There are lives of men plainly told, and undoubted, where
_re_-formation,--that is _self_-formation,--appears like a flash of
electric fire. The Will in such men has energized, just as intellect
flashes out in its noblest condition of genius; and can best be
described by the poet or the seer who knows what it is to create, and
new create. These lives more than realize Cæsar's boast;--the truly
human soul came to itself,--saw itself,--and overcame. The conqueror
did a deed which, (truly done,) was done for ever, and yielded him the
presage of perpetual peace.

Histories of self-conquest do, however, remarkably differ in respect
of the _time_ employed upon the work. Some victories are, as we have
said, rapid and brilliant as the march of Alexander,--others slow
and embarrassed, like the weary path of a pilgrim through deserts of
rolling sand. But no pilgrim who is in earnest need despair. Putting
aside all consideration of supernatural aid, he may take courage from
the essential greatness of his own human being, when contrasted with
the being of all creatures below mankind.

The _comparison_ sets out from this question:--What can merely animal
nature do to raise itself? Man, we know, can train certain brutes--he
can entrap all;--but no brute can in any wise deliver himself from the
snare of a single appetite. The weakness, as well as the strength, of
animal intelligence lies in the vividness of its instincts. Animals
appear conscious of the working of powers within themselves; and they
apprehend those functions, with the performances of which their powers
are correlated. Hence, in part at least, the pleasure of a bird in
nest-building; a bee in storing her comb, or a predacious creature in
its successful pursuit of prey. But the relation between animal power
and function appears so nearly fixed, as to be hedged round by narrow
limits; and only in a _very_ small degree susceptible of modification.
So far as we can discover, the brute is deficient in the means of
self-education, for _three_ distinct reasons. _One_, because he cannot
escape fulfilling the normal functions of his unreasoning impulse. In
the _second_ place, because he is unable to overcome the urgency of
one innate power, by opposing to it the claims and vigour of another.
_Thirdly_, he can never introduce anything new into the relativity
between power and function. He can command no spring of high aim or
creative thought, which might give new purpose to his better powers,
or open out some further sphere of activity before unknown.--Were this
possible, he might lift the functions of his common life above their
old destinies, and above themselves.--And _this_ would be a work of
self-education.

To pursue our comparison,--we must remember that the ability for
self-education and the capacity for being educated, are correlatives;
and we may measure the one by the other. The animal world has never
shewn strength enough to raise itself very high;--it has never ceased
to be distinctly animal. But, has it ever possessed latent powers
for which opportunity was always wanting? Mankind, for their own
purposes, have (we know) continually been testing[ao] the endowments
of inferior creatures. How high, then, can man by his endeavours
raise the animal race?--He can generally train them to a greater
quickness in the exercise and nicety of their own instinctive powers,
and a more enduring performance of their instinctively presented
functions. By reward and punishment, he can inure them to some degree
of self-restraint; and he takes advantage of a thousand pretty impulses
and fondnesses of animal nature, to call into being attachment,--nay,
often passionate devotion,--towards himself. In this sense, Man has
been styled the God of his domestic brute--his horse, his dog, his
elephant. It would be a curious subject of reflection, to inquire what
effect might possibly be produced upon the _human_ mind by the visible
presence, and incessant influence, of beings, as much higher than
men, as men are higher than brutes? The moment we start this idea in
our minds, it is difficult to evade an impression that Man must be a
desolate creature, if he can never in some way see the Invisible.[ap]

To leave this curious point. Nothing appears more really conclusive
against all supposed capacity for _great_ development, than the
history of what are called "learned animals";--of the mechanical means
necessarily employed for teaching them, and the mechanical results
obtained. There is indeed no better word to describe the true state of
the case; than the term "mechanical," as opposed to everything that
is ideal, or truly creative.[aq] If a brute could idealize the laws
of outward nature,--or the laws connecting his own powers with their
proper functions, he might see them as a Man does, and give them a
fresh existence within his own intelligence. He would then be able to
invent an alphabet, conceive a picture, and view the properties of
outward objects as universals inwardly apprehended. In this way, he
would acquire exemption from the reign of mechanism, and live a really
creative life. Possible conceptions--ideal functions--would require
new powers to realize them;--and these powers would be searched for
and found. Or, _vice versâ_, an idealized power,--a power seen, (not
as it is, but as it may be)--would lead to the discovery of fresh
functions,--new fields of enterprise,--new realms of imagination.

It is manifest at a glance, how far in fact these conquests are from
the world of creatures, by us, therefore, called unreasoning. Art,
letters, and abstract thought, are no visitants of the animal sphere.
Words cannot come where thoughts are not; and therefore language, in
the _human_ meaning of language, is unknown to brutes.[190] And no
effort made by Man has ever been successful in sharing with his humble
companions any one--(much less all) of these attainments. His artistic
sense of Beauty, and power of giving it varied expression, find no
Echo beneath himself; he can in no wise teach by historical record,
poetry, abstract calculation, or abstract thought. Neither can he
impart the true secret of social sympathy,--and forbid the stricken
deer to weep and die alone. Intelligence without imagination, cannot
conceive a sorrow so lonely or unseen. Therefore, it knows little of
deep sorrow,--for even the mortally-wounded bird will strive to hide
its wound.[191]

Now, in each and all of these respects, every human being devoted to
self-education starts from the plain fact, that Man is _educable_:--

    "Parents first season us,--then schoolmasters."

The master of many a middle-school has frequent occasion to say with
Horace;

                    ----"At ingenium ingens
    Inculto latet hoc sub corpore."--

And the schoolmaster, also, knows that a little spark will often light
into fire some vast store of emotional as well as intellectual elements
lying asleep within.[192]

We therefore speak (if we speak correctly), of educating an animal in a
totally different sense from educating a boy. For, facts are as we have
stated them, whatever theories may be.

There is _one_ more point of contrast to stimulate and encourage
the self-educating portion of Mankind; and this point is the most
characteristic endowment essential to Humanity. A man is not creative
by virtue of his ideals alone, however bright and beautiful those
visions of his intellect may be. He calls into existence that, which as
yet is not, by virtue of his Will. We know this, although inexplicable,
to be true;--partly from the evidence of our own Consciousness,--which
asserts that it is so, and partly from the evidence of Morality,--which
says that it must necessarily be so. Were it otherwise, no amount
of Criminality could make a Criminal responsible. And this truth of
responsibility is one which may occasion serious reflection to us all;
to some of us sad remembrances.

Man, considered as causal or creative mind, cannot but act upon the
world without, as well as the world within himself. And perhaps the
nearest idea we are able to form of the process of _production_, is
the _inter_-action of power and function, evoked by a Will, (that
is a Cause); and continuing operative by aid of ordinary laws and
relativities of nature.[ar] One man resolves to construct a steam
engine, and on steam-power he concentrates his thought. He conceives
the relation between watery vapour and propulsion;--and by using
arbitrary signs, formulates and measures it. Then, he considers the
laws and properties of metals, fits each contrivance into place and
produces his machine. _Another_ determines to commit a murder. He
wavers--debates--wills the deed, and says,--

                "I am settled, and bend up
    Each corporal agent to this terrible feat."

Every reader of Macbeth sees displayed before his eyes the airy dagger;
the human muscle strained to clutch the shadow first,--afterwards,
the reality;--the time, place, circumstances, all combined, followed
up--worked out, till the murderous man has chained all conditions of
success to his behest;--fulfilled his slowly-matured purpose,--and
become, as in Will, so in act, a murderer. A _third_ human being
endeavours to invent a method for teaching the deaf and dumb;--spends
a life in labouring among his silent tomb-like pupils, and succeeds to
his joy and their inestimable benefit at last. He awakens powers lost
in the shadow of death, and incites them to the performance of those
true and appropriate functions, from which they had been incapacitated
by a dwarfed and thwarted development. Before he aroused them, all
such powers were only possibilities, visible to his hopeful eye. Now,
they are utilized and happy activities; and, like impulses down a
long electric chain, perpetuate themselves for generations after the
benevolent inventor is taken from the race he had loved and educated.

There are _two_ features in which all these productive men resemble
each other. _One_, the creative influence of a purely human will,
which not only sees what is not as though it is,--but also determines
that it shall be. The _other_, a way of looking at, or rather, through
Nature, as something more than an assemblage of facts or phenomena;--of
penetrating to the _mind_ of Nature,--her ideal laws legible by the
intellectual eye of Man;--and finally, of putting each required law
into motion,--that is to say, converting an idea into a force, by the
movement of the producer's Will.

And the same is true of every useful producer, from the man who grows
corn and wine, to the politician by whose foresight is arranged a
treaty which gives Europe the blessing of half a century's peace. There
is, probably, no example of production more definite than the work of a
real statesman. A gifted human mind determines to pursue the thing that
is just and right and good; sees where the means to be utilized may be
found and enforced; touches the right spring of activity and power, and
leads his fellow-men into a path of precedent or constitution for which
ages may consecrate his memory.--But, let us suppose that he or any
other true producer falls short of realizing his idea. Then, the act of
Will would be in its _essence_ as noble a reality as the deed itself.
Yet the work intended,--the _production_ must needs be lost. Creative
will, as an efficient cause, would have moved within the moral sphere;
but beyond, and into the outside world of men and things, its activity
must have failed to penetrate.

When the case comes before us in this manner and is fairly weighed, we
see that the man who wills a good choice, reflects to his fellows the
image we are accustomed to call Divine. And that the man who produces
a good act reflects to his fellows the further likeness and idea of
a Creator. The will of man reflects a supreme will, when it refuses
the evil and chooses the good;--the creative energy of man reflects a
supreme energy, when it produces actual good; working and remaining
effectual in the world. These human reflections may be feeble shadows,
and far away from the Supreme;--as distant as earth and stars asunder,
but they are typical images nevertheless. Man, in whom the Theist
finds the impress of God, is by his power of Causality, as far raised
beyond the laws of material existence, as animal life and movement are
superior to the clods of soil on which the living creature walks, with
a consciousness of being exalted above what he treads upon.

If these far away reflections, so striking to a Theist, are, by an
unbeliever, pronounced insufficient proofs of Theism,--they remain
still of very great value to the argument--Who shall, in the teeth of
them, assert a reign of law in opposition to a reign of Causation,
when we perceive that Causality is the grand endowment underlying
the highest intelligence in this world, and distinguishing man from
every inferior creature? A large class of objections dies in the
fact that there is _known_ to us a power which can truly _originate_
actions;--a clear spring of volitional creativeness. And, as we have
already seen, it is this human power which endows us with the faculty
of self-education, and, at the same time, lays upon us the burden
of responsibility. It exempts Man from what would otherwise be an
iron chain of antecedents and consequents, linked together by mere
mechanical laws. Man, we are sure, may interpolate in this chain; he
may commence a new series within and over-riding it. The non-Theist
would (if consistent), describe such an act of will as a miracle.
Nevertheless, it is true to every-day life, and each guilty person,
justly condemned, is a living example of this truth.

Any reader who has been deterred from admitting the arguments for
Theism by the strength of objections apparently unanswerable, may
feel, if he will thoughtfully reperuse this chapter, that many very
formidable difficulties have melted away. He may also be inclined to
admit that, if _facts_ are to be considered the best grounds for
reasoning with probability from the known to the unknown, the facts
of nature, (including human nature,) make not against, but for,
the conclusions of Natural Theology. And they do so all the more
stringently, because they coincide with the higher and more spiritual
tendencies of Man's being,--with the beliefs and aspirations of the
most nobly endowed among his race.

Many readers will go further than this. They will perceive in the
constitution of our distinctive nature, and more particularly in the
movement of Volition, a really probable though far away similitude with
the producing Cause of all things. At all events they will say that
no other similitude or illustration has ever been conceived with so
much probability. To such minds the argument would appear sufficiently
convincing if shaped as a very wide application of the analogous
reasoning stated in our Chapter on Design. The limitations there laid
down should in this case be carefully observed; above all as regards
the _pivot_ on which such an argument must turn.

