiting by experience on the assumption that nature
is uniform ; that is, there is room for the application of
science. All practical quesJJQns, therefore*- ace --within
the domain of science. And we may show conversely
that all questions in the domain of science, all questions,
that is, which have a real intelligible meaning, and
which may be answered either now or at some future
time by inferences founded on the uniformity of nature,
are practical questions in a very real and important
sense. For the interrogation of nature, without and
within him, is a most momentous part of the work of
man on this earth, seeing how all his progress has de-
pended upon conscious or unconscious labour at this
task. And although the end of all knowledge is action,
and it is only for the sake of action that knowledge is
sought by the human race, yet, in order that it may be
gained in sufficient breadth and depth, it is necessary
that the individual should seek knowledge for its own
sake. The seeking of knowledge for its own sake is a
practical pursuit of incalculable value to humanity. The
pretensions of those who would presume to clothe genius
in a strait-waistcoat, who would forbid it to attempt
this task because Descartes failed in it, and that one
because Comte knew nothing about it, would be fatally
mischievous if they could be seriously considered by
those whom they might affect. No good work in
science has ever been done under such conditions ; and

272 COSMIC EMOTION.

no good worker can fail to see the utter futility and
short-sightedness of those who advocate them. For
there is no field of inquiry, however apparently insigni-
ficant, that does not teach the worker in it to distrust
his own powers of prevision as to what he is likely to
find ; to expect the unexpected ; to be suspicious of his
own accuracy if everything comes out quite as it ' ought
to ; ' but not to hazard the shadow of a guess about the
degree of ' utility ' that may result from his investiga-
tions. Man's creative energy may be checked and
hindered, or perverted from the truth ; but it is not to
be regulated by a pedantic schoolmaster who thought
he could whip the centuries with his birch broom.

The cosmos, then, which science now presents to our
minds, is only a part of something larger which includes
it. But at the same time it is the whole of what
concerns us, and no more than what concerns us.
Wherever human knowledge establishes itself, that
point becomes thenceforward a centre of practical human
interest. It, and whatever valid inference can be con-
nected with it, is the business of all mankind.

So also, if we consider the limitation imposed on our
idea of the internal cosmos by the changing character
of human nature, we shall find that we have gained
more than we have lost by it. It is true that we can no
longer think of conscience and reason as testifying to us
of things eternal and immutable. Human nature is no
longer there, a definite thing from age to age, persisting
unaltered through the vicissitudes of cities and peoples.
Very nearly constant it is, practically constant for so
many centuries ; but not constant through that range of
time which it practically concerns us to know about and

COSMIC EMOTION. 273

to ponder. But, on the other side, what a flood of light
is let in by this very fact, not only on human nature,
but on the whole world ! It_isjmpossible to exaggerate

of the doctrine of evolution on our conception

of man and of nature. Suppose all moving things to be
suddenly stopped at some instant, and that we could be
brought fresh, without any previous knowledge, to look
at this petrified scene. The spectacle would be in-
ensely absurd. Crowds of people would be senselessly
standing on one leg in the street, looking at one another's
backs ; others would be wasting their time by sitting in
a train in a place difficult to get at, nearly all with their
mouths open and their bodies in some contorted, unrest-
ful posture. Clocks would stand with their pendulums
on one side. Everthing would be disorderly, conflicting,
in its wrong place. But once remember that the world
is in motion, is going somewhere, and everything will be
accounted for and found just as it should be. Just so
great a change of view, just so complete an explanation,
is given to us when we recognize that the nature of man
and beast and of all the world is changing, is going
somewhere. The silly maladaptations in organic nature
are seen to be steps towards the improvement or dis-
carding of imperfect organs. The baneful strife which \
lurketh inborn in us, and goeth on the way with us to hurt I
us, is found to be the relic of a time of savage or even j
lower condition.

It is probable that the doctrine of evolution fills a
somewhat larger space in our attention than belongs to
its ultimate influence. In the next century, perhaps,
men will not think so much about it ; they will be
paying a new attention to some new thing. But it will

VOL. II. T

274 COSMIC EMOTION.

have seized upon their minds, and will dominate all
their thoughts to an extent that we cannot as yet con-
ceive. When the sun is rising we pay special attention
to him and admire his glories ; but when he is well
risen we forget him, because we are busy walking about
in his light.

Meanwhile, the doctrine of evolution may be made
to compensate us for the loss of the immutable and
eternal verities by supplying us with a general concep-
tion of a good action, in a wider sense than the ethical
one.

If I have evolved myself out of something like an
amphioxus, it is clear to me that I have become better
by the change ; I have risen in the organic scale ; I
have become more organic. Of all the changes that I
have undergone, the greater part must have been
changes in the organic direction ; some in the opposite
direction, some perhaps neutral. But if I could only
find out which, I should say that those changes which
have tended in the direction of greater organization
were good, and those which tended in the opposite
direction bad. Here there is no room for proof; the
words ' good ' and ' bad ' belong to the practical reason,
and if they are defined, it is by pure choice. I choose
that definition of them which must on the whole cause
those people who act upon it to be selected for survival.
The good action, then, is a mode of action which
distinguishes organic from inorganic things, and which
makes an organic thing more organic, or raises it in the
scale. I shall try presently to determine more pre-
cisely what is the nature of this action ; we must now
merely remember that my actions are to be regarded as

COSMIC EMOTION. 275

good or bad according as they tend to improve me as
an organism, to make me move further away from those
intermediate forms through which my race has passed,
or to make me retrace these upward steps and go down
again. Here we have our general principle for the
internal cosmos, the world of our own actions.

What now is our principle for the external cosmos ?
We consider here again not a statical thing, but a vast
series of events. We want to contemplate not the
nature of the external universe as it now is, but the
history of its changes ; not a perpetual cycle of similar
events, with nothing new under the sun, but a drama,
whose beginning is different from its middle, and the
middle from the end. For practical purposes, which are
what concern us, the solar system is a quite sufficient
cosmos. We have certainly a history of it, furnished
to us by the nebular hypothesis ; and the truth of
this hypothesis is a matter of practical interest, be-
cause the failure of the inferences on which it is
founded would modify our actions very considerably.
Still the great use is to show that the life upon the
earth must have been evolved from inorganic matter ;
for the evolution of life is that part of the history of the
cosmos which directly concerns us. Now here we have
the enormous series of events which bridges over the
gulf between the smallest piece of colloid matter and
the human organism ; this is our external cosmos.
Must we leave it as a series of events ? or can we find a
general principle by which the series shall be represented
as a single event constantly going on ? Clearly we can,
for the single event is a mode of action which distin-
guishes organic from inorganic things, and which makes

T '2

270 COSMIC EMOTION.

organic things more organic. We may regard this
mode of action as the generating principle which has
produced all the life upon the earth.

We arrive thus at a common principle, which at
once distinguishes good actions from bad in the internal
world, and which has created the external world, so far
as it is living. This principle is, then, a fit object for
cosmic emotion if we can only get rid of the vagueness
of its definition. And it has this great advantage, that
it does not need to be personified for poetical purposes.
For we may regard the result of this mode of action, ex-
tended over a great length of time, as in some way an
embodiment of the action itself. In this way the human
race embodies in itself all the ages of organic action
that have gone to its evolution. The nature of organic
action, then, is to personify itself, and it has personified
itself most in the human race.

But before we go further two things must be
remarked. First, the very great influence of life in
modifying the surface of the earth, so great as in many
cases to be comparable to the effects of far ruder
changes. Thus we have rocks composed entirely of
organic remains, and climate changed by the presence
or absence of forests. Secondly, although we have re-
stricted our cosmos to the earth in space, and to the
history of life upon it in time, there is no necessity to
maintain the restriction. For we must suppose that
organic action will always take place when the elements
which are capable of it are present under the requisite
physical conditions of temperature, light, and environ-
ment. It is therefore in the last degree improbable
that it is confined to our own planet.

COSMIC EMOTION. 277

In this principle, therefore, we must recognize
the mother of life, and -especially of human life ;
powerful enough to subdue the elements, and yet
always working gently against them ; biding her time
in the whole expanse of heaven, to make the highest
cosmos out of inorganic chaos ; the actor, not of all the
actions of living things, but only of the good actions ;
for a bad action is one by which the organism tends to
become less organic, and acts for the time as if inorganic.

To this mother of life, personifying herself in the
good works of humanity, it seems to me that we may
fitly address a splendid hymn of Mr. Swinburne's, whose
meaning if I mar or mistake by such application, let the
innocency of my intent plead for pardon with one into
whose work it is impossible to read more or more
fruitful meaning than he meant in the writing of it : —

Mother of man's time-travelling generations,
Breath of his nostrils, heart-blood of his heart,

God above all Gods worshipped of all nations,
Light above light, law beyond law, thou art.

Thy face is as a sword smiting in sunder

Shadows and chains and dreams and iron things ;

The sea is dumb before thy face, the thunder
Silent, the skies are narrower than thy wings.

All old grey histories hiding thy clear features,
0 secret spirit and sovereign, all men's tales,

Creeds woven of men thy children and thy creatures,
They have woven for vestures of thee and for veils.

Thine hands, without election or exemption,
Feed all men fainting from false peace or strife,

0 thou, the resurrection and redemption,
The godhead and the manhood and the life.1

1 Songs before Sunrise.

"

278 COSMO EMOTION.

Still our conception is very vague. We have only
said ' good action has created the life of the world, and
in so doing has personified itself as humanity ; so we
call it the mother of life and of man.' And we have
defined good action to be that which makes an organism
more organic. We want, therefore, to know something
more definite about the kind of action which makes an
organism more organic.

This we can find, and of a nature suitable for cosmic
emotion, by paying attention to the difference between
molar and molecular movement. We know that the
particles even of bodies which appear to be at rest are
really in a state of very rapid agitation, called mole-
cular motion, and that heat and nerve-discharge are
cases of such motion. But molar motion is the move-
ment in one piece of masses large enough to be seen.

Now the peculiarity of living matter is that it is
capable of combining together molecular motions,
which are invisible, into molar motions, which can be
seen. It therefore appears to have the property of
moving spontaneously, without help from anything else.
So it can for a little while ; but it is then obliged to
take molecular motion from the surrounding things if
it is to go on moving. So that there is no real spon-
taneity in the case. But still its changes of shape, due
to aggregation of molecular motion, may fairly be called
action from within, because the energy of the motion is
supplied by the substance itself, and not by any external
thing. If we suppose the same thing to be true for a
complex organism that is true for a small speck of
living matter — that those changes in it which are
directly initiated by the living part of the organism are

[C EMOTION. 279

ie ones which distinguish it from inorganic things, and
tend to make it more organic — then we shall have here
the nearer definition of organic action. It is probable
that the definition as I have stated it is rather too
precise — that the nature of the action, in fact, varies
with circumstances in the complex organism, but is
always nearly as stated.

Let us consider what this means from the internal
point of view. When I act from within, or in an or-
ganic manner, what seems to me to happen ? I must
appear to be perfectly free, for, if I did not, I must be
made to act by something outside of me. ' We think
ourselves free,' says Spinoza, ' being conscious of our
actions, and not of the causes which determine them/
But we have seen reason to believe that although there is
no physical spontaneity, yet the energy for such an action
is taken out of myself — i.e. out of the living matter in
my body. As, therefore, the immediate origin of my
action is in myself, I really am free in the only useful
sense of the word. ' Freedom is such a property of the \
will/ says Kant, ' as enables living agents to originate /
events independently of foreign determining causes.'

The character of an organic action, then, is freedom
— that is to say, action from within. The action which
has its immediate antecedents within the organism has a
tendency, in so far as it alters the organism, to make it
more organic, or to raise it in the scale. The action
which is determined by foreign causes is one in regard
to which the organism acts as if inorganic, and in so far
as the action tends to alter it, it tends also to lower it
in the scale.

It is important to remember that only a part of the

280 COSMIC EMOTION.

body of a complex organism is actually living matter.
This living matter carries about a quantity of formed or
dead stuff; as Epictetus says, ^v^apiov el Pacrratpv
vtKpov — ' a little soul for a little bears up this corpse
which is man.' 1 Only actions originating in the living
part of the organism are to be regarded as actions from
within ; the dead part is for our purposes a portion of
the external world. And so, from the internal point of
view, there are rudiments and survivals in the mind
which are to be excluded from that me, whose free
action tends to progress ; that baneful strife which
lurketh inborn in us is the foe of freedom — this let not a
man stir up, but avoid and flee.

The way in which freedom, or action from within,
has effected the evolution of organisms, is clearly brought
out by the theory of Natural Selection. For the im-
provement of a breed depends upon the selection of
sports— -that is to say, of modifications due to the over-
flowing energy of the organism, which happen to be
useful to it in its special circumstances. Modifications
may take place by direct pressure of external circum-
stances ; the whole organism or any organ may lose in
size and strength from failure of the proper food, but
such modifications are in the downward, not in the up-
ward, direction. Indirectly external circumstances may
of course produce upward changes ; thus the drying up
of axolotl ponds caused the survival of individuals
which had ' sported ' in the direction of lungs. But the

1 Swinburne, Poems and Ballads. I am aware of the difficulties which
beset Dr. Beale's theory of germinal matter, as they are stated by Mr. G. H.
Lewes ; but however hard it may be to decide what is living: matter, and
what is formed stuff, the distinction appears to me to be a real one, to the
extent, at least, of the use here made of it.

COSMIC EMOTION. 281

immediate cause of change in the direction of higher
organization is always the internal and quasi-spontane-
ous action of the organism.

Freedom we call it, for holier
Name of the soul there is none ;

Surelier it labours, if slowlier,

Than the metres of star or of sun ;

Slowlier than life into breath,

Surelier than time into death,
It moves till its labour be done.1

Thejiighest of organisms is the social organism. To
Mr. Herbert Spencer, who has done so much for the
whole doctrine of evolution and for all that is connected
with it, we owe the first clear and rational statement
of the analogy between the individual and the social
organism, which, indeed, is more than an analogy, being
in many respects a true identity of process and structure
and function. Our main business is with one property
which the social organism has in common with the
individual — namely, this, that it aggregates molecular
motions into molar ones. The molecules of a social
organism are the individual men, women, and children
of which it is composed. By means of it, actions which,
as individual, are insignificant, are massed together into
the important movements of a society. Co-operation, or
band-work, is the life of it. Thus it is able to ' originate
events independently of foreign determining causes,' or
to act with freedom.

Freedom in a society, then, is a very different thing
from anarchy. It is the organic action of the society as
such ; the union of its elements in a common work. As
Mr. Spencer points out, society does not resemble those

1 Swinburne, Songs before Sunrise.

262 COSMIC EMOTION.

organisms which are so highly centralized that the unity
of the whole is the important thing, and every part must
die if separated from the rest, but rather those which
will bear separation and reunion, because although there
is a certain union and organization of the parts in regard
to one another, yet the far more important fact is the
life of the parts separately. The true health of society
depends upon the communes, the villages and townships,
infinitely more than on the form and pageantry of an
imperial government. If in them there is band-work,
union for a common effort, converse in the working out
of a common thought, then the Eepublic is, and needs
not to be made with hands, though Caesar have his guns
in every citadel. None the less it will be part of the
business of the Kepublic, as she grows in strength, to
remove him. So long as two or three are gathered to-
gether, freedom is there in the midst of them, and it is
not until society is utterly divided into its elements that
she departs : —

Courage yet ! my brother or my sister !

Keep on ! Liberty is to be subserv'd, whatever occurs ;

That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two failures, or any number
of failures,

Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any unfaith-
fulness,

Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

Revolt ! and still revolt ! revolt !

What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents,
and all the islands and archipelagos of the sea ;

What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness
and light, is positive and composed, knows no discouragement,

Waiting patiently, waiting its time.

When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first to go, nor the

second or third to go,
It waits for all the rest to go — it is the last.

COSMIC EMOTION.

When there are no mare memories of heroes and martyrs,

And when all life, and all the souls of men and women are discharged

from any part of the earth,
Then only shall liberty, or the idea of liberty, be discharged from that

part of the earth,
And the infidel come into full possession.1

So far our cosmic conception is external. Starting
with organic action, as that which has affected the
evolution of life and all the works of life, we have found
it to have the character of freedom, or action from
within, and in the case of the social organism we have
seen that freedom is the organic action of society as such,
which is what we call the Bepublic. The Kepublic is 1
the visible embodiment and personification of freedom f
in its highest external type.