A larger class of readers may prefer to leave the field of this
inviting analogy untouched; and remain content with having noted its
resources in passing. They will thus prefer to pursue the more direct
line of thought already adopted, especially since it has the merit of
avoiding even the most shadowy apparent assumption of the principle
invidiously termed Anthropomorphism. We therefore continue to place
Man's causative nature side by side with external Force, and to set
the powers he exercises as an inventor, artist, and producer, over
against those natural powers we see elicited and brought to light by
his activities. This is the aspect of the world to which the Relativity
between Power and Function most obviously conducts us. Surveyed from
this aspect it becomes plain that Nature is not entirely a soulless
mechanism;--but that the Mind of Man finds something which corresponds
to his human Thought, and which answers the touch of his idealizing
impulse by implicitly obeying it. He is able, in this manner, to
distinguish Nature's Mind from Nature's raw material.

Most of us are so accustomed to look at the world _ab extrâ_, and
place ourselves in antithetical opposition to it, that we experience
a kind of embarrassment in changing our point of view, and considering
how much Nature and human nature correspond and harmonize together.
There is something strange to many persons, in the thought that _law_
is an _idea_ put into operation;[as] that, when we speak of the
dynamic agencies and living forces of nature, the dynamism is derived
from _intelligence_; the life springs from mind. This is one of the
puzzles and perplexities which hang a veil between God, who is pure
Reason, and this outside world. No doubt there is much that appears
dark and enigmatic in every attempted explanation of the subject.
Yet it is clear that, whatever our conception of matter and mind may
be, one of these two must be resolvably consequent upon the other;
and the efforts of physicists have been strained for many years to
diminish the distance between them. With these efforts, however, we
have nothing to do beyond very distinctly adducing them[at] in order
to shew where this particular difficulty really lies, and that it is
by no means a special question of Natural Theology. The point for
us, is rather to see how much we can discern respecting the action
of Mind _in_ and _upon_ Nature. To see, that is, how many facts the
realities of Production teach us. And throughout the whole realm of
Productiveness (commencing from the steam-engine and ending with human
self-formation), there is a certain sameness of procedure and of
principle transparently discernible. And this truth, fairly examined,
yields more than one kind of argument for Theism.

At the first blush of the subject, it is evident that the

scientific producer when he _begins_ to move, starts from the Causal
power of mind. He moves _through_ ideas or impulses of which he is
internally conscious, and which present to him a chosen aim to be
realized, a goal to be attained. It is equally evident that, when his
aim is to make or effect something external to himself, he _next_
proceeds to discover or accept one or more principles, existing _for
Mind alone_,[193] but operative in Nature. Such principles yield to his
reason the requisite proportionate relation of _Power_ employed, to
_Function_ designed. Upon this intelligent perception of intelligible
laws, he acts;--it works well, and succeeds;--and from this experience
of working and success, he finds for his productive _intelligence_ a
daily and hourly _verification_.

It is well to place this subject in various lights before reasoning
upon it. We may illustrate the relativities or laws, through which
Intelligence acts, by saying that they are to the fabric of the
world, what the motory nervous system is to a highly-developed living
organism. And, putting aside for a moment the intellectual agency of
man, and applying our similitude to illustrate natural production
alone, we may say that, just as the _mandatory nerves_ imply some
_volitional_ centre, so these _intelligent laws_ presuppose a _mind in
Nature_. And we may not only make this clearer, but also evidence it
more certainly, by pointing to the fact that amidst Nature's almost
infinite manifoldness, we see everywhere harmony, symmetry, order.
Forces, like lines of light, traverse the world, illuminating, (so to
speak), the moving scenes of its magnificent transparency. And the one
electric lamp that sends forth those illuminating rays, typifies the
Unity from which emanate all cosmical Forces, and which shines visibly
through them all.[au]

There is nothing imaginative or metaphysical involved in this
statement. It amounts to no more than what many very eminent physicists
lay down, as implicitly contained in their sciences. On _this very_
ground, Professor Baden Powell holds the validity of the argument
from Design, as was mentioned in a former chapter. He puts the case
into a few words thus:--"In the present state of knowledge, law and
order, physical causation and uniformity of action, are the elevated
manifestations of Divinity, creation and providence."[194] A few
passages further on, he repudiates with scorn the vulgar supposition
that physical science can be confined to the circle of outward
experience alone;[195] it includes within itself the principle of
directing intelligence. According to Comte himself, "un fait s'explique
par un fait d'un ordre supérieur, dont la perfection est sa raison,
dont l'action qu'elle renferme est sa cause."[196]

It does indeed seem as impossible to deny the existence and operation
of _Mind_ in Nature, as it is to deny the existence and consciousness
of our own minds. No tenable reason can ever be assigned why, when
we look forth into the world surrounding us, we should be able to
ascertain the fact of corporeal existence by means of our bodily
senses, and be, at the same time, unable to ascertain the fact of
existing intelligence by means of our mental intuitions. Each kind
of existence has its appropriate evidence, and _both_ sorts of
evidence claim our belief by appealing to the veracity of our human
consciousness.

If, therefore, it were possible to say with certitude "There is no
God," the certainty would not, because it _could_ not, eliminate
Mind from the Universe. The law of production exists in, and for the
Mind,--and so far as we can know, Mind in some shape or other works
through the intelligible law.[av] Suppose we frame a crucial case for
investigation.

Without speculating upon the first origin of things natural--without
taking into the inquiry any preconception of a Divine personality--let
us inquire what the world of Nature as it now exists can teach any
man respecting the _kind_, _degree_, or _condition_ of Mind, which
regulates and moulds it? We are obliged to say "moulds it";--for Nature
is not presented to us as an inert mass. We see movement, change, and
activity everywhere. And this fact makes a vast difference to the
present question.

Let us, then, suppose the inquirer setting out from an attempt to
conceive mind as immersed in matter; either being _identical_ with
it,[aw] or _pervading_ it, like a subtle fluid, or imponderable force.
Let some such conception be supposed his starting point. What sort of a
Power must he finally determine this mind to be?

Could he possibly commence with a mundane intelligence inferior to
the mind of Man?--The bee can build a cell, the beaver a dam--but
the bee cannot construct a dam, nor the beaver a cell. The same is
true universally. Animal intelligence acts in single right lines. We
should, therefore, be obliged to conceive as _many minds_ immanent in
nature, or as many modifications of mind, as there are varieties of
production. And if this were true, what would become of the order and
harmony of the Universe? We call it by that name, because we know that,
(notwithstanding its marvellous diversity and manifoldness,) it forms
a grand united whole. It would become necessary, _next_, to admit
a governing intelligence, able to control the countless species of
intelligent power employed in producing all sorts of effects. And it
really seems easier, at once to conceive a supreme Mind, framing its
ideas into intelligible laws, and launching the forces of the Universe
in moving might along them.

There are many obvious reasons why, after all, this would be the
easiest,[197] and _therefore_ the preferable, conception. _One_ lies in
the immeasurable width and extent of that relativity between power and
function, which we have seen to underlie every known production,--and
conceivable _possibility_ of ruling or moulding Nature. Now, under
_power_ we class forces such as those which hold corpuscles in
cohesion, balance the orbs of heaven, or control the growth of a
crystal. Such as those, again, which make Life the counterbalance
of dissolution and decay; and enable the animal frame to resist
decomposing influences; to feed, to grow, to energize, and move freely
on earth, in water, or in air. Such as those, finally, which yield us
the _pabulum_ of sensation, thought, emotion; and subserve our efforts
to attain whatever is highest or noblest in our human world.

We know what sorts of intelligence are required to apprehend, and to
do no more than apprehend, the rationale of many among these natural
movements, forces, and processes. Some of them can be explained only
by a very great mathematician, other some by an equally great chemist,
biologist, or psychologist. And in some, Man of the 19th century is
as much a _tyro_ and disciple,--as ignorant and as tentative--as his
forefathers were two thousand years ago. What a complexity of Minds, or
what a majestic supremacy of one Mind becomes thus discernible by the
eye of Reason! Of Reason we say, meaning thereby the reason of a human
being who looks facts in the face, puts them together and draws the
inevitable conclusion. Were this drawn, it would amount to something
very like a re-affirmation of Theism. At present, however, we will
not press these topics further; since our object is to put an opposite
conception on its complete trial, so as to see what is eventually
implied in it.

Suppose, for instance, a merely sensitive intelligence to represent
the character of mind administering the Universe. Conceive, if you
choose, the world to be like an animal as some old philosophies
conceived it. The way in which a _human_ being sees Power and Function
is altogether different from the way in which they would be viewed
by the supposed mundane intelligence. _We_ do not see them as two
entities _separately_ existing, and the relation which is of such
vital consequence to all inventors and producers, as _something_ which
ensues between them. To us, the causal essence of the Power lies in the
_relativity_ itself, and we often actually recognize the Power passing
over into its Function, and becoming lost in it. An example in point,
lies in the active combination of uncombined atoms and molecules;--the
_relativity_ (or, as in such a case it is termed, the _attraction_) is
the immediate cause of the production. "Thus" says Dr. Tyndall[198] "we
can get power out of oxygen and hydrogen by the act of their union,
but once they are combined, and once the motion consequent on their
combination has been expended, no further power can be got out of the
mutual attraction of oxygen and hydrogen. As dynamic agents they are
dead." We can, in this manner, produce from the combustion of coal,
light, heat, and propulsive force; but coal and oxygen are _consumed_
in the producing process. Yet in this process, _what and how much_
would have come within the grasp of a merely sensitive intelligence?
Simply the object coal,--the brilliant light,--the pleasant heat,--and
the actual movement of an incomprehensible machine. Let Mundane Mind
be thus conceived and Nature would necessarily be administered by an
intelligence which never got below the surface. The result, as we may
certainly perceive, must have always lain between either an unchanging
sameness, or the instability of chance misdirection. A state of things
which compared with our actual world would seem most unsatisfactory;
but which never has in fact been realized, for a reason at once
apparent to the reader's sagacity.

Take another instance of change. The chemical elements of a Galvanic
battery disappear in performing their function of causing a current,
and the current may in turn disappear in the decomposition of water.
But what merely sensitive intelligence could discern the invisible
agency,--or measure the conversion of force, where nothing is
visible except loss? Besides, in this latter example do we not see
how truly correlative these two terms Power and Function are? We
may intelligently think and speak of the chemical constituents of
the battery, as conjoint _Power_;--and of their accomplishing their
_Function_ in the Current. But we may also speak of the _current_
as a Power, accomplishing _its_ Function by evolving from water two
elementary gases. In other words, the ideas of Power and Function,
definite enough to the eye of reason, are in all other respects,
_fluent_. They are neither things, nor phenomenal attributes of things.
They _are_ power and function by virtue of a relation existing between
them, and this relation is a fact not of the bare impressible sense,
but of our purely reasoning intellect.

The same consequence appears, (in a shape which to some minds may be
easier,) from viewing in another light the very same example of a
galvanic battery, applied to decompose water. At each end of the chain
there are palpable materials, visible to corporeal sense. But, between
them runs the true force;--and this is absolutely impalpable. We
theorize upon this force, but, whatever our theories may be, we accept
its reality as a fact clear to our human _mind_. And we also clearly
see that no lower mind could possibly apprehend it.

And here arises a curious question well worth a brief consideration.
It is this:--To any kind of mind, the faculties of which are bound
up in sense, _what_ would appear to be the realities, and _what_ the
unrealities of the Universe? Galvanic wires or chains are perceptible
to our bodily senses, but the traversing force is imperceptible. Hence,
in our common speech, we are easily led to talk of the polar elements
or objects (whatever they are) as realities _par excellence_;--but
without in the least meaning to imply that the _nexus_ or relativity
between them is any less real; or less a fact. What we do mean, is,
that this reality is a fact to another, and a finer, faculty. But what
would it be if the finer faculty were wanting?--Reality would in that
case become phenomenal;--and phenomena (according to Dr. Whewell and
other inductive philosophers), would at the same time cease to be facts.