But the Republic is itself still further personified, in
a way that leads us back with new light to the concep-
tion of the internal cosmos. The practice of band-work,
or comradeship, the organic action of society, has so
moulded the nature of man as to create in it two
specially human faculties — the conscience and the
intellect. Conscience is an instinctive desire for those
things which conduce to the welfare of society ; intellect
is an apparatus for connecting sensation and action, by
means of a symbolic representation of the external world,
framed in common and for common purposes by the
social intercourse of men. Conscience and reason form
an inner core in the human mind, having an origin and
a nature distinct from the merely animal passions and
perceptions ; they constitute the soul or spirit of man,
the universal part in every one of us. In these are
bound up, embalmed and embodied, all the struggles

1 Whitman, Leaves of Grass, p. 363.

284 COSMIC EMOTION.

and searchings of spirit of the countless generations
which have made us what we are. Action which arises
out of that inner core, which is prompted by conscience
and guided by reason, is free in the highest sense of all ;
this at last is good in the ethical sense. And yet, when
we act with this most perfect freedom, it may be said
that it is not we that act, but Man that worketh in us.
He whose life is habitually governed by reason and
conscience is the free and wise man of the philosophers
of all ages. The highest freedom, then, is identical with
the Spirit of Man —

The earth-god Freedom, the lonely

Face lightening, the footprint unshod,

Not as one man crucified only

Nor scourged with but one life's rod ;

The soul that is substance of nations,

Reincarnate with fresh generations ;
The great god Man, which is God.1

The social organism itself is but a part of the univer-
sal cosmos, and like all else is subject to the uniformity
of nature. The production and distribution of wealth,
the growth and effect of administrative machinery,
the education of the race, these are cases of general
laws which constitute the science of sociology. The
discovery of exact laws has only one purpose — the
guidance of conduct by means of them. The laws of
political economy are as rigid as those of gravitation ;
wealth distributes itself as surely as water finds its level.
But the use we have to make of the laws of gravitation
is not to sit down and cry ' Kismet ! ' to the flowing
stream, but to construct irrigation works. And the use
which the Kepublic must make of the laws of sociology

1 Swinburne, Sonys before Sunrise.

COSMIC EMOTION. 285

is to rationally organize society for the training of the
best citizens. Much patient practice of comradeship is
necessary before society will be qualified to organize
itself in accordance with reason. But those who can
read the signs of the times read in them that the king-
dom of Man is at hand.

286

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCES

THE jubilee meeting of German naturalists and phy-
sicians at Munich last year (1877) was marked by an
incident which has deservedly attracted attention in this
country. Addresses were delivered to the Association,
among others, by three very eminent men, and, as was
natural on such an occasion, each of them took the form
of a review of the situation of science at this moment.
Hackel, of Jena, led the way by a discourse on the pre-
sent position of the evolution theory ; on the nature of
the evidence for various parts of it ; the bearing of it
upon mental science or psychology, upon education, and
upon morals. He was followed by Nageli, of Munich,
' On the Limits of Natural Knowledge,' who pointed out
that we have a limited number of senses, and that we
cannot deal with things which are too large, or too small,
or too far away, or with events which happened too
long ago ; but that if we will be satisfied with such
kind of knowledge as we can get, we do really know
something, and may come to know a great deal more.

But the words most listened to and most repeated
were undoubtedly those of Virchow, of Berlin, ' On the
Liberty of Science in the Modern State.' He recalled
the early days of the Association, when it had to meet
in secret for fear of the authorities ; and he warned his

1 Nineteenth Century, April 1878.

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 287

colleagues that their present liberty was not a secure
possession, that a reaction was possible, and that they
should endeavour to make sure of the ground by a wise
moderation, by a putting forward of those things which
are established in the sight of all men, rather than of
individual opinions. He divided scientific doctrines
into those which are actually proved and perfectly de-
termined, which we may give out as real science in the
strictest sense of the word ; and those which are still to
be proved, but which, in the meantime, may be taught
with a certain amount of probability, in order to fill up
gaps in our knowledge. Doctrines of the former class
must be completely admitted into the scientific treasure
of the nation, and must become part of the nation itself ;
they must modify the whole method of thinking. For
an example of such a doctrine he took the great in-
crease in our knowledge of the eye and its working
which has come to us in recent times, and the doctrine
of perception founded upon it. Things so well known
as this, he said, must be taught to children in the
schools. ' If the theory of descent is as certain as Pro-
fessor Hackel thinks it is, then we must demand its ad-
mission into the school, and this demand is a necessary
one.' And this, even although there is danger of an
alliance between socialism and the doctrine of evolu-
tion.

But, he went on to say, there are parts of the evo-
lution theory which are not yet established scientific
doctrines in the sense that they ought to be taught dog-
matically in schools. Of these he specially named two :
the spontaneous generation of li ving matter out of inor-
ganic bodies, without the presence of previously living

288 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

matter ; and the descent of man from some non-human
vertebrate animal. These, he said, are problems ; we
may think it ever so probable that living matter has
been formed out of non-living matter, and that man has
descended from an ape-like ancestor ; we may fully
expect that evidence will shortly be forthcoming to
establish these statements ; but meanwhile we must not
teach them as known and established scientific facts.
We ought to say, ' Do not take this for established truth,
be prepared to find that it is otherwise ; only for the
moment we are of opinion that it may be true'

There is something, I think, very natural and very
charming in this scene. The young apostle is full of
faith and hope, he has fought his way, undaunted by
little stumbles and disappointments, through great mo-
rasses of difficulty, and always he has seen his gospel
steadily marching on to its triumphant subjugation of
the ideal world ; and before this gospel accordingly he
summons the practical world to bow down. / Not so
fast,' -says the veteran, who, in his time, indeed, has been
bold enough, and taken sober men's breath away ; but
who now marches with careful steps, and is conscious of
his balance. ' Don't be quite so sure about it ; you will
turn everything upside down.' One is glad that on a
great occasion both sides had their say, and that the
word of caution came last, being prompted by the
word of courage ; and one hopes that on all similar oc-
casions there may be courage enough to justify a like
word of caution.

It is also very natural that this speech should have
been a source of great relief and comfort to many who
did not want to believe in the doctrine of descent, and

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 289

who feared that, somehow, they were going to be made
to believe in it. It seemed to them, in Dr. Tyndall's
words, that ' the world — even the clerical world — had
for the most part settled down in the belief that Mr.
Darwin's book (The Origin of Species) simply reflects
the truth of nature ; ' and that, on the penalty of
appearing somewhat singular, they would have to settle
down in the same belief themselves. But here is a very
eminent scientific man who says he is not quite sure
about it ; so the world, having only settled down under
the supposed weight of an authority which it is not yet
very fond of, begins to unsettle itself again ; and one
need not be at all singular in saying that there is really
nothing in the doctrine of evolution, because it is not
yet supported by facts.^ Indeed, the world has become
so much impressed with the importance of the rule that
you should not teach as a known fact that which is not
a known fact, that we may almost expect to hear a
bishop declare from his cathedral pulpit that the author-
ship of the Fourth Gospel is a doubtful question, and
that a man would be rash who fully made up his mind
to ascribe it to the apostle John.

It may therefore not seem amiss in one who is no
biologist, who is therefore a layman in regard to this
question of organic evolution, if he should endeavour
to lay to heart the warnings of Yirchow, and inquire
what practical bearing they have on the state of things
in our own country. This is what I now propose to
do ; but I shall . confine myself in the main to the
question of school teaching. I speak as a householder
to householders, on this matter of grave and common
concern : what shall we have taught to our children?

VOL. II. U

290 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

Of all the questions discussed in Virchow's speech, this
seems to me the most practical, and the most interesting
to us as a people.

For I do not think that we in England have much
cause to fear either a reaction which shall stop the
mouth of the scientific teacher, or a socialist revolution
founded on the doctrine of descent. It is true that
there are some among us who seriously dislike ' science,'
and who look with dread and suspicion on the teachers
of it. I am not attaching importance to the person-
alities of orthodox polemic, which, having ' no case,'
is compelled to ' abuse the plaintiff's attorney.' This
symptom is of weight only as a symptom, and as such
is understood by the intelligent public. ^But there are
men high in literature, in statesmanship, and in art,
whose good opinion, founded on knowledge, every man
of sense must count desirable, who yet withhold that
good opinion from the scientific teacher and the work
that he is doing. Notwithstanding this fact, I have
no fear that the attitude of mind of these men will be
intensified, or will become more general ; because it
seems to me to be clearly traceable to two circum-
stances, both of which are disappearing. I mean that
there are faults on both sides, and that both faults are
being mended.