So far, therefore, as we know,--and we still limit this discussion to
what we really do know,--were Reason wanting, all the nobler part of
the Universe--its highest realities,--as understood by us, could not
be held real. They would fade like an insubstantial pageant--or the
baseless fabric of a dream. For, be it repeated,--_we_ do not see as
a merely sensitive mind must see. Principles and laws, sustaining and
administering the universal mechanism, are the visible realities of
intellect; and are visible to intellect alone. Thus, no one ever saw
the principle of the arch except by an act of intellectual sight, and
yet in the strength of it all arches stand firm. So, too, an architect
knows that the stability and beauty of his structure depend on much
that is hidden from the uninstructed human eye. What meaner eye, then,
could ever succeed in piercing the secret architecture of the Universe?
To the mundane mind, if less than human, the most real would become
unreal,--and the shadow appear to be the substance. No supposition
can possibly seem more absurd! Yet, when people speak of a "blind
intelligence" in Nature, they must mean something less than Reason by
that strange contradictory appellation.

The case for Unreason can never be improved by saying that 'The world,
as it exists, is a system of accordant forces; tending to fulfil
their functions through a kind of self-evolving movement, excited and
controlled by correlation and correspondence, action and interaction.
The products prevail, where they do prevail, through the completeness
of their harmony with their surroundings. By virtue of this acquired
excellence which becomes intrinsic, each finally develops itself
into a permanent and integrated unit.' Here, obviously, the question
of Intelligence recurs. If Mind were a necessary postulate before,
how much more stringent the necessity now! From hosts of uncounted
relativities we infer an Absolute;--surveying their rhythmical stir
and onward strivings what shall we predicate respecting it? The
world might have been a discord;--Whence came its first symphonious
movement?--its after-waves of sphere-music majestically sweet to
understanding ears;--its deeper and still deeper accordances;--

    "The Diapason ending full in Man,"

that is to say, thus ending so far as the solemn march has been played
out! What shall be hereafter, we know not now. But most marvellous of
all as yet, is that first chord which struck the key-note of the whole
harmonious performance.[199]

It is evident that the answers to these inquiries, must have the effect
of infinitely elevating our own idea of the intelligence discoverable
in natural productions;--because they will add to our perception of its
wonderful insight, a still more wonderful impression of _fore_sight,--a
foresight extending over illimitable periods of time; and causing
effects, for the calculation of which no power of intellect actually
known to us, would have any adequate sufficiency.

The only apparent evasion of this consequence, is to deny arrangement
altogether. But, then, how great are the resulting difficulties! In
the _first_ place, it would seem at once to restore covertly, if not
openly, that very ancient Divine principle, Chance; whose banishment
has long been agreed upon by reflective men. In the _next_ place, it
is not clear how, looking at the scientific doctrine of Chances,[ax]
they would, when calculated, yield any probability whatever of
production;--or even (what appears a less thing), of development from a
rudimentary or less perfect structure already existing. The consequence
is, that one or more principles besides Chance must soon be postulated,
and "blind laws" are held insufficient because not unlikely to become
guilty of incidental misdirection. This need of auxiliary postulates
has determined some very staunch advocates of Evolution to maintain
that the circle of evolving laws or forces must certainly be ruled
by some Intelligence, either inherent and immanent (mind and movement
identical),--or else separate, transcendental, and probably personal,
superintending and superior to them all.[ay]

Indeed the affirmation of Mind in Nature as a positively perceived
Fact appears to be the sure direction of our human understanding, if
allowed to observe and judge in a common-sense way. And the reason of
the thing is obvious. Whenever we perceive anything by bodily vision
and touch, or other material instruments, we unhesitatingly attribute
to it a material existence. We derive our impression from a material
antecedent, and say _here_ is a corporeal substance,--in a word,--body.
So, on the other hand, whenever material instruments are dispensed
with, (because inadequate and unsuitable), and when Mind alone is
used as our medium of perception, we are quite sure that what we
perceive is not Body but Mind. In this manner, we know what to say of
arrangement, counterbalance, superior excellence, (which means superior
fitness), tendency to a function, (that is fitness in movement), or of
a system of relation and correlation transcending the highest flight
of human imagination. We say at once, _here_ is Mind. We do not think
it necessary to employ a periphrasis, and reason on the properties of
intelligence, any more than we should, when receiving information from
our senses, commence a syllogism on the properties of Matter. We simply
say in the two several cases,--here is body,--here is mind. And, as
regards both propositions, we are in all likelihood equally safe in
saying so.

The real question, therefore, remains just as we before stated it. We
then derived our statement from the process of production,--first by
analyzing it, and next, by shewing that the analysis was verified in
experience. We have since run some risk of repetition, in order to look
at the whole subject of Mind in Nature from various points of view. The
effect has been to confirm for us, the issue above raised as being the
right and true question. We must not ask, "Is there Mind in the natural
world?" but "What _kind_ and _degree_ of Intelligence do we, from our
observation of facts, attribute to the Mind evidenced in the Universe?"

It is in answering this question that the _fitnesses_ of organized
structures yield so many important considerations. We are not however
obliged to follow the chain of the Design argument, liken these
structures to objects of human art, and say, here is Design implying
a Designer. We may quite as easily look at them in the light of the
great productive Law we have been investigating. Fitness consists in
the nicety of the manner in which Function is correlated with Power.
Throughout the realm of organisms, vegetable and animal, the most
beautiful examples of such correlation meet us at every turn.[az] When
therefore we put our query, what character may here be ascribed to
the Mundane Intelligence, the reply cannot seem doubtful. Instances
of pre-eminent Fitness (such as those adduced further on) need not
be understood in any other sense than this, in order to accomplish
the purpose for which they are described. Neither need such words as
adaptation or design, used for brevity's sake, be taken as references
to the analogical argument discussed in our second Chapter. Mr.
Darwin himself has frequently employed the expressions "contrivance,"
"purpose," etc., without intending any such reference,--nay, rather
with the full intention of arguing for a different account of the
"contrivances" he specifies.

From such wonderful examples of Fitness, many minds will choose at
once to read the broad lesson of Teleology. Be it observed then that
if this is done, the larger the generality under which the principle
of Design is conceived, the better for its force in reasoning. As
an argument, the idea has suffered from the imagination of readers
dwelling upon the specialities recounted in many valuable books to
the exclusion of wider and more universal conceptions. There is a
vast difference,[ba] between the assertion of a grand Unity, (in
subservience to which all other things have their several determinate
purposes,) and the being able to say in _each_ smaller instance, here
is _the_ design or intended relation between this individual structure
or condition, and this sole and definite finality. A good specimen of
the difficulty thus occasioned, is an objection of Littré's against
the idea of Divinely beneficent adaptation. Why, he asks, should the
bite of a mad dog have been allowed to produce hydrophobia? Why,
that is, should the dog's saliva have been so _contrived_, as to
convey so virulent a blood poison? The true answer, of course, must
be that this effect is but _one_ operation of a much more extensive
physiological law;--a law producing results, often of the most
beneficial character. We must also, (as the same writer allows), draw
a strong distinction between every law, and what is technically termed
its "functioning."[200] Littré views Nature as a moving panorama of
antecedents and consequents;--but he is obliged to confess that the
_nexus_ is _not_ invariable. There are, indeed, variations, for which
he employs this same "functioning," as a kind of apology. The necessity
of such an apology is in itself a remarkable fact; since it shews how
little rigorous is the common argument used by many physicists against
the probability of Miracles. The necessity of natural sequence is,
after all, no adamantine fatality; and therefore Testimony to an event
contrary to our experience and expectation, may have a most decisive
value.[201]

We have already shewn that to see a law in Nature, is to see an actual
instance of _wide_ intelligence. Now, so seen, it is known as existing
_in rerum naturâ_--active--energizing--productive. But, suppose we
for a moment conceive the intelligible law, as existing only in the
intelligence itself,--a thought prior to its realization. The law is
_then_ what writers on natural history often call a _type_;--or, as it
is termed in the older philosophical language, an _idea_. The readers
of S. T. Coleridge will not easily forget his chapter reconciling the
Platonic and Baconian[bb] methods of Philosophy. It turns, in great
part, upon the essential identity of _idea_ with _law_. (_Friend_, Vol.
III. Essay ix.)

If, therefore, we perceive in anything creative, or any _system_
whatsoever, a harmony of power with function, we call it fitness,
or even adaptation when describing the actual matter of our own
_observations_. But, if we speak of the same harmony _as an act of
mind_, we call it intelligent adaptation. And, this at least, is what
careful writers on Natural Theology mean by the word Design. Yet,
certain careless objectors have misconceived the plain meaning, so far
as to assert that if we would speak of any production as designed,
it must first be proved not only intentional but _arbitrary_. This
misconception--(the very opposite of our meaning)--seems to turn upon
the mixture of two distinct notions,--the design of _reason_ and the
determination of _caprice_. If Natural Theologians wished to prove that
the Designer of the Universe was always doing wrong,--and was always
right _because_ he did wrong,--it would be necessary to argue that
design and caprice are one and the same thing. But Natural Theology
endeavours to shew the exact contradictory. Its idea is, above all
things, the Idea of a Sovereign Reason manifest in universal Law.

The rejoinder has been made that at all events a Will is implied in
Design;--and that he who wills acts arbitrarily. Of course, there is a
certain sense in which this may be true. A Sovereign will _could_ at
pleasure refuse the Right and choose the Wrong, but then it would cease
to be a Sovereign Reason. That is, it would cease to be Sovereign at
all, in any true Theology. And we may, likewise, add that the ordinary
instances and illustrations of Design never aim at proving Will
_directly_;--their immediate object is to shew Intelligence, foreseeing
ends or functions, and purposing their attainment. It is clear that
Will must _indirectly_ be implied in such an argument. But, then, it
is so implied, partly because all Reason is _per se_ identical with
Will, and partly because (as we shall endeavour to shew), Causation
necessarily emanates from Will. The reader must, however, assign each
conclusion to its proper argument, and keep each argument to its proper
conclusion;--a rule which those who dispute for victory, and not for
truth, frequently fail to observe.

The use we are now making of fitness and adaptation is less to prove
the existence of Mind in the Universe, than its grandeur, grasp, and
comprehensiveness. For this purpose our clearest evidence arises
from the _coincidence_ of several _diverse_ conditions, tending to
one sovereign finality of function. And indeed, this argument from
coincidence, is generally the most convincing;--the greater the
_convergence_ of separate conditions,--the stronger is our assurance
that Mind determined the result.[bc] Our sense of sight has always been
a favourite subject in Natural Theology. It is familiar, and, so far as
a broad outline of the function is concerned, may be easily studied by
any common-sense person. It is, also, evidently _one_ Function; yet,
even cursory observation shews a great diversity of powers contributing
to produce it. How diverse they are, may be perceived by supposing
first one and then another element of eyesight to be absent, and
considering what the effect of _each_ deficiency must be.

Suppose, there were no light. The eye then, however beautiful and
perfect in structure, would not be a means serving any purpose of
perception. It is clear thus that the eye is an optical instrument.

Suppose, again, light and optical arrangement both in existence, but,
also, that the eye had no power of _adjusting_ itself to the direction
of objects and other circumstances; evidently its function of vision
would be very much restricted.

In relation to this end, the eye is a mechanical[202] instrument.

We might, further, suppose the optical apparatus to work well, its
adjustment also to be perfect,--and the picture on the retina no less
so. But, with this perfect picture, suppose all ended. The function of
eyesight would be as irretrievably gone as in our first case.

This shews us that the eye does _not_ really see. It is the servant of
an impressible Power,--and this impressible power uses it, and sees
through it.

Suppose, finally, that the picture on the retina set vibratory nerves
in movement--each microscopic stroke producing its effect of vibration.
Let something be seen by the impressible Power, but not apprehended
as an object of _common_ perception. Let there be no comparison with
other sensations; no transcript into sense-language, of what is at
once seen, touched, heard, smelled, or tasted. Consider, how barren
and unproductive the result! Eyesight is reduced to a play of coloured
images. There can be no malleable material for Intelligence to work
up. Nothing to be cast into any universal mould;--no possibility of a
greedy Mind feeding eagerly through the quick perceiving eye.

In the absence of information given, or thought stimulated, we must
pronounce such sight unintelligent;--and the Eye an unintelligible
phenomenon. But why? The anatomical structure remains perfect. It is
the _adaptation_ that has been lost along with the finality, and this
loss is fatal. Hence the paramount importance of finality.

Any student may pursue this ruling idea of "_adaptation to a functional
end_," through a vast range of the Animal kingdom. There are eyes
fitted to long distances--almost telescopic;--eyes so contrived as
to be absolutely microscopical. Then, as the refraction of water
differs from that of air, the optical lenses of fishes become rounded
almost like little balls. And, the observer who passes into the
tribes of Invertebrata, will acquaint himself with eyes mounted
upon footstalks,[203] and eyes multiplied and placed in different
situations. Few natural objects are more wonderful than the contrivance
of a compound eye. The many hexagonal tubes, which may be reckoned
by the thousand, are cemented together on one expanded and swollen
nervous disk, reminding us of the thalamus in the great plant order
of Compositæ, (Syngenesia),--in the Elecampagne for instance, the
Bur Marigold, Thistle, and Centaurea. A compound eye has a range of
vision extending over about 180 degrees, (half a circle), and must from
its structure be endowed with specializing distinctness. Mind in the
Universe, is thus presented to us, as in the New Testament,--wide as
the whole arch of heaven, but cognizant of a sparrow or a lily.

A creature with diminished vision--such as the Mole--or the Amblyopsis,
is a curiously interesting study in itself;--still more so as an
example of adaptation.

In old times, the Mole was accounted blind. Aristotle[204] observed
that a structural eye exists, but that a skin is drawn over it, and
this skin deprives the animal of sight. His observation has made work
for commentators, from Simplicius downwards. Trendelenburg (on the
_De Anima_) confines himself to criticism. Torstrik makes a kind of
apology for not excising "_quæ loco_ [Greek: atopôtatôi] _de talpâ
dicuntur_." Cardinal Tolet accepts the observation, and thinks the
Mole's eyes thus admirably protected from the bad effects of a sudden
access of light, when he rushes violently into appearance overground.
Naturalists during many centuries, made the whole history of the mole
a piece of guesswork, and no creature except the Sloth or the Earwig
has ever been more generally misrepresented. Perhaps our familiar old
English "Moldwarp" (West of England "Want"), might have remained a
puzzle to this day had not a French courtier[205] fled from the Paris
Revolution, and devoted his attention to Moles. The fact that the eye
of our Western Mole is not completely closed, may be proved by throwing
a living specimen into a pond. But, in the South and East of Europe the
"blind mole" does really exist,[206] as has been shown by Erhard and
the Prince of Musignano. In more than one species, the skin passes over
the eyeball without any loss of hair.

This diminution of eyesight is a case of what has been called
"retrogression." Now the Mole is a highly developed Mammal, and his
position in the animal kingdom entitles him to the best of eyes. But,
they would not suit his habits. The same is true of the Blind-fish of
Kentucky (Amblyopsis Spelæus). For such a creature, not the distinct
vision of objects,--but a sensation of light,--was the _desirable_
possession,--and the creature has it.[207]

It does not in the least matter, as a question of Fitness, whether
this retrograde condition of the eye was brought about by natural laws
slowly acting upon the animal frame, or produced in some more rapid
way. The fitness is the same; and, as we are at present engaged, not on
proving the existence of Mind, but in illustrating the greatness of a
confessedly existing mind, these instances of far reaching adaptation
are very strongly in point.

Of the cavernous life and habits of the Amblyopsis there is not much
to be said; though the idea of a happy existence amidst depths of
sepulchral gloom, naturally excites our imagination. But "the little
gentleman in black" whose health used to be enthusiastically drunk a
century and a half ago, is a perfect study[208] in himself. We are
interested by his fairy-like gift of hearing (noted by Shakespeare);
his gluttony; his fleetness of foot; his combativeness; and his
castle-building! As a civil and military engineer, he far surpasses the
beaver, though dwelling in dark places, and with only a dubious pair of
eyes in his scheming quick-conceiving head.

Probably, the sense _we_ should all least wish to lose is our eyesight.
Its perpetual delight, and its capacity for improvement by training
are powerful motives for treasuring its possession. The savage and the
microscopist, the artist and the astronomer, all train their faculty
of vision; and how differently do these four classes of eyes see!--The
difference is, we know, in exact proportion to the intelligence which
employs and educates them. And, conversely, how the nobly-governed
eye informs and educates the Mind! What a world of hope, then, as
well as beauty, seems to die when we conceive the blind man in his
dim solitude! Yet the contentment of its sightless inmates, is one of
the most salient comforts of every blind asylum. Most likely, their
cheerfulness depends on the great use of finger-dexterity, and the
exquisite susceptibility of the ear. And these delicate endowments,
which make our several senses inlets of happiness, are amongst the most
fascinating illustrations of the Universal Mind with which we have to
do.

The structure of the ear is far less commonly dwelt upon by most
writers, than the structure of the eye. Indeed, its organization seems
to less certainty explained, the problem being, of course, to trace
the transmission of sound to the auditory nerve. But, as in ancient
Egypt, so in modern England, the treatment of disease in special
organs has been divided amongst special therapeutists; and the ear
does not fail to benefit by being better understood. There is, even
now, room for hypothesis in some parts of the process of sonorous
transmission,--and beyond that process, science does not pretend to
go. Modern views, however, as Dr. Tyndall truly says, "present the
phenomena in a connected and intelligible form, and should they be
doomed to displacement by a more correct or comprehensive theory,
it will assuredly be found that the wonder is not diminished by the
substitution of the truth." No one has put the wonder into a more
intelligible shape than this well known writer, at the close of his
book upon Sound.[209]

Employing instances of Design for the purpose, to us most relevant, and
gleaning a few among hosts of shining illustrations, there is nothing
more alluring than the spectacle of the organic world, considered as
a source, not of life only, nor of information only, but of emotional
pleasure and never failing enjoyment. No kind of existence can be
more depressing to our highly-strung human nervous-system, than the
shut up occupations which overgrown cities necessitate. Yet, with
what unrepressed vigour of delight does the artizan, the physician,
the schoolmaster, or the curate of a town parish, look upon the open
world beyond! And, never has there existed any human being more truly
impressible by Nature's loveliness, or more skilled in conveying the
impression to the minds of others, than a genuine British Naturalist.
For the holiday-maker to walk with such a lover of Nature through
field and forest, over moor and mountain, by rivulet, lake or sea,
is to gain a new sense of wonder and admiration;--new perceptions of
excellence, symmetry, and unity; while freshened emotions of religious
awe and trust keep springing upwards from them all. It is with outward
nature, as it is with individual natures; the regard of a loving eye
is the true revealer of hidden secrets. For in reality we see, not
only with our bodily sense and our contemplative reason, but also
with the strength and insight of affection. And thus many a weary Man
perpetually finds the aspect of the visible universe indescribably
soothing amidst his own confusions and disappointments. He may feel,
at times, that his human heart can penetrate beyond what eye and head
have taught him; and, while thoughtfully observing the footprints of
creative mind, he can feel within his bosom a sense of superhuman
tenderness, like the warm breath of his living Creator.

The very fact that highly-endowed and deeply thoughtful men[210]
have so felt and spoken, ought not to be without its influence.
There is much conveyed--very much indeed--by the truth that the world
is beautiful. If, when we examine natural production, intelligent
operation is seen to imply an operative intelligence, is it not also
true that realized beauty implies an ideal beauty, intelligently
preconceived in a Mind itself beautiful? Had there been nothing in
earth or sky to soothe, elevate, and make happy, with _what different
feelings_, should we have attempted to picture productive Mind at work
through an unlovely Universe!

ADDITIONAL NOTE.

ON THE DOCTRINE OF CHANCES APPLIED TO THE STRUCTURAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE
EYE.

The present Savilian Professor of Astronomy at Oxford wrote, in 1867,
as follows:--

 "The chances of any accidental variation in such an instrument being
 an _improvement_ are small indeed. Suppose, for instance, one of the
 surfaces of the crystalline lens of the eye of a creature, possessing
 a crystalline and cornea, to be accidentally altered, then I say,
 that unless the form of the other surface is simultaneously altered,
 _in one only way_ out of millions of possible ways, the eye would
 not be optically _improved_. An alteration also in the two surfaces
 of the crystalline lens, whether accidental or otherwise, would
 involve a definite alteration in the form of the cornea, or in the
 distance of its surface from the centre of the crystalline lens, in
 order that the eye may be optically better. All these alterations
 must be simultaneous and definite in amount, and these definite
 amounts must coexist in obedience to an extremely complicated law.
 To my apprehension then, that so complex an instrument as an eye
 should undergo a succession of millions of _improvements_, by means
 of a succession of millions of _accidental_ alterations, is not
 less improbable, than if all the letters in the 'Origin of Species'
 were placed in a box, and on being shaken and poured out millions
 on millions of times, they should at last come out together in the
 order in which they occur in that fascinating and, in general, highly
 philosophical work.

 "But my objections do not stop here. The improvement of an organ must
 be an improvement relative to the new circumstances by which the organ
 is surrounded. Suppose, then, that an eye is altered for the better
 in relation to one set of circumstances under which it is placed.
 By-and-bye there arise a second set of circumstances, and the eye is
 again, by Natural Selection, altered and improved relatively to the
 second set of circumstances. What is there to make the second set of
 circumstances such that the second improvement (relative to them)
 shall be an improvement or progress _in the direction_ of the ultimate
 goal of the human eye? Why should not the second improvement be a
 retrogression _away from_ the ultimate organ now possessed by man, and
 necessary to his well-being? But all this suiting of the succession
 of circumstances is to go on, not once or twice, but millions on
 millions of times. If this be so, then not only must there be a
 BIAS in the order of the succession of the circumstances,
 or, at all events, in the vast outnumbering of the unfavourable
 circumstances by the favourable, but so strong a bias, as to remove
 the whole process from the accidental to the _intentional_. The _bias_
 implies the existence of a Law, a Mind, a Will. The process becomes
 one not of Natural Selection, but of _Selection by an Intelligent
 Will_." _Analogies in the Progress of Nature and Grace_, (being the
 Hulsean Lectures for 1867,) Appendix A, p. 125 seq. The whole article
 should be carefully studied by the reader.

FOOTNOTES:

[180] Nov. Org. II. 4, last paragraph. "For a true and perfect rule of
operation then the direction will be _that it be certain, free, and
disposing or leading to action_. And this is the same thing with the
discovery of the true Form. For the Form of a nature is such, that
given the Form the nature infallibly follows. Therefore it is always
present when the nature is present, and universally implies it, and is
constantly inherent in it. Again, the Form is such, that if it be taken
away the nature infallibly vanishes. Therefore it is always absent when
the nature is absent, and implies its absence, and inheres in nothing
else."

[181] Sentence following immediately in N. O. II. 4. "Lastly, the
true Form is such that it deduces the given nature from some source
of being which is inherent in more natures, and which is better known
in the natural order of things than the Form itself. For a true and
perfect axiom of knowledge then the direction and precept will be,
_that another nature be discovered which is convertible with the given
nature, and yet is a limitation of a more general nature, as of a true
and real genus_. Now these two directions, the one active the other
contemplative, are one and the same thing; and what in operation is
most useful, that in knowledge is most true." _Ellis and Spedding_,
Vol. IV. pp. 121, 2.