The first fault is on the side of the scientific student ;
and yet it is not altogether his fault, because it comes
of the great change which is passing over our educa-
tional system. We have all been learning science— that
is, organized common sense — at school for some cen-
turies, and did not know what it was. But of recent
times our science has received enormous additions,

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 291

partly new sense, partly fresh organized ; and these
have now to be taught. The first generation of teachers
of the new science could naturally not learn it in places
where the old science, which we called a liberal educa-
tion, was to be learned. Some of them learned both,
with much labour, and searching, and picking up out of
stray corners ; but some went without a liberal educa-
tion altogether. And perhaps a few of these, when
they found what a demand there was for them and how
important they were, may have fallen into a mistake,
and taken their half- or quarter-culture for a whole
culture. Now when a man not only mistakes his half-
or quarter-culture for a whole culture, but thinks that
the culture which he does not possess is silly and worth-
less, then people who have received a liberal education
are apt to think him a bore. And it would be a hard
matter to prove them altogether in the wrong.

But this race, which bores a few and educates the
many, is patiently and surely exterminating itself. As
the new science makes itself at home in the school-house
of the old, as it is more taught and in a more civilized
manner, the mind of the student balances itself, and
recovers its sense of proportion. Exact observation
goes naturally enough with justice and simplicity of
statement ; the great inductions of human life and
feeling lighten up by resemblance and contrast the
great inductions of physics. Dynamics and Prose
Composition have met together ; Literature and Biology
have kissed each other. Perhaps not yet, but the good
time is coming. And in that time every scientific teacher
will have received such a many-sided culture, and will
be no longer a bore to anybody. Above all, he will

u 2

292 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

have studied that History of Culture itself, which is
the great unifier and justifier and purifier of all our
teaching.

The other fault is on the side of those who dislike
the new science ; it is the fault of being profoundly
ignorant of it. No public school boy thinks a man
uncanny because he knows a great deal of Greek ;
no member of Parliament imagines that a careful study of
ancient history, or even a revolutionary view about the
Iliad, might become a dangerous ally of socialism. It
is because he has learned a little Greek himself, and
knows what it is like. But if a man has morphology at
his fingers' ends, or is profound about organic radicles,
that is a man to beware of. There is no knowing what
theories he does not secretly foster. Or else he is a
mere impostor, and gets a great reputation for pottering
away at some silly trifles, being really no better than
an official in the Herald's Office : so hinted some
irreverent young scapegrace in the prologue to the
Westminster Play. Now it is clear that a statesman
who thinks a decimal coinage means the keeping of
shilling and pence accounts in terms of decimal fractions,
or a musician who really sees no difference between
Graham Bell's telephone and Wheatstone's telephonic
concert, may well be expected to misjudge exact
students, and their studies, and their aims. But in the
good time coming, when ' there shall be no Member of
Parliament who does not know as much of science as a
scholar in one of our elementary schools,' when also
benevolent old ladies may be expected to know one end
of a guinea-pig from the other, all this will be changed.
The man of science will be no more uncanny than the

r

IECHOW ON THE TEACHING OF

Greek scholar is now. And we may be quite sure tfiatfc
the average Englishman is not going to see a man
bullied for merely knowing a little more of what he
himself learned a little of at school. When he has
learned a little science himself, and knows what it is
like, he will have, it is true, a less superstitious reverence
for the authority of the investigator ; but then also he
will regard him as a citizen, having as good a right to
be trusted and respected, and to say his say upon matters
of common interest, as anybody else.

Such distrust or dislike of science, then, as is to be
found among us, is due to circumstances which are
rapidly disappearing, to misunderstandings and imper-
fect training, and not to that which alarmed our
Prussian colleague, a tendency in the expounders of
scientific doctrine to make too sure of things, to put
forward as known fact that which is not yet known
fact, but only conjecture. Indeed, our own scientific
teachers, notably Huxley and Tyndall, have for years
been impressing upon us this very thing, by example
and precept, in season and out of season — if indeed it is
possible for such warning to be out of season. And to
their testimony I shall hope to return presently, ^-

As to that other fear of Virchow's, that some cari-
cature of the true doctrine of evolution may become a
dangerous weapon in the hands of the socialist, it is a
thing somewhat difficult for us to understand. We
have a way of suspecting that when socialism is
dangerous, somebody or other is being badly treated.
We can conceive that it should cause uneasiness to a
repressive and meddling protectionist Government. But
in this country, where it would probably mean a kind

294 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

of alliance between co-operative stores and that very
respectable institution, the Metropolitan Board of Works,
we cannot undertake to be much alarmed about it.
Before any socialist measure could enter into practical
politics at all, it would have so far to commend itself
to the country as to be supported by a considerable
number of votes in the House of Commons ; and a
measure which can do that is a thing not to be shud-
dered at, but to be calmly discussed.

What really remains for us to consider, then, as of
English interest, is, as I said before, that question about
the teaching of our children. The principle laid down
by Virchow I shall assume as the basis of the discussion :
we ought not to teach to little children, as a known fact,
that which is not a known fact And the questions to be
discussed are, in what respects this canon is disobeyed
or in danger of being disobeyed : and what means we
should adopt that our system of teaching may be more
perfectly conformed to it. It seems to me that the second
question answers itself in the process of considering the
first one. I shall therefore now proceed to those doctrines
which, in Virchow's view, are in danger of being taught
with an assurance which is in advance of the actual
evidence for them.

And first, let us consider that very important
doctrine of the descent of man from some non-human
ancestor. ' There are, at this time, few students of
nature who are not of opinion that man stands in some
connexion with the rest of the animal world, and that
such a connexion may possibly be discovered, if not with
the apes, yet perhaps, as Dr. Yogt now supposes, at
some other point.' Notwithstanding this, Virchow says :

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 295

' We cannot teach, we cannot pronounce it to be a con-
quest of science, that man descends from the ape or any
other animal.' He bases this decision upon the absence of
such evidence from palaeontology in the case of man as
is found in the case of the horse. The horse (asses and
zebras being included under this name) is a one-toed
beast, thereby differing from all other mammals ; but,
as he has many points showing relationship with them,
it is probable that he is descended from a five-toed
ancestor. The problem is to find this ancestor. There
is no trace of him in the quaternary strata. If the
naturalist were confined to the evidence of those strata,
and were not particularly careful of his logic, he might
' declare that every positive advance which we have
made in the domain of prehistoric hippology has actually
removed us further from the proof of such a connexion.'
The doctrine of the descent of the horse from a five-toed
ancestor would, in fact, rest upon other grounds than
the actual discovery of the ancestral form. But the
ancestor of the horse has been found in the tertiary
strata. He has three toes in the more recent strata, and
four toes in the ear Her ; and, curiously enough, the
complete series is found in America, where there were
no horses at the time of its discovery by Europeans.
Now Man, on the other hand, is a complex-brained
animal, differing in this way and in some others from all
other mammals ; but since in other respects his whole
structure shows relationship with them, and especially
with the apes, it is probable that he is descended from
an ancestor with a simpler brain and a structure
generally bearing more resemblance to the common
Simian type. The problem is to find this ancestor.

296 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

There is no trace of him in the quaternary strata,
because the quaternary men are still men so far as their
bony structure is concerned, and we have no evidence
about the complexity of their brains, the pointedness of
their ears, or the hairy covering of their bodies. Nor,
as yet, has any decisive discovery been made of the
remains of man, or of any sufficiently man-like animal to
count as his ancestor, in the tertiary strata. Until we
find the missing link, says Virchow, the descent of man
from an ape-like ancestor is not a conquest of science.
When we do find the missing link, it will be a conquest
of science.

It will naturally, I think, strike anyone who, though
a layman, has gained a certain amount of secondhand
knowledge of this subject from books, that in this view
of the two cases the evidence of fossils is made rather
too much of, while other kinds of evidence are wholly
ignored. It is a bold thing to criticise the judgment of
a pathologist upon general doctrines of biology, when
one is oneself not a biologist in any respect. I will
therefore shelter myself under authority.