[182] Savery was celebrated by Dr. Darwin as the man, who,--

    "Bade with cold streams the quick expansion stop
    And sank the immense of vapour to a drop."

Savery's patent (the first granted for a steam engine), is dated 1698.
Papin suggested in 1695 a partial vacuum under a piston for raising
water, so as to make the pressure of the air the moving power. Most
people are aware of the effect upon invention produced by the great
mining interest,--the necessity of pumping out underground _adits_,
water logged, and therefore inaccessible.

[183] At the end of his Lectures on the Steam Engine.

Hulls' was the first attempt to convert the reciprocating movement
of the piston-rod into rotation; and it does not rival the crank
in simplicity. But there is a contrivance for equalizing the first
irregular motion by weights, which possesses real beauty, and has the
further advantage of readily increasing or diminishing the velocity of
the wheels. The wheels themselves are fixed at some little distance
astern of his boat which he intends to be used for towing ships.
They are thus (as Professor Rigaud observes) nearer "to what may be
considered as the centre of the compound body, which they were the
means of propelling."

Such was the earliest patent; but proposals for the same object had
been made still earlier. Papin submitted one to the Royal Society in
1708, comprehending a "boat to be rowed with oars moved with heat," and
engines capable of throwing bullets and raising water. Sir Isaac Newton
reported on the invention and recommended experiments, but the Society
could not or would not grant a sum not exceeding £15 for the purpose.
Again, the Acta Eruditorum for 1690, preserves a previous proposal
made by Papin, accounts of which will be found in Farey's _Treatise on
the Steam Engine_, and Professor Rigaud's _Early Proposals for Steam
Navigation_. In the latter publication (a paper read to the Ashmolean
Society) is also contained (pp. 11-14) a summary of the most wonderful
among all records relating to this subject;--the trial of Blasco de
Garay's steam-boat at Barcelona under Charles V. "The experiment was
made the 17th June 1543 on board a vessel called the Trinidad, of 200
barrels burden, which had lately arrived with wheat from Colibre.
The vessel was seen at a given moment to move forward and turn about
at pleasure, without sail, or oar, or human agency, and without any
visible mechanism except a huge boiler of hot water, and a complicated
combination of wheels and paddles." The entire or partial credibility
of this record has been often argued _pro_ and _con_. Professor Rigaud
thinks it "not impossible that even a magnificent invention, like this,
may have sunk into oblivion." Perhaps not, considering that the Spain
of Cervantes is the Spain of Southey, and Mr. Borrow. A clock may stand
still, but a nation which does so is retrograde.

[184] The Chinese seeing our steam-ships at Chusan (in the war of 1841,
2), made paddlewheel vessels driven by men inside their hulls. Ignorant
of steam-power, they achieved an engine without its principle. So too
Prince Rupert gave a rotary motion to oars by horse-power, producing a
greater velocity than sixteen watermen could impart to the Royal barge.

[185] See second note on this chapter.

[186] Darwin's _Descent of Man_, I. p. 179. Mr. Darwin adds in a note
that "Sir C. Lyell had already (_Principles of Geology_, 1868. II. 489)
called attention, in a striking passage, to the evil influence of the
Holy Inquisition, in having lowered, through selection, the general
standard of intelligence in Europe."

[al] The term "relativity" is employed here on account of its breadth
and comprehensiveness, and because it does not imply the adoption
of some special hypothesis as to the essence of things or formative
principles themselves;--such theorizing being no necessary condition of
the present line of thought.

Let it be observed, however, that any law of the natural world by
virtue of which, the apprehended relativity becomes operative, must be
conceived as in its own nature _genetic_ or _causative_, in order to
explain Production. What is here meant may easily be understood by a
few common-sense reflections.

The word "Law" is one of the most ambiguous expressions possible.
Perhaps its most familiar use is in statistical science, where
it usually means the result gained from averages. For example,
birth-rates, death-rates, and rates of exchange are spoken of as laws
of increase, of mortality, and of the money market. Sometimes nothing
but the generalized fact is signified; sometimes it is intended to
imply that these formulæ govern, or ought to govern social questions,
or problems of political economy.

In like manner, when a law is the verbal embodiment of any principle,
it may be considered as a perfectly abstract proposition; or else
as a governing rule or maxim, under which definite and actual cases
can be brought. The principles of arithmetic or geometry are laws to
which every practical question involving number or measurement must be
submitted. The laws of thought govern our reasonings, or at least they
ought to do so.

Another way of looking at Law is to consider it in its commonest
origin--_i.e._, as the expression of a law-maker's will. But when a
writer on Natural Theology speaks of the laws of the physical world,
and then adds that "law implies a lawgiver," he either supposes himself
to have demonstrated the applicability of this maxim in relation to his
own science;--or if not he is simply assuming the whole question at
issue. [Compare _Additional Note_ B, to Chapter II. p. 98, _seq._]

The remaining most usual employment of the word, is to designate a
_Force_, some actual moving power tending to realize itself in some
way, working out a function either for good or evil, developing the
secret of its own existence by the effects which it produces.

Take an example from real life. A medical man coming to a certain rural
district, observed its high death-rate, traced it to the very great
prevalence of small-pox in the place, and formulated a law embodying
the results of several years _averages_ which appeared sufficiently
surprising. A further acquaintance with the habits of the neighbourhood
disclosed the fact that inoculation was continually practised, and as
continually kept secret on account of the penalties attached to it.
The inquirer took advantage of the opportunity afforded by a custom he
could not control to investigate its consequences. A few years later,
he arrived at exact conclusions determining the law of activity exerted
by the virus, under certain conditions. In other words, he found the
_genetic_ law of its operation.

Now, if the death-rate,--a piece of statistical law,--be contrasted
with this last named law of virus-growth, the difference between these
two formulæ is at once obvious. Without any scientific discussion or
refining, we grasp a broad common-sense distinction, which is all that
seems needed here. For our purpose, it would be useless to inquire
whether the law of virus-growth may be resolved into laws higher and
far more recondite still. An inventor seizing the useful law he wants,
will not stop to ask any such questions; he will apply his power and
realize the function he has in view at the moment.

Another common-sense instance is to think of the properties of any
familiar substance; the acridity of an alkali, for instance; its power
of effervescing with acids, and neutralizing them; its behaviour as
a reagent in a variety of ways, long to enumerate, but practically
useful. When we have described all these properties, have we defined
the whole substance? In other words, is the alkali anything more than
a bundle of properties momentarily known to us? Undoubtedly there is
one point more to be noticed; its principle of _permanence_, until
brought under new conditions which dissolve its unity, and destroy the
inter-coherence of its properties. Now whatever maintains this unity
is the law of its substance. There are laws of nature under which
both it and countless other substances are formed, continue, and are
dissolved, making way for unending series of fresh combinations. And
this mode of apprehending the unities we call substances, raises the
self-same idea of genetic law which has been under consideration. If we
are asked whether we can explain such laws further, we usually reply by
saying "these are the forces of the natural world." Their correlations
and modifications rule the kingdom of nature, and the great globe
itself;--nay, they wield the empire of the Universe!

Such laws, such forces, have engrossed the attention of physical
philosophers from the rude beginnings of inquiry. They have led to
speculations of all kinds;--the best known of which is the distinction
between Form and Matter in existing objects;--a distinction in common
use amongst persons who but dimly guess at the past issues which it
raises. Nothing, however, can be said on such a topic here, except by
way of reference to the philosophic system of Francis Bacon. [Compare
p. 92 _ante_, and the Synopsis prefixed to this chapter.]

[am] One of the most curious _morceaux_ in the history of Science,
is the fact that the nature of Heat has been several times thus
determined, viz., by Bacon, Locke, and Count Rumford. See Tyndall on
_Heat as a Mode of Motion_, Section II., and Appendix.

Bacon determines the nature of Heat by way of exemplifying "The
Investigation of Forms." It is his sole instance, and is most
instructive. (_Nov. Org._ II., 11 seq., in E. and S. Vol. IV., pp.
127-155.) "For example," he begins, "let the investigation be into
the Form of Heat." It need scarcely be observed that the twofold
relation of his "Forms" to Metaphysic and to Physic is one of the
least explained parts of Bacon's vast system. How little his theory
of Induction is commonly understood may be perceived by any skilled
reader of Macaulay's well known Essay--a composition (to borrow a great
schoolmaster's words) "displaying an almost inconceivable amount of
nescience."

[187] It is worth observation how often the abstract entity--(the
principle of the whole realization)--is forgotten even by scientific
persons. Forgotten, we say, since surely forgetfulness is the
true origin of many futile attempts at explaining away essential
principles. The following very curious case in point is narrated by
S. T. Coleridge:--"There is still preserved in the Royal Observatory
at Richmond the model of a bridge, constructed by the late justly
celebrated Mr. Atwood (at that time, however, in the decline of life),
in the confidence that he had explained the wonderful properties of
the arch as resulting from the compound action of simple wedges, or of
the rectilinear solids of which the material arch was composed; and
of which supposed discovery his model was to exhibit ocular proof.
Accordingly, he took a sufficient number of wedges of brass highly
polished. Arranging these at first on a skeleton arch of wood, he
then removed this scaffolding or support; and the bridge not only
stood firm, without any cement between the squares, but he could take
away any given portion of them, as a third or a half, and appending
a correspondent weight, at either side, the remaining part stood as
before. Our venerable sovereign, who is known to have had a particular
interest and pleasure in all works and discoveries of mechanic
science or ingenuity, looked at it for awhile stedfastly, and, as his
manner was, with quick and broken expressions of praise and courteous
approbation, in the form of answers to his own questions. At length
turning to the constructor, he said, 'But Mr. Atwood, you have presumed
the figure. You have put the arch first in this wooden skeleton. Can
you build a bridge of the same wedges in any other figure? A straight
bridge, or with two lines touching at the apex? If not, is it not
evident that the bits of brass derive their continuance in the present
position from the property of the arch, and not the arch from the
property of the wedge?' The objection was fatal, the justice of the
remark not to be resisted."--(_The Friend._ Vol. III., pp. 176, 7.)

_Addition._ Of "those abstract entities absolute in truth," Bacon
writes (_Nov. Org._ II. 9), "Let the investigation of Forms, which are
(in the eye of reason at least, and in their essential law) eternal
and immutable, constitute _Metaphysics_:" and again (Ibid. 15), "To
God, truly, the Giver and Architect of Forms, and it may be to the
angels and higher intelligences, it belongs to have an affirmative
knowledge of forms immediately, and from the first contemplation. But
this assuredly is more than man can do, to whom it is granted only to
proceed at first by negatives, and at last to end in affirmatives,
after exclusion has been exhausted." And of their utility, as applied
truths, he says (Ibid. 2), "Though in nature nothing really exists
beside individual bodies, performing pure individual acts according to
a fixed law, yet in philosophy this very law, and the investigation,
discovery, and explanation of it, is the foundation as well of
knowledge as of operation. And it is this law, with its clauses, that I
mean when I speak of _Forms_; a name which I the rather adopt because
it has grown into use and become familiar."

And these passages are in perfect harmony with Bacon's precept "that
Physic should handle that which supposeth in Nature only a being and
moving (and natural necessity), and Metaphysic should handle that which
supposeth further in nature a reason, understanding, and platform
(ideam)." (_Advancement._ II. E. and S. p. 353.) The reader will also
perceive how natural it was for Bacon to place mathematical science
"as a branch of metaphysic; for the subject of it being Quantity;
not Quantity indefinite, which is but a relative and belongeth to
_philosophia prima_ (as hath been said,) but Quantity determined or
proportionable; it appeareth to be one of the Essential Forms of
things; as that that is causative in nature of a number of effects; ...
and it is true also that of all other forms (as we understand forms)
it is the most abstracted and separable from matter, and therefore
most proper to metaphysic; which hath likewise been the cause why it
hath been better laboured and enquired than any of the other forms,
which are more immersed into matter. For it being the nature of the
mind of man (to the extreme prejudice of knowledge) to delight in the
spacious liberty of generalities, as in a champion region, and not in
the inclosures of particularity; the mathematics of all other knowledge
were the goodliest fields to satisfy that appetite." (Ibid. p. 359.)
Compare this _Essay_, p. 91 _ante_, together with foot-note.