4 When we confine our attention to any one form
(says Darwin) we are deprived of the weighty arguments
derived from the nature of the affinities which connect
together whole groups of organisms — their geographical
distribution in past and present times, and their geolo-
gical succession. The homological structure, embryolo-
gical development, and rudimentary organs of a species,
whether it be man or any other animal, to which our
attention may be directed, remain to be considered ; but
these great classes of facts afford, as it appears to me,

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 297

ample and conclusive evidence in favour of the principle
of gradual evolution.' l

For example, it happens that the missing link
between man and the anthropoids has not yet been
found ; but there is a Miocene link which bridges a
greater gulf between two other families of apes.2 So
that kinds of evidence may exist in regard to an order
of animals which are wanting in the case of an indivi-
dual family of the order. But both the general analogy
of Nature, and the three great classes of facts considered
by Darwin in the special case of Man, are apparently
reckoned by Yirchow as of no practical weight, until the
bones of the missing link are safe in the glass cases of
a geological museum. I say apparently, because it
would be insulting a great man to suppose that he really
held such an opinion, which, moreover, is inconsistent
with the preface to the English translation of his speech.
In fact, this admirable speech, in so many ways like that
of a cabinet minister reassuring his Opposition, contains
more than one passage which, especially when isolated
and printed in capitals, it is easy for the Opposition to
interpret in a sense more favourable to its own views
than that which the speaker had in his mind.

Not only, however, are important kinds of evidence
left out of count, but as it seems to me — under guidance,
as before — the cogency of the evidence from fossils is
somewhat overrated. We must be very careful not to
be too sure of these conclusions, lest we should teach as
established results of science what are, after all, remote
and precarious inferences.

1 Preface to Descent of Man. * Descent of Man, i. 197.

298 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

6 We must recollect (says Huxley) that any human
belief, however broad its basis, however defensible it
may seem, is, after all, only a probable belief, and that
our widest and safest generalizations are simply state-
ments of the highest degree of probability. Though we
are quite clear about the constancy of the order of Nature,
at the present time, and in the present state of things,
it by no means necessarily follows that we are justified
in expanding this generalization into the infinite past,
and in denying, absolutely, that there may have been a
time when Nature did not follow a fixed order, when
the relations of cause and effect were not definite, and
when extra-natural agencies interfered with the general
course of Nature.'1

The fact is, we are not absolutely and theoretically
certain that these old three-toed and four-toed horse-
bones were not made, on purpose to deceive us, by the
devil ; himself, according to Cuvier, a horned and hoofed,
and therefore graminivorous animal, with more than one
toe on the hinder limb.2

This kind of tangible evidence, which gives us some-
thing definite to lay hold of, is peculiarly apt to produce
conviction without being properly understood. ' Is it
really true that our horses are descended from an ances-
tor with three toes, who lived a long time ago ? ' ' Why,
of course it is ; here's his hock.' It is something like
what occurs in the stage-plays, when somebody rushes
in to the hero, and says : ' Take these papers and guard

1 American Addresses, p. 3.

2 The devil is said to have appeared to Cuvier and threatened to eat
him. f Horns ? Hoofs ? ' said Cuvier. ' Graminivorous. Can't eat me.'
' All flesh is grass/ replied the devil, with that fatal habit of misapplying
Scripture which has always clung to him.

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 299

them carefully ; they prove that you are a prince.'
The sight of the bundle neatly done up in red tape pro-
duces conviction in a moment. But we subsequently
reflect that it may be a somewhat delicate and difficult
matter to prove by the aid of papers that a man is him-
self or anybody else ; and that there are other methods
of establishing personal identity, which are not less valid
in the courts.

I am not disparaging this palasontological evidence
for the descent of the horse, or saying a word inconsistent
with Huxley's conclusion that it is demonstration, in the
only sense in which demonstration can apply to an his-
torical fact. What I wish to point out is that it con-
tains many steps of reasoning which are rather difficult
to the apprehension of anyone who is not a specialist,
and which involve considerations somewhat abstract and
remote from the tangible facts on which they are founded.
The succession of strata in time, and the mode of their
deposition, especially the relations of European strata
with American ; these, and some other doctrines of
geology, are involved in the argument. Now, however
certain they may be, the evidence upon which they are
established is circumstantial and remote. It is easy
enough to the geologist, who is accustomed to it, but it
does require special study to master it fully. And there
is no trace whatever of these difficulties in the statement
' Here's his hock.' Convincing as that statement is, it
does not carry along with the conviction a fair estimate
of the evidence on which it is based.

With this consideration in mind, let us compare
again the evidence for the descent of man with that for
the descent of the horse. The generation of men of

300 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

any given race now existing is descended from parents
who on the average differed imperceptibly from them-
selves. This has not gone on for ever, because physical
evidence proves a beginning to the present state of the
earth. Were the first men also the offspring of parents
who differed imperceptibly from themselves, yet so that
the imperceptible difference came just where we draw
the line between man and not-man ? * Such a line would
of course be arbitrary, but we may suppose a certain
hundred generations, the change in each being imper-
ceptible, but still such that we should call the first not-
men and the last men. This is the supposition of a
non-human ancestor, as made by the evolutionist. v If
this supposition is rejected, the first men may have ori-
ginated (1) from parents differing largely from them in
structure ; (2) from non-living matter, or (3) from non-
existence, being men from the moment they began to
be. We are not bound to make any supposition at all
about the origin of the first men ; but if we do make
any supposition, it must be one of these.

Suppose, however, that we want not merely to make
a supposition, but to infer from the facts before us what
actually happened. Then we must make the assumption
that there is some sort of uniformity in nature.<*flWithout
this we cannot infer at all, for inference consists in
transferring the experience which we have had under
certain conditions to events happening under like con-
ditions, of which we have not had experience. It is
true that we cannot be absolutely sure of the uniformity
of nature, or that our present conception of it is right :
but still it is the only thing we have to go upon.
Human knowledge is never absolutely and theoretically

.

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 301

certain, but a great deal of it is practically certain,
which is all we want.

Now the production of man from non-li ving matter,
or the coming of any kind of matter into existence out
of nothing, are things so entirely without parallel in our
existing experience that we cannot infer them unless
our experience entirely changes its character. If clay
or mould would form itself into a human body a few
times, we might learn something about the conditions
under which such a transformation takes place, which
would enable us to infer that it had taken place before.
If matter would occasionally come into existence out of
nothing, we might say what kind of matter was most
likely to do such a thing ; whether buttons or sovereigns
were most gifted with this faculty, and so on. But even
so, some time must elapse before we could infer, because
our whole conception of the order of things would be
turned topsy-turvy X

If, therefore, we are to infer anything at all about ,
the origin of the first men, we must infer that they
descended from non-human ancestors. What sort of
ancestors these were, is, in the present state of know-
ledge, matter of conjecture merely. To guide this con-
jecture, we have ' the homological structure, embryo-
logical development, and rudimentary organs ' of exist-
ing men. Tha evidence of this kind set forth by Darwin
seems to point with very great probabili ty to an ancestor
more ape-like than man. Still these indications are not
so clear and unmistakable that a less ape-like ancestor,
as Yogt supposes, would be inconsistent with the unifor-
mity of nature. We are dealing with a long series of
similar events, the descent of each successive generation

802 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

from one very like it ; and though each event is an ex-
ample of what occurs habitually in our experience, yet
the effect of the whole series of such events is something
of which we can only get knowledge by means of palseon-
tological evidence. We can only, therefore, infer with
a very moderate amount of probability that men are
descended from this sort of animal or that sort of animal.
This is the point which will be set at rest by the missing
link. But I venture to think that the evidence for the
descent of man from some non-human ancestor will be
but very slightly strengthened by that discovery ; and
that it is now not perceptibly less cogent than that for
the descent of the horse.

For observe that each alike depends on the assump-
tion of the uniformity of Nature, That being given,
the descent of man follows from the originally fluid
condition of the earth, proved by physical observation
and reasoning. Failing that, the evidence for the descent
of the horse vanishes into thin air* It is not the least
bit more likely that man arose out of the dust of the
earth than that the devil made the American horse-
bones. Worse than this, quaternary man goes too.
' Quaternary man,' says Virchow, ' is no longer a problem,
but a real doctrine.' But how do you know that the
devil did not make the fossil men and all the flint imple-
ments ? This also is quite as likely as that a human
body was ever formed by the direct transformation of
non-living matter*

' Well then,' I hear my anxious friend say, with a
sigh of relief, ' we need not believe even in the antiquity
of man, or the evolution of horses. They are all doubt-
ful together.' My good soul, no student of science wants

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 303

you to believe anything unless you understand the
nature of the evidence for it, and then only to the
extent which is warranted by the evidence. There is
no occasion for you to form an opinion about these
questions. You need have no fear of being singular.
There is always the defence of the ensign who was
asked if he had seen Punch : ' Well, you know, the fact
is, I am not a reading man.' But if you wish to form
an opinion, there are many excellent manuals in which
you may learn the nature of the evidence and the methods
of reasoning on which such an opinion should be based.
If your opinion should be adverse to the views held by
other scientific students, you will do great service by
stating your objections. Do not suppose for a moment
that we want you to believe on any other terms.