[an] "Observe," writes the late Sir B. Brodie, "observe the effect
which the general diffusion of knowledge produces on society at large;
how it draws the different classes of it into more free communication
with each other; how its tendency is to make the laws more impartial,
bring even the most despotic governments under the influence of public
opinion, and show them that they have no real security except in the
good will of the people. Knowledge goes hand-in-hand with civilization.
It is necessary to the giving full effect to the precepts of the
Christian faith. It was from the want of it that Galileo was tortured
by the Inquisition, that Servetus was burned by Calvin, that the
Huguenots were persecuted and slaughtered by Louis XIV., and that in
numerous other instances one sect of Christians has conceived it to be
their duty to exterminate another. It is a misapplication of the term
civilization to apply it to any form of society in which ignorance
is the rule and knowledge the exception. If a Being of superior
intelligence were to look down from some higher sphere on our doings
here on the earth, is it to be supposed that he would regard the Duke
of Buckingham, dancing at the French Court, and scattering the pearls
with which his dress was ornamented, on the floor, as being really
superior to an Australian savage; or that he would see in the foreign
Prince, who at a later period exhibited himself at another Court with
his boots glittering with diamonds, any better emblem of civilization
than in the negro chief, who gratifies his vanity by strutting about in
the cast-off uniform of a general officer?" _Psychological Inquiries._
Part II., pp. 14, 15.

[188] "A few phrases of Aristotle," says Dr. Brown, (Works I. p. 341,)
"are perhaps even at this moment exercising no small sway on the very
minds which smile at them with scorn." Mr. Carlyle asks, "Do not Books
still accomplish _miracles_, as _Runes_ were fabled to do?... Consider
whether any Rune, in the wildest imagination of Mythologist, ever did
such wonders as, on the actual firm Earth, some Books have done."
_Heroes_, p. 252.

[189] No writer has ever dwelt more on this truth than Coleridge, and
no writer ever had a stronger reason for dwelling upon it. Perhaps the
ordinary public has seldom been more unjust than in its estimate of
Coleridge's addiction to opium. The occasion of his first use of it
was a venial error, his servitude was heavy, and the account of his
sufferings and struggles most deeply affecting. Then, his final victory
(respecting which so little is generally said) was a very noble moral
achievement.

[ao] Men have aimed at accomplishing their purpose partly by training
animals, and partly by breeding through select specimens of each race.
The two principles thus relied on are habit and heredity. Respecting
the latter of these a note of considerable length had been intended in
this place. But the reader interested in the general question can learn
sufficient details in Dr. Carpenter's _Mental Physiology_ together with
the authorities therein referred to by him.

The following instances adduced by Mr. Wallace to show how improvement
through heredity is visibly limited are very remarkable. "In the matter
of speed, a limit of a definite kind as regards land animals does exist
in nature. All the swiftest animals--deer, antelopes, hares, foxes,
lions, leopards, horses, zebras, and many others--have reached very
nearly the same degree of speed. Although the swiftest of each must
have been for ages preserved, and the slowest must have perished, we
have no reason to believe there is any advance of speed. The possible
limit under existing conditions, and perhaps under possible terrestrial
conditions, has been long ago reached." He immediately proceeds to
place in contrast with these, some examples where progress is not thus
barred. "In cases, however, where this limit had not been so nearly
reached as in the horse, we have been enabled to make a more marked
advance and to produce a greater difference of form. The wild dog is an
animal that hunts much in company, and trusts more to endurance than to
speed. Man has produced the greyhound, which differs much more from the
wolf or the dingo than the racer does from the wild Arabian. Domestic
dogs, again, have varied more in size and in form than the whole family
of Canidæ in a state of Nature. No wild dog, fox, or wolf, is either
so small as some of the smallest terriers and spaniels, or so large as
the largest varieties of hound or Newfoundland dog. And, certainly, no
two wild animals of the family differ so widely in form and proportions
as the Chinese pug and the Italian greyhound, or the bulldog and the
common greyhound. The known range of variation is, therefore, more than
enough for the derivation of all the forms of Dogs, Wolves, and Foxes
from a common ancestor." Wallace. _Natural Selection_, pp. 292, 3.

Dr. Prichard's accounts of similar variations in his _Natural History
of Man_ and other ethnological works are particularly interesting.

Habit is a topic more germane to the subject of self-training, and is
therefore examined at some length in our text.

It seems natural that the empire of both Habit and Heredity should
be strongest over the purely automatous, and the instinctive or
semi-instinctive actions of mankind. Witness the effect of Caste
institutions, Guilds, and family vocations. Regular occupation struck a
certain visitor to this world as producing a like result:--

    "Nimbly," quoth he, "do the fingers move
    If a man be but used to his trade."

[ap] "They that deny a God destroy man's nobility; for certainly man
is of kin to the beast by his body; and, if he be not of kin to God by
his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature. It destroys likewise
magnanimity, and the raising of human nature; for take an example of
a dog, and mark what a generosity and courage he will put on when he
finds himself maintained by a man, who to him is instead of a God, or
'melior natura'; which courage is manifestly such as that creature,
without that confidence of a better nature than his own, could never
attain. So man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon divine
protection and favour, gathereth a force and faith, which human nature
in itself could not obtain'; therefore, as atheism is in all respects
hateful, so in this, that it depriveth human nature of the means to
exalt itself above human frailty." Bacon. _Essay on Atheism_, p. 56.

    "What joy to watch in lower creature
    Such dawning of a moral nature,
    And how (the rule all things obey)
    They look to a higher mind to be their law and stay!"

_Remains_ of A. H. Hallam, privately printed.

[aq] The difference between brute and Man appeared so vast to Bacon
that, following Telesius in this as in some other respects, he adopted
as a doctrine the duality of the human soul. He maintains it at length
in the _De Augmentis_ iv. 3, a chapter which begins thus:--"Let us
now proceed to the doctrine which concerns the Human Soul, from the
treasures whereof all other doctrines are derived. The parts thereof
are two; the one treats of the rational soul, which is divine; the
other of the irrational, which is common with brutes.... Now this soul
(as it exists in man) is only the instrument of the rational soul, and
has its origin like that of the brutes in the dust of the earth....
For there are many and great excellencies of the human soul above the
souls of brutes, manifest even to those who philosophise according to
the sense. Now wherever the mark of so many and great excellencies is
found, there also a specific difference ought to be constituted; and
therefore I do not much like the confused and promiscuous manner in
which philosophers have handled the functions of the soul; as if the
human soul differed from the spirit of brutes in degree rather than in
kind; as the sun differs from the stars, or gold from metals."

[190] We have it on Coleridge's authority that "Lord Erskine, speaking
of animals, hesitating to call them brutes, hit upon that happy
phrase--'the mute creation.'" Would this were true! exclaims some
invalid, nervously agonized by cats and dogs, cocks and hens, and
listening with horror to their various cries and noises. But strictly
speaking Lord Erskine was right,--for the animal world is mute as far
as real language is concerned. Compare Max Müller on the "Bow-wow
Theory." _Lectures on Language_, Series I. Lecture ix.

[191] The Poet's thought, not more imaginative than true, should be
kept in mind when estimating the difference between gregariousness and
society. If the latter be held a development of the former, it must
have been transformed in the progress of its descent. Where affinities
are really traceable between the human and the unreasoning world, they
may perhaps be referred with greater probability to a common ancestry
than to a lineal pedigree. And the more remote the alleged origin, the
less unlikely it may appear.

[192] "Sir Humphrey Davy, when a boy, was placed under a schoolmaster
who neglected his duties, and adverting to this subject in a letter
addressed to his mother after he was settled in London, he says, 'I
consider it as fortunate that I was left much to myself as a child, and
put on no particular plan of study, and that I enjoyed much idleness
at Mr. Coryton's school. I, perhaps, owe to these circumstances the
little talents I have, and their peculiar application. What I am I made
myself. I say this without vanity, and in pure simplicity of heart.'"
Brodie's _Psychological Inquiries_, I. 29.

"The regular course of studies, the years of academical and
professional education, have not yielded me better facts than some
idle books under the bench at the Latin School. What we do not call
education is more precious than that which we call so. We form no
guess, at the time of receiving a thought, of its comparative value.
And education often wastes its efforts in attempts to thwart and balk
this natural magnetism, which is sure to select what belongs to it."
Emerson. _Spiritual Laws._

[ar] "We can command Nature only by obeying her; nor can Art avail
anything except as Nature's handmaiden. We can affect the conditions
under which Nature works; but things artificial as well as things
natural are in reality produced Not by Art but Nature. Our power is
merely based upon our knowledge of the procedure which Nature follows.
She is never really thwarted or controlled by our operations, though
she may be induced to depart from her usual course, and under new and
artificial conditions to produce new phenomena and new substances.

"Natural philosophy, considered from this point of view, is therefore
only an answer to the question, How does Nature work in the production
of phenomena?" R. L. Ellis. _Preface to Bacon's Philosophical Works_,
Vol. I. p. 59.

[as] "The philosopher, not less than the poet, postpones the
apparent order and relations of things to the empire of thought.
'The problem of philosophy,' according to Plato, 'is, for all that
exists conditionally, to find a ground unconditioned and absolute.' It
proceeds on the faith that a law determines all phenomena, which being
known, the phenomena can be predicted. That law, when in the mind, is
an idea. Its beauty is infinite. The true philosopher and the true poet
are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty,
is the aim of both. Is not the charm of one of Plato's or Aristotle's
definitions, strictly like that of the Antigone of Sophocles? It is,
in both cases, that a spiritual life has been imparted to nature; that
the solid seeming block of matter has been pervaded and dissolved by a
thought; that this feeble human being has penetrated the vast masses of
nature with an informing soul, and recognized itself in their harmony,
that is, seized their law. In physics, when this is attained, the
memory disburthens itself of its cumbrous catalogues of particulars,
and carries centuries of observation in a single formula." Emerson.
_Idealism._

"He who studies the concrete and neglects the abstract cannot be called
an interpreter of nature. Such was Bacon's judgment." Robert Leslie
Ellis, in _Bacon's Works_, Vol. I. p. 26.

"If a man's knowledge be confined to the efficient and material causes
(which are unstable causes, and merely vehicles, or causes which
convey the form in certain cases) he may arrive at new discoveries in
reference to substances in some degree similar to one another, and
selected beforehand; but he does not touch the deeper boundaries of
things. But whosoever is acquainted with Forms, embraces the unity of
nature in substances the most unlike; and is able therefore to detect
and bring to light things never yet done, and such as neither the
vicissitudes of nature, nor industry in experimenting, nor accident
itself, would ever have brought into act, and which would never have
occurred to the thought of man. From the discovery of Forms therefore
results truth in speculation and freedom in operation."--Bacon. _Novum
Organon_, Book II. Aph. III.

[at] The problem awaiting the philosophic physicist runs as follows:--

It remains to be seen how closely and with what degree of distinctness,
science can approximate these impalpable forces governing the natural
world, to the forces we are accustomed to call immaterial, because they
become known to us by the activities of Thought and Will.

This problem--the incorporeity of Matter, or a near approach to
it--has been a favourite subject of speculation in all ages. The
curious reader may track it from the pre-and post-Christian Greeks
through Arabian and Jewish philosophies to the Schoolmen (who borrowed
from Jews unknowingly) and so transmitted it down like an heirloom
to our own later controversialists. The subject has been treated on
Metaphysical grounds, for Religious interests, or as a weapon keen
edged in demolishing antagonistic cosmologies. But it has not often
been entertained for purely scientific reasons, and as one of those
so-called "useless questions" which always turn out most prolific
seminal principles, fertile in explaining nature and throwing out
branches in numerous unforeseen directions.

It was thus however and with no side views that the illustrious Faraday
looked at this subject. With what effect may be best learned by putting
together two separate accounts of his reasoning.

In 1844, Dr. Bence Jones informs us Faraday (then in his 53rd year)
indulged in "A speculation respecting that view of the nature of matter
which considers its ultimate atoms as centres of force, and _not as so
many little bodies surrounded by forces_.... The particle, indeed, is
supposed to exist only by these forces, and where they are it is."

This speculation did in fact give a tone to that memorable season--now
thirty years ago.

Dr. Tyndall says:--"On Friday, January 19, 1844, he opened the weekly
evening meetings of the Royal Institution by a discourse entitled 'A
speculation touching Electric Conduction and the nature of Matter.' In
this discourse he not only attempts the overthrow of Dalton's Theory
of Atoms, but also the subversion of all ordinary scientific ideas
regarding the nature and relations of Matter and Force. He objected
to the use of the term atom:--'I have not yet found a mind,' he says,
'that did habitually separate it from its accompanying temptations; and
there can be no doubt that the words definite proportions, equivalent,
primes, etc., which did and do fully express all the _facts_ of what is
usually called the atomic theory in chemistry, were dismissed because
they were not expressive enough, and did not say all that was in the
mind of him who used the word atom in their stead,'" (_Faraday as a
Discoverer_, pp. 119-20.)

And again:--"With his usual courage and sincerity he pushes his view
to its utmost consequences. 'This view of the constitution of matter,'
he continues, 'would seem to involve necessarily the conclusion that
matter fills all space, or at least all space to which gravitation
extends; for gravitation is a property of matter dependent on a certain
force, and it is this force which constitutes the matter. In that view
matter is not merely mutually penetrable; but each atom extends, so to
say, throughout the whole of the solar system, yet always retaining
its own centre of force.'" Faraday "compares the interpenetration of
two atoms to the coalescence of two distinct waves, which though for
a moment blended to a single mass, preserve their individuality, and
afterwards separate." (_Ibid._ pp. 123-4 and note.)

The subject did not easily lose its hold on the philosopher's mind.
"At the Institution," writes Dr. Bence Jones, "he gave eight lectures
after Easter on the phenomena and philosophy of heat. He ended this
course thus:--'We know nothing about matter but its forces--nothing in
the creation but the effect of these forces; further our sensations
and perceptions are not fitted to carry us; all the rest, which we may
conceive we know, is only imagination.' He gave two Friday discourses:
the first on the nature of matter, the other on recent improvements in
the silvering of mirrors.

"His notes of the first lecture begin thus:--'Speculations dangerous
temptations; generally avoid them; but a time to speculate as well
as to refrain, all depends upon the temper of the mind. I was led to
consider the nature of space in relation to electric conduction, and so
of matter, _i.e._ whether _continuous_ or consisting of _particles with
intervening space_, according to its supposed constitution. Consider
this point, _remarking the assumptions everywhere_.

"'_Chemical considerations_ abundant, but almost all _assumption_.
Easy to speak of atomic proportions, multiple proportions, isomeric
and isomorphic phenomena and compound bases; and to account for
effects we have only to hang on to assumed atoms the properties or
arrangement of properties assumed to be sufficient for the purpose.
But the fundamental and main facts are expressed by the term _definite
proportion_,--the rest, including the atomic notion, is assumption.

"'The view that physical chemistry necessarily takes of atoms is now
very large and complicated; first many elementary atoms--next compound
and complicated atoms. System within system, like the starry heavens,
_may be right_--but may _be all wrong_. Thus see how little of general
theory of matter is known as fact, and how _much_ is assumption.

"'Final brooding impression, that particles are only centres of force;
that the force or forces constitute the matter; that therefore there is
no space between the particles distinct from the particles of matter;
that they touch each other just as much in gases as in liquids or
solids; and that they are materially penetrable, probably even to their
very centres. That, for instance, water is not two particles of oxygen
side by side, but two spheres of power mutually penetrated, and the
centres even coinciding.'" Bence Jones--Life of Faraday, Vol. II., pp.
177-78.

These views (best known as Boscovich's theory), though not generally
held in scientific circles, are favoured by Bacon's most able
commentator, Robert Leslie Ellis, and are pronounced by Professor
Huxley a "tenable hypothesis." Mr. Spencer poises the balance as
follows:--"Though the combining weights of the respective elements are
termed by chemists their 'equivalents,' for the purpose of avoiding
a questionable assumption, we are unable to think of the combination
of such definite weights, without supposing it to take place between
definite numbers of definite particles. And thus it would appear that
the Newtonian view is at any rate preferable to that of Boscovich. A
disciple of Boscovich, however, may reply that his master's theory is
involved in that of Newton; and cannot indeed be escaped. 'What,' he
may ask, 'is it that holds together the parts of these ultimate atoms?'
'A cohesive force,' his opponent must answer. 'And what,' he may
continue, 'is it that holds together the parts of any fragments, into
which, by sufficient force, an ultimate atom might be broken?' Again
the answer must be--a cohesive force. 'And what,' he may still ask, 'if
the ultimate atom were, as we can imagine it to be, reduced to parts as
small in proportion to it, as it is in proportion to a tangible mass
of matter--what must give each part the ability to sustain itself,
and to occupy space?' Still there is no answer but--a cohesive force.
Carry the process in thought as far as we may, until the extension of
the parts is less than can be imagined, we still cannot escape the
admission of forces by which the extension is upheld; and we can find
no limit until we arrive at the conception of centres of force without
any extension." _First Principles_, p. 54.

It is evident that Faraday was able to think in a manner which has been
often declared impossible. Mr. Spencer's statement of the counter case
is alone sufficient to prove that the inquiry is sure to be recurrent.
We may add with Dr. Tyndall that facts alone cannot satisfy the mind,
and that when a law is established, the question "why" is inevitable.
Compare _foot-note_ p. 324 _post_.

[193] A familiar instance of one among these abstract entities may
convey to some readers a clearer idea of their nature than many careful
explanations. Three balks of timber are lying in our road,--one, a
very large and heavy monster, directly across it. Desirous of driving
by, and being without adequate help to remove an obstacle beyond our
strength, we call to mind the following definition. "The lever is an
inflexible bar, capable of free motion about a fixed axis, called the
fulcrum." (Newth. _Natural Philosophy_, p. 33.) Acting upon this idea,
we place one balk we can manage to move, upon a second which happens
to lie conveniently, and so roll away the third heavy monster. This
done, we replace No. 1 peaceably beside No. 2, and wend on our way
rejoicing. Now the lever, as defined by Newth, existed ideally in our
mind, and we realised and used it. Our lever and fulcrum are still
lying on the road, though they are lever and fulcrum no longer. The
leverage was an applied mental Form, but we no longer want the Form to
be operative,--and along with it the Force has disappeared.

[au] Our knowledge of Matter and of Motion;--our knowledge of their
continuance while our forms and other forms are undergoing change;--all
we most _certainly_ know of the material world, resolves itself into
our knowledge of Force. Thus far Mr. Herbert Spencer is with us, as may
be seen from the following paragraphs from his _First Principles_. "By
the indestructibility of Matter, we really mean the indestructibility
of the _force_ with which Matter affects us. As we become conscious of
Matter only through that resistance which it opposes to our muscular
energy, so do we become conscious of the permanence of Matter only
through the permanence of this resistance; as either immediately or
mediately proved to us. And this truth is made manifest not only by
analysis of the _à posteriori_ cognition, but equally so by analysis of
the _à priori_ one. For that which we cannot conceive to be diminished
by the continued compression of Matter, is not its occupancy of space,
but its ability to resist." (p. 179.) "It remains to be pointed out
that the continuity of Motion, as well as the indestructibility of
Matter, is really known to us in terms of _force_. That a certain
manifestation of force remains for ever undiminished, is the ultimate
content of the thought; whether reached _à posteriori_ or _à priori_."
(p. 182.) And again (pp. 191-2). "What, in these two foregoing
chapters, was proved true of Matter and Motion, is, _à fortiori_, true
of the Force out of which our conceptions of Matter and Motion are
built. Indeed, as we saw, that which is indestructible in matter and
motion, is the force they present. And, as we here see, the truth that
Force is indestructible, is the obverse of the truth that the Unknown
Cause of the changes going on in consciousness is indestructible.
So that the persistence of consciousness, constitutes at once our
immediate experience of the persistence of Force, and imposes on us the
necessity we are under of asserting its persistence.... Consciousness
without this or that particular _form_ is possible; but consciousness
without _contents_ is impossible."

We are also quite at one with Mr. Herbert Spencer as regards an
assertion made in his _Principles of Psychology_ (I. 161,) and
repeated, to shew how anti-materialistic he is, in his last book.
(_Essays_, III., p. 250.) "Of the two it seems easier to translate
so-called Matter into so-called Spirit, than to translate so-called
Spirit into so-called Matter, which latter is, indeed, wholly
impossible."

But though it is true, as he adds, that "no _translation_ can carry us
beyond our symbols," it is no less true that we are impelled to inquire
into that which underlies them. Mr. Spencer says further (_Psychology_
I. 162,) "The conditioned form under which Being is presented in the
Subject, cannot, any more than the conditioned form under which Being
is presented in the Object, be the Unconditioned Being common to the
two." In this negation we are less at one with him, for, as we firmly
believe, in that conditioned sphere we call our own subjective nature
there is a Reality presented to our consciousness by every act of
Volition which brings us far nearer than any objective or outside form
of existence can bring us to that Unconditioned Being which is common
to the two, and infinitely superior to them both.

[194] Spirit of Inductive Philosophy, p. 165.

[195] Ibid. pp. 169-170. "In the confined and literal notions, often
ignorantly entertained, of the sciences of observation, our conclusions
might be supposed restricted to the field of mere sensible experience;
and in this sense we should fall short of any worthy apprehension
of the Supreme Intelligence. But the truly inductive philosopher
extends his contemplation to intellectual conceptions of a higher
class, pointing to order and uniformity as constant and universal as
the extent of nature itself in space and in time; and in the same
proportion he recognises harmony and arrangement invested with the
attributes of universality and eternity, and thus derives his loftier
ideas of the Divine perfections."

[196] See Ravaisson (_La Philosophie en France_, p. 82,) for an account
of Comte's position in this particular. He characterizes it thus: "Du
positivisme physique superficiel il est arrivé au positivisme moral."

[av] Or else as some may prefer to state it, Mind _is_ the intelligible
law. In other words, Law is the manifestation and energizing of the
Mind in Nature, and we recognize mind in the energy of Law. Canon
Mozley spoke as follows in 1872. "There is a great deal said now about
Mind in Nature, and scientific men talk enthusiastically about Mind;
the old notion of chance is obsolete, and in spite of the strength of
a materialist school, there is a tendency to a consensus of scientific
men that there is Mind in the universe. Would any one in any public
meeting of scientific men dare to stand up and _deny_ that there was
Mind in Nature? It would be thought monstrous. It would be set down as
the revival of an old stupidity. It is the only form in which they find
they can speak of nature which at all ennobles it or which satisfies
their own idea of the sublimity of nature." _The Principle of Causation
considered in opposition to Atheistic Theories_, p. 41.

The learned writer goes on to connect this admitted idea of Mind with
the collateral idea of Design. And this is a most natural sequence of
thought. But, for reasons already mentioned, the main argument of this
chapter pursues another track. Mind in Nature being directly intuited,
(to use an expressive Kantian phrase) we supplement the evidence thus
given by a cross-examination of facts for the purpose of eliciting an
account of what manner of Intelligence this Mind in Nature must be.

[aw] "It is true," says Canon Mozley, "that matter has lately been set
before us as claiming more vicinity to mind than it has been usual to
assign it; and a scientific man, of the highest genius, has regretted
that 'mind and matter have ever been presented to us in the rudest
contrast--the one as all noble, the other as all vile.'... Hobbes,
in the 17th century, anticipated this claim, and laid down 'that all
matter as matter is endued not only with figure and a capacity of
motion, but also with an actual sense and perception, and wants only
the organs and memory of animals to express its sensations,'" _On
Causation_, as before, p. 38.

The doctrine of an inferior and irrational, or as some phrase it "a
blind intelligence" is the topic next discussed with some fulness in
our text.

This "blind intelligence" makes Nature, so to speak, "the instinct of
the Universe." Thence it is "no long step" to a belief that the world
is a living creature, neither are there wanting modern accounts of
the principle of Vitality, and its powers of assimilation,--equally
applicable to the accretive growth of a crystal.

The renovators of philosophy were (as Mr. Leslie Ellis remarks)
strongly inclined to this belief, its typical teacher being Campanella.
Leibniz points out with his usual energy its affinity with the
Scholastic doctrine of "substantial forms"--(a very different
theory from Bacon's) "formas quasdam substantiales ejusmodi sibi
imaginatus videtur, quæ per se sint causa motus in corporibus,
quemadmodum Scholastici capiunt;" and proceeds to say, "ita reditur
ad tot deunculos, quot formas substantiales, et Gentilem prope
polytheismum.... Quum tamen revera in natura nulla sit sapientia,
nullus appetitus, ordo vero pulcher ex eo oriatur, quia est horologium
Dei." _Leibnitii Opera Philosophica_, Ed. Erdmann, pp. 52-3.

[197] "Easiest" is here and elsewhere used to mean that which accounts
in the most natural and perfect manner alike for a single fact and for
the complex whole of facts presented to us. Such an "easiest account"
is the law of Gravitation--it is at once the simplest and the most
complete.

[198] _Fragments of Science_, p. 88.

[199] Struck it so truly that (to borrow Mr. Huxley's expression) a
sufficient Intelligence might have predicted the Universe. But what an
infinitude of knowledge would this "sufficiency" seem to presuppose!

[ax] Taking an optical structure of the Eye as a test example, the
chances of its Evolution _per accidens_ have been calculated by an
eminent mathematician. His results may be seen in the _Additional Note_
appended to this Chapter. They are extracted from the Hulsean Lectures
for 1867.

[ay] For example:--No one holds the doctrine of Natural Selection more
firmly than Mr. Wallace;--he is, in fact, known to have anticipated the
Darwinian theory of Evolution. But he also holds that Natural Selection
cannot account for certain of the physical peculiarities of Man; much
less for his consciousness, his language, his moral sense, or his
Volition.

Mr. Wallace maintains likewise that

 (1) Atoms are centres of Force.

 (2) Force is known to us as Will.

 (3) The Will that governs the world is the Will of higher
 intelligences or of one supreme Intelligence.

He quotes, as representing his own thought, the following lines from an
American poetess:--

    "God of the Granite and the Rose!
      Soul of the Sparrow and the Bee!
    The mighty tide of Being flows
      Through countless channels, Lord, from thee.
    It leaps to life in grass and flowers,
      Through every grade of being runs,
    While from Creation's radiant towers
      Its glory flames in Stars and Suns."

To the above-mentioned points Mr. Wallace adds a spiritualistic belief
in many sublime intelligences intermediate between the Deity and the
Universe. Compare _Natural Selection_, Ed. 2. Essay X. with Notes.

[az] That the perception of fitness, even when of the most exalted
kind, does not to some thinkers carry with it a perception of Design,
is plainly manifest from the ensuing paragraph:--

"The absurdity of the _à posteriori_ argument for a God consists in
the assumption that what we call order, harmony, and adaptation are
evidence of design, when it is evident that, _whether there be a God or
not, order, harmony, and adaptation must have existed from eternity,
and are not_ _therefore necessary proof of a designing cause_."
(_American Index_, Jan. 11, 1873.)

It is to be hoped that the writer of this rather strong statement had
insight enough to perceive that these eternal harmonizers of the whole
Universe do, in fact, constitute a self-existent Mind.

[ba] With perfect fairness, Professor Huxley admits the force of
this distinction. In a paragraph quoted p. 133, he wrote thus:--"It
is necessary to remember that there is a wider Teleology, which is
not touched by the doctrine of Evolution, but is actually based upon
the fundamental proposition of Evolution. That proposition is, that
the whole world, living and not living, is the result of the mutual
interaction, according to definite laws, of the forces possessed by
the molecules of which the primitive nebulosity of the universe was
composed. If this be true, it is no less certain that the existing
world lay, potentially, in the cosmic vapour; and that a sufficient
intelligence could, from a knowledge of the properties of the molecules
of that vapour, have predicted, say the state of the Fauna of Britain
in 1869, with as much certainty as one can say what will happen to the
vapour of the breath in a cold winter's day."

It is curious to compare Mr. Huxley's dictum on the Eye (cited p. 133)
with a passage before part-quoted from Mr. Newman. "In saying that
lungs _were intended_ to breathe, and eyes to see, we imply an argument
from Fitness to Design, which carries conviction to the overwhelming
majority of cultivated as well as uncultivated minds. Yet, in calling
it an argument, we may seem to appeal to the logical faculty; and
this would be an error. No syllogism is pretended, that _proves_ a
lung to have been made to breathe; but _we see it_ by what some call
Common-Sense, and some Intuition. If such a fact stood alone in the
universe, and no other existences spoke of Design, it would probably
remain a mere enigma to us; but when the whole human world is pervaded
by similar instances, not to see a Universal Mind in nature appears
almost a brutal insensibility; and if any one intelligently professes
Atheism, the more acute he is, the more distinctly we perceive that he
is deficient in the Religious Faculty. Just as, if he had no sense of
Beauty in anything, we should not imagine that we could impart it by
argument, so neither here.... No stress whatever needs here to be laid
upon minute anatomy, as, for instance, of the eye: it signifies not,
whether we do or do not understand its optical structure as a matter of
science. If it had _no_ optical structure at all, if it differed in no
respect (that we could discover) from a piece of marble, except that
it sees, this would not impair the reasons for believing that it _is
meant_ to see." _The Soul_, pp. 32-3.

This extract from Mr. Newman raises the question--Is an eminent
Biologist any better judge on the subject of _Design_, than any other
eminent thinker? Clearly he is a judge of _Fitness_, but that fact is
admitted on all sides;--the eyes of animals are practically fit for
seeing with, and, what is more, they are fitted to the special fields
of vision useful to their several owners. The first question is, Does
the fact of seeing or the fitness to see raise a moral certainty or
very strong probability of Design? And should a Biologist rejoin that
there exists another account of organic facts and fitnesses probable
and adequate; next comes the further inquiry, which is the most
probable, the most adequate, in a word the easiest? In this connection
it must likewise be asked with some urgency, what _non_-Biological
reasons there are for preferring Design? Whether for instance any good
reasons may be found for believing that there is somewhere subsisting
in and over the Natural world an Intelligence of such order as to be
capable of arranging fitness with a view to the harmony and general
co-operation of natural Forces?

The attempt has been made to shew cause on this side in the present
Chapter. Of course, the case for Design must be rendered unanswerable
if a certitude of Reason, either speculative or practical, or a very
strong conclusion of moral argument, or a probability outweighing all
other probabilities, shall in any way be shewn for accepting the still
nobler belief in a self-existent Will and Personality. Now this latter
idea is the subject of our two closing Chapters, and is contemplated
on grounds with which the Biologist or Physicist, quâ Biologist or
Physicist has no very special concern.

It seems plain, however, that when a great Biologist is pre-eminently a
philosophic thinker (as an author like Mr. Huxley must be acknowledged
by competent judges)--then he possesses a strong vantage ground, and
vast opportunities either for good or for evil. And these last six
words remind us to add with Mr. Newman that after all _subjective_
conditions must not be forgotten.

Would not a man without sense of the Beautiful be "colour-blind" to
many among the harmonies of Nature? And is there not something in the
"Religious insight" Mr. Newman speaks of which seems nothing less than
a gift of vision and faculty divine? Man thus endowed may be in the
highest sense Nature's interpreter, when he sees in her moving mirror
the reflected lineaments of his own and Nature's God. To such a mind no
idea can be more sublimely magnificent than the philosophic Teleology
which Mr. Huxley bases on Evolution; it seems to compress into one the
Past, the Present, and the Future; and to follow with winged thought
that glance of an omniscient Creator which tongues of men and angels
must for ever fail to describe.

We ought to add that the principle of Evolution has been defined in
more than one way. Some definitions would exclude the wide Teleologic
view. What is here meant might (to borrow Mr. Spencer's remark) be more
justly characterized as "INVOLUTION."

[200] Comparing the life of Humanity with the life of an individual,
and arguing for an all-pervading optimism as the general Law in both,
Littré observes, "Pas plus dans un cas que dans l'autre, ne sont
éliminées? _les maladies, les perturbations, les dérangements, en un
mot, tous les accidents qui interviennent dans le fonctionnement de
chaque loi_, et qui sont d'autant plus fréquents et plus graves que
la loi dont il s'agit gouverne des rapports plus compliqués et plus
élevés." _Paroles de Philosophie Positive_, p. 26. The italics are our
own.

[201] It is a curious problem to put testimony in the scale against
alleged necessities, regarding the course of Nature. A certain Eastern
prince had never seen ice--and obstinately rejected the idea of its
possible existence. Was he wise or unwise in his disbelief? Wise, if
we make the rule of actual experience our canon;--unwise if we admit
the rule of modification by unseen possibilities; and still more,
if we allow that a small amount of _affirmative_ testimony ought
in reason to outweigh a large amount of _negative_ presupposition,
or difficulty. A curious instance of this last rule is the natural
history of the duck-billed platypus (the ornithorynchus), rightly
called "_paradoxus_." The contradictory appearance of its organs
created a world of scepticism, when its history was first reported to
Naturalists. It was a question of improbability versus testimony;--and,
to use the established phrase, "every school boy" now knows that
Testimony was right. Compare Note (_c_) p. 264, _ante_.

[bb] How Bacon can have been pictured by his admirers as neither ideal,
nor metaphysical, seems to be one of those unintelligible mysteries
of idolatry which idol-worshippers cannot themselves explain. How
impossible it is on such a supposition to reconcile Bacon with himself
will appear evident to any informed reader of Mr. Ellis's Preface to
the Philosophical Works.

Bacon's tribute to Plato was just, as well as discriminating, and to
our purpose is most appropriate. He says (_De Augmentis_, III. 4)
"For Metaphysic, I have already assigned to it the inquiry of Formal
and Final Causes; which assignation, as far as it relates to Forms,
may seem nugatory; because of a received and inveterate opinion that
the Essential Forms or true differences of things cannot by any human
diligence be found out; an opinion which in the meantime implies and
admits that the invention of Forms is of all parts of knowledge the
worthiest to be sought, if it be possible to be found. And as for the
possibility of finding it, they are ill discoverers who think there is
no land where they can see nothing but sea. But it is manifest that
Plato, a man of sublime wit (and one that surveyed all things as from
a lofty cliff), did in his doctrine concerning Ideas descry that Forms
were the true object of knowledge; howsoever he lost the fruit of this
most true opinion by considering and trying to apprehend Forms as
absolutely abstracted from matter." This last path we have endeavoured
to avoid; and have ourselves elected to follow the Baconian precept,
and to treat the Law or Form of Production not logically, but as
seen in operation, and existent _in rerum naturâ_; not _in ordine ad
hominem_ but _in ordine ad Universum_.

What Bacon himself expected from the investigation, he states plainly
enough in continuation. "If we fix