But what we do hope, for your sake, is this : that
you will not allow any dishonest person to persuade you
to ^believe strongly in the doctrine of evolution, because
Virchow has admitted that certain parts of it are not
yet absolutely proved. It is one thing to believe that a
doctrine is false, and quite another thing to admit a
theoretical doubt about it.

I say a theoretical doubt, because it is a doubt founded
on the necessary imperfection of all human knowledge,
and not on any practical defect of the evidence. For a
doubt precisely similar in kind, though rather greater in
degree, attaches to the statement that the Eussians took
Plevna last year. The evidence for the truth of this
statement is, I admit, very strong, and I suppose no sane
man would be disposed to question it for a moment.
We have the testimony of all the newspaper corre-
spondents, the course of subsequent events, the special

304 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

information of the Government, and literally a whole
army of witnesses besides. Still, the Eussians may have
been one and all under a continuous hallucination, and
be even now in imminent danger from Osman Pasha.
Or those rascally papers may have laid their heads
together to deceive the whole British nation, down to
this hour. Either of these suppositions is a great deal
more likely than that the devil made the old horse-bones,
or that clay was transformed into a human body. To
be sure, they contradict our experience of the uniform-
ities of human action to such an extent that we cannot
seriously entertain them. But the uniformities of
human action are known with far less accuracy and
completeness than the uniformities which characterize
the generation of living bodies^. One man under an
hallucination is common enough ; one newspaper wrong
in its facts is well within our experience. So that we
have something to go upon in conceiving a widespread
delusion. But a man without any mother at all, a real
son of the soil, is a thing our experience gives us no
help towards conceiving.

If you went to a man of the world with this doubt
about Plevna, urging upon him that newspapers were
often mistaken, and begging him to consider it in buying
stocks, he would either take you for a lunatic and
humour your fancy, or he would say : ' Don't be so
silly ; I have no patience with you.' But the student
of science is obliged to have a great deal of patience,
and desires to have more.

It seems, then, that the difference between the
doctrines of the descent of horses and of the descent of
men is not that one is a known fact and the other a con-

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 305

jecture, because each of them is practically as certain
as such a doctrine can be, though subject to the theo-
retical doubt which attaches to all human knowledge.
And yet there certainly is a great difference between
the highly abstract and general considerations which go
to establish the one, and the more concrete, but still
rather difficult, arguments which prove the other. The
evidence in the two cases appeals to two different classes
of minds. The inference from a modern horse-bone to
the horse whose bone it was is a tolerably easy one,
which can be brought home to many minds. From a
fossil bone to the ancient animal is a more remote infer-
ence, which was at first made with considerable diffi-
culty ; yet still any person of ordinary intelligence may
be expected to grasp it. Then the geological inferences,
from stratified rocks to the sea or river which deposited
them, from successive position to successive age, and so
on, may have their way smoothed by concrete examples
so as to carry their due weight without much mental
strain. The biological inferences which connect the
modern horse with his fossil representative, based on
the structure of corresponding parts and the develop-
ment of the colt, involve reasoning of a rather more
abstract kind. But the whole of this evidence may be
fairly presented to a mind which is still incompetent to
form that general conception of the uniformity of nature
which makes the directly inorganic origin of man a
supposition not to be seriously entertained for a moment.
To grasp the idea of any law of nature requires a con-
siderable effort of abstraction, and that the idea may be
of any real use it must be founded on acquaintance with
the facts that come under the law. The general con-
VOL. n. x

306 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

ception of law which is contravened by the supposition
in question has to be abstracted from a knowledge of
many different laws, dynamical, physical, chemical, bio-
logical. This conception, therefore, implies a very wide
and many-sided training in facts, a very deep and
thorough training in logic, as its foundation. Much
education is required to enable the learner really to
estimate the evidence for the many-toed horse ; much
more is wanted for the clear comprehension of the
evidence for the simpler-brained man.

Here the education question, which has been under-
lying our whole discussion, is brought to the front. It
is clear that the evidence for these doctrines cannot be
taught until a late period in education. What are we
to do in the earlier periods ? Shall we say : ' Horses
had three-toed and four-toed ancestors ; by-and-by you
will learn how this was found out. We think, but are
not quite sure, that men had simpler-brained ancestors ;
by-and-by you will learn why we think so ' ?

It seems to me that this is the very worst thing we
can do ; that if we say this, we shall not only confuse
the child's head at the time with abstractions which it
is impossible that he should really grasp, but we shall
effectually prevent him from learning them properly in
the future. The true rule, I believe, is this : Before
teaching any doctrine p, wait until the nature of the evidence
for it can be understood.

This appears at first sight a very hard thing to do.
Yet it is really involved in Pestalozzi's great principle
that children should be made to find out things for
themselves. To make clearer the reasons for it, I will
consider a case which has the advantage of not being at

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 307

the present moment in controversy ; the case of the
teaching of chemistry. Suppose we were to begin
teaching chemistry by saying that carbon is made up of
atoms which have four hooks or hands by which they
can hold on to other atoms ; that oxygen atoms have
two hooks, and hydrogen atoms one. Consequently we
can hook two hydrogen atoms to an oxygen atom, and
this makes water ; or we can hook two oxygen atoms
to a carbon atom, making carbonic aoid ; or we can
hook four hydrogen atoms to a carbon atom, making
marsh-gas. Then we should utterly confuse the learner's
mind, and prevent him from learning chemistry after-
wards. These statements belong to the doctrine of
atomicities. Nobody doubts that these statements re-
present, in highly metaphorical language, real facts of
chemical action ; only Sir Benjamin Brodie says that since
the hydrogen atoms occur always in even numbers in
compounds made of carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen, we
ought to fasten them together in pairs, and call each
pair an atom with two hooks. What sort of thing we
should find, if we knew all about these atoms, answering
to the metaphor of the hooks, nobody knows. Without
a knowledge of the facts which they symbolize, these
statements are mere useless nonsense in anybody's
mind. They are worse than useless ; for they make
him think he knows the facts, and so prevent him from
really getting to know them.

On the other hand, we may follow Dr. Williamson's
method, show the children how to make carbonic acid,
and then pour it on a candle to put it out ; burn hydro-
gen to produce water, and so forth. When a few of
the commoner substances are real things to them, whose

x 2

308 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

properties they are familiar with, they may learn to
weigh and measure. Then the law of definite propor-
tions becomes legitimate teaching, and the law of gaseous
volumes. It is only necessary to verify these in a few
cases, that the nature of the evidence for them may be
understood.

Here arises a typical question. How, at this point,
shall we deal with the doctrine of molecules ? The
chemical evidence for it may now be clearly under-
stood ; but the chemical evidence leaves it still a hypo-
thesis. It becomes quite clear that the hypothesis
explains the facts, and links them together : but it does
not become clear that no other hypothesis will explain
the facts. I think there is every reason why it should
be taught as a hypothesis ; there are materials in the
pupil's mind for estimating the value of the hypothesis
in making the facts clear to him, and also for under-
standing why, at present, it is only hypothesis. And I
further think that, at this stage, no great harm will be
done by telling him that when he has learned enough
about heat and motion, he will find the hypothesis
turned into a demonstrated fact. i^

The doctrine of atomicities depends upon the various
combinations of the same set of elements with one
another. The facts on which it is based may be
described without introducing any totally new concep-
tions ; the nature of the evidence for it may therefore"
be understood by a pupil at this stage, without any
further experiment. I am not, of course, speaking of
the training of a specialist, but of that which should
form a part of general culture.

Of these two methods of teaching, there can be no

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 309

doubt that the latter will commend itself to the common
sense of every reasonable man. It insures that the
pupil shall learn to do things, that is, either to deal
practically with certain objects, or to use in thinking
certain conceptions ; not to think he knows things of
which he is really ignorant. And all the time it
cultivates a habit of accepting beliefs on the strength of
the evidence for them, of preferring true and honest
knowledge to sham knowledge. And it secures us
against the teaching, as known fact, of that which is not
known fact. The only danger in this respect is in the
doctrine of molecules ; and here we must impress very
carefully on our teachers that they should not miss the
important lesson in logic and in scientific procedure
involved in the conception of a hypothesis, and in
recognizing the imperfection of the evidence which
fails to exclude all other hypotheses.

Now let us go back from this chemical doctrine of
atomicities to the doctrine of evolution. In what form
shall we have the doctrine of evolution taught to our
children ? Certainly not as a dogma to be accepted on
the authority of the teacher, evidence for which may be
forthcoming afterwards. Certainly not at all until our
children are competent to understand the nature of the
evidence for it. Certainly not, therefore, first in its
most general form, and afterwards in special applications ;
but first in those special cases where the evidence is of
the simplest kind, most closely related to the facts ; and
then, as a consequence of the comparison of these cases,
the general doctrine may suggest itself.

Nevertheless, the teacher, knowing what is to come
in the end, may so select the portions of various subjects

310 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

which he teaches at an earlier stage that they shall
supply in a later stage a means of understanding
and estimating the evidence on some question of
evolution. He may, for instance, pay special attention
to hands and feet when he is teaching biology,
because these parts are of great importance in the
questions of the evolution of the horse and of the
relationship of man with the apes. Or in teaching
sociology, which is all about papa and mama, clothes,
houses, shops, policemen, halfpence, and such like, he
may specially single out those points in which civilized
folk differ from barbaric and savage folk, in order to
prepare the way for the historic and pre-historic
evidence which proves that we are a risen race and not
a fallen one. In other cases the doctrine of evolution
may guide the teacher in his methods. So much as the
psychologist may already infer with safety about the
evolution of mind, will lead him to found all abstract
notions on previously formed concrete ones ; to build
his houses out of carefully made bricks, instead of trying
to pull bricks out of castles in the air. And he will
endeavour to give clearness and solidity to the dawning
moral sense by leading to the easy observation that the
affairs of the nursery or the Kindergarten cannot go on
unless we tell the truth and let alone other folk's things.
The affairs should of course be such that a failure in
them would seem to the child a calamity too portentous
to be thought about.

In fact, as Hackel says, the effect of the doctrine of
evolution upon teaching and the methods of teaching
cannot fail to be enormous and widespread, quite in-

VIRCHOW OX THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 311

dependently of the direct teaching of any portions of
the doctrine itself.

Let us now go on to examine, in respect of their
fitness for education, certain other doctrines mentioned
by Virchow ; taking next the doctrine of Spontaneous
Generation.

' If you ask me (says Tyndall) whether there exists
the least evidence to prove that any form of life can be
developed out of matter independently of antecedent
life, my reply is that evidence considered directly con-
clusive by many has been adduced, and that were we to
follow a common example and accept testimony because
it falls in with our belief, we should eagerly close with
the evidence referred to. But there is in the true man
of science a desire stronger than the wish to have his
beliefs upheld ; namely, the desire to have them true.
And this stronger wish causes him to reject the most
plausible support, if he has reason to suspect that it is
vitiated by error. Those to whom I refer as having
studied this question, believing the evidence offered in
favour of " spontaneous generation " to be thus vitiated,
cannot accept it. They know full well that the chemist
now prepares from inorganic matter a vast array of
substances, which were some time ago regarded as the
sole products of vitality. They are intimately ac-
quainted with the structural power of matter, as
evidenced in the phenomena of crystallization. They
can justify scientifically their belief in its potency, under
the proper conditions, to produce organisms. But in
reply to your question, they will frankly admit their
inability to point to any satisfactory experimental proof

312 VmCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

that life can be developed, save from demonstrable
antecedent life.' l

What is the justification for this belief that non-
living matter can, under proper conditions, produce
organisms ?

There is a substance called acetylene, the molecule
of which is made of two atoms of carbon, holding
together by two hooks from each, and four atoms of
hydrogen each holding on by its one hook to a carbon
atom. It is made by driving hydrogen between the
tremendously hot carbon points of an electric light ;
directly, therefore, from the elements. If we make
acetylene pass through a red-hot tube, we shall get
what is called benzene. A molecule of benzene is a game
of round-the-mulberry-tree played by six carbon atoms,
each one holding by two hooks to its right-hand neigh-
bour and one to its left, while it keeps the remaining hook
for a hydrogen atom. It is therefore made of three mole-
cules of acetylene, each of which has dropped two
hydrogen atoms in order to join hands with the other two
molecules. How does this molecule of benzene get
made out of the three molecules of acetylene ?

There are two answers. If anybody likes to assert
that benzene can never be made out of acetylene without
the presence of pre-existing benzene, it is impossible to
disprove his statement. We should have no means of
discovering the presence of two or three molecules of
benzene vapour in the original hydrogen that we made
the acetylene of. It is known that the first step is often
a difficulty in the formation of chemical compounds, and
that when the process has once begun, the new com-

1 Belfast Address.

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 313

pound has the property of assisting the formation of its
like. Nobody knows why this is.

No chemist, however, will, as a matter of fact, make
this supposition about benzene. It is generally held
that the benzene molecule is formed by the collision of
three acetylene molecules in favourable positions. This
collision is a coincidence. Each molecule meets another
molecule many millions of times in a second ; but I am
not aware that anybody has calculated the number of
times it meets two other molecules at once. We must
know a great deal more of the constitution of atoms
before we can calculate what proportion of these triple
collisions is favourable to the formation of a benzene
molecule ; but there can be no doubt that the coinci-
dence takes place an enormous number of times per
second in every cubic centimetre of the gas, because a
perceptible quantity of benzene is obtained.

There is another substance which can be made out
of six carbon atoms and six hydrogen atoms, by fastening
them together in a different way. I forget the name of
it, but it is an unstable and explosive substance, which
breaks itself up on the slightest provocation. We do
not find this mixed up with the benzene, although the
coincidence which formed it may have occurred quite
as often as that which formed benzene. It becomes
extinct because it is not adapted to the conditions.

On the other hand, we do find some more complex
compounds mixed up with the benzene. These may
have been partly made by collision of benzene molecules
with acetylene molecules : partly by coincidences of a
more elaborate character, such as the collision of four
or five acetylene molecules. These are all stable ; that

314 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

is to say, they are suited to the conditions, and therefore
they survive.

Observe, then, that in this very simple case of the
formation of an organic body (in large quantities ben-
zene is always prepared from coal-tar) it is produced
by a coincidence, and preserved by natural selection

If we take thirteen carbon atoms instead of six, and
combine them only in the simplest ways, so as to form
an open chain with branches, it has been calculated by
Cayley that 799 compounds are possible. How many
of these are stable at a given pressure and temperature,
nobody knows. In a gaseous mixture of paraffins, the
coincidence necessary to form each one of them may
occur many thousand times a second. Only those can
survive which are stable under the given conditions.
Such natural selection determines, for example, the
compound ethers which go to make up the flavour of a
pear.

Now those persons who believe that living matter,
such as protein, arises out of non-living matter in the
sea, suppose that it is formed like all other chemical
compounds. That is to say, it originates in a coinci-
dence, and is preserved by natural selection. Only in
this case the coincidence is of the most elaborate and
complex character. I once saw an estimate of the
number of carbon atoms in a molecule of albumen. I
cannot now lay my hands on the book in which I found
it, but there were three figures in it. I do not believe,
on the strength of that estimate, that there are over
a hundred carbon atoms in a molecule of albumen ;
because, from the nature of the substance, I cannot
imagine any evidence on which it might be securely

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 315

founded. But there can be no doubt that all the forms
of living matter are enormously complex in chemical
constitution. Now there may, of course, be half-way
houses, less complex forms out of which they may be
built up, just as acetylene forms a half-way house to
benzene. Still, the coincidence involved in the forma-
tion of a molecule so complex as to be called living,
must be, so far as we can make out, a very elaborate
coincidence. How often does it happen in a cubic mile
of sea- water ? Perhaps once a week ; perhaps once in
many centuries ; perhaps also, many milh'on times a
day. From this living molecule to a speck of protoplasm
visible in the microscope is a very far cry ; involving,
it may be, a thousand years or so of evolution. Possibly,
however, the molecule has from the beginning that
power which belongs to other chemical bodies, and
certainly to itself when existing in sensible masses, of
assisting the formation of its like. Once started, how-
ever, there it is ; the spontaneous generation, believed
in as a possibility by the evolutionist, has taken place.

Why then do the experiments all ' go against '
spontaneous generation ? What the experiments really
prove is that the coincidence which would form a Bac-
terium— already a definite structure reproducing its like
— does not occur in a test-tube during the periods yet
observed. Such a coincidence is the nearest thing to a
' special creation ' that can be distinctly conceived. The
experiments have nothing whatever to say to the pro-
duction of enormously simpler forms, in the vast range
of the ocean, during the ages of the earth's existence.

Allowing that this makes the thing possible, does it
give any reason for believing that it has actually taken

316 V1RCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

place ? We might get a direct demonstration if we
knew the constitution of protein, and could calculate
the chances of the coincidence which would lead to its
formation in the sea. But on the other hand we have
an argument precisely like that which we used in the
case of the descent of man. We know from physical
reasons that the earth was once in a liquid state from
excessive heat. Then there could have been no living
matter upon it. Now there is. Consequently non-
living matter has been turned into living matter some-
how. We can only get out of spontaneous generation
by the supposition made by Sir W. Thomson, in jest
or earnest, that some piece of living matter came to
the earth from outside, perhaps with a meteorite. I wish
to treat all hypotheses with respect, and to have no
preferences which are not entirely founded on reason ;
and yet, whenever I contemplate this

simpler protoplastic shape
Which came down in a fire-escape,

an internal monitor, of which I can give no rational
account, invariably whispers ' Fiddlesticks ! '

I think, however, that the nature of the evidence
which makes spontaneous generation probable is such
that we cannot teach it in schools except to very
advanced pupils. And the same thing may be said of
the doctrine of evolution as a whole, regarded as involv-
ing the nebular hypothesis.

' Those who hold (says Tyndall) the doctrine of
evolution are by no means ignorant of the uncertainty of
their data, and they only yield to it a provisional assent.
They regard the nebular hypothesis as probable, and in
the utter absence of any proof of the illegality of the

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 317

act, they prolong the method of nature from the present
into the past. Here the observed uniformity of nature
is their only guide. Having determined the elements
of their curve in a world of observation and experiment,
they prolong that curve into an antecedent world, and
accept as probable the unbroken sequence of develop-
ment from the nebula to the present time.'

When I was seven or eight years old, I came across
an article in Chambers' Journal upon Plateau's experi-
ments with rotating oil-drops, and their bearing on the
nebular hypothesis. I was highly delighted with this,
and made notes of it on the fly-leaves of a book of Bible
stories. My notion was that creation was precisely a
large Plateau's experiment. Now I am pretty sure that
this unfortunate circumstance retarded my knowledge
of the nebular hypothesis by some years, because it
gave me an idea that I knew all about it already.

Besides the nebular hypothesis, there are other
doctrines about the origin of the world which it seems
undesirable to have taught to our children. One 1 is an
account of a wet beginning of things, after which the
waters were divided by a firm canopy of sky, and the
dry land appeared underneath. Plants, and animals,
and men, were successively formed by the word of a
deity enthroned above the canopy. Another account is
of a dry beginning of things, namely a garden, subse-
quently watered by a mist, in which there were no
plants until a man was put there to till it. This man
was made from the dust of the ground by a deity, who
walked about on the earth, and had divine associates,

1 See that admirable book, The Bible for Young People (Williams &
Norgate, 1873).

318 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

jealous of the man for sharing their privilege of knowing
good from evil, and fearful that he would gain that of
immortality also. The deity had taken a rib out of the
man, and made a woman of it.

I do not see that we should mind the teaching of
these stories, so long as others are taught along with
them, such as that of the Chaldee God Bel, who cut off
his head, moistened the clay with his blood, and then
made men out of it ; or of the Gods of our own race,
Odin, Yale, and Ye, who walked about the earth until
they found two trees, one of which they made into a man,
and the other into a woman ; or of Deucalion and
Pyrrha, who threw stones over their heads, which
became men and women. As soon as ever they can
understand them children may be taught the reasons why
the first two stories are quite different from the others,
and, though contradictory, both of them true ; as, for
example, the nature of the evidence which connects or
disconnects the stories with Moses, and which proves
that Moses could have known anything about the origin
of the world. But we ought not, I think, to allow either
of these stories to be taught to our children as a known
fact It will be better to prepare them that they may
by-and-by understand the attitude of the lover of truth
towards these problems.

' If you ask him whence is this " matter "... who
or what divided it into molecules, and impressed upon
them this necessity of running into organic forms, he has
no answer. Science is mute in reply to such questions.
But if the materialist is confounded, and science is
rendered dumb, who else is prepared with an answer ?

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 319

Let us lower our heads and acknowledge our ignorance,
priest and philosopher, one and all.

' Hi a (the scientific man's) refusal of the creative
hypothesis is less an assertion of knowledge than a
protest against the assumption of knowledge which must
long, if not for ever, lie beyond us, and the claim to
which is the source of perpetual confusion upon earth' 1

I do not propose to discuss here those difficult
questions which were raised by Hackel and Nageli about
the relation of body and mind ; because I hope soon to
have an opportunity of dealing with them separately.
But in regard to the teaching in schools of abstract and
general conclusions derived from this branch of science
still so very imperfect, so much in the air, it seems to
me that Virchow has spoken with the utmost practical
wisdom. The basis of it, indeed, the one point of firm
ground on which the structure of mind-and-body lore
can be built, is fully suited for teaching, as Virchow
himself has pointed out. The theory of the eye, slowly
elaborated from Lionardo to Kepler, from Kepler to
Helmholtz, and the doctrine of perception founded
upon it, these supply a safe foundation for whatever
more may come. But the Plastidule-soul can take no
harm by waiting awhile, until we are a little more
clear about what we mean by it.

And this same judgment applies necessarily to
another abstract and general conclusion from an un-
proved doctrine about body and mind ; the conclusion
that a man's consciousness survives the decay of his
body. Such a conclusion can be at best, in the present
state of knowledge, a hope, a conjecture, an aspiration ;

1 Tyndall, Fragments, pp. 421, 548.

320 VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE.

it can have no claim to be regarded as a known fact.
Those who hold to it may think it highly probable, they
may strongly desire that it should be true, they may
eagerly expect that better evidence will shortly be
forthcoming ; but they cannot be justified in teaching
it to little children as a known fact. Of such a doctrine,
surely, if of any doctrine, we ought to say : ' Do not
take this for established truth ; be prepared to find that
it is otherwise ; only for the moment we are of opinion
that it may possibly be so.'

And in this case the reasons for such caution are
deeper and stronger than the merely intellectual ones,
because of the vast hold of this doctrine upon the
hearts, and its serious influence upon the actions, of men.
You, who teach it to your children, do so from the
highest of motives, because you believe that it will in-
fluence their character for good, and strengthen them
in the course of right conduct. But there are two
things which you should carefully consider. The first
is, that by teaching the doctrine too early you weaken
its effect, because you teach it while it can be only half
realized, and so prevent it from being realized afterwards.
Dr. Martineau testifies to the greater power of a belief
in immortality gained by the believer for himself, and
strengthening a moral sense which has been formed on a
different basis. Teach your children to do good and to
eschew evil ; if in later life they can find hope of an
eternity of such action, it will make them happier and
may make them better. But the experience of centuries
condemns the practice of teaching the doctrine to little
children, so as to make it familiar as an ill-understood
conception, to weaken the power it might have for

VIRCHOW ON THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE. 321

good, and to help the perversion of it to superstitious
uses.

The second point to be considered is the frightful
loss and disappointment you prepare for your child if,
as is most probable in these days, he becomes convinced
that the doctrine is founded on insufficient evidence.
It is not merely that you have brought him up as a
prince, to find himself a pauper at eighteen. He may
have allowed this doctrine to get inextricably intertwined
with his feelings of right and wrong. Then the over-
throw of one will, at least for a time, endanger the other.
You leave him the sad task of gathering together the
wrecks of a life broken by disappointment, and wonder-
ing whether honour itself is left to him among them.
Leave him free of this doctrine, and his conscience will
rest upon its true base, safe against all storms ; for it is
built upon a rock. Then he can never reproach you
with raising hopes in him which knowledge is fated to
blast, and with them, it may be, to blast the promise of
his life.

THE END.

LONDON : PRINTED BY

BPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET

VOL. II.

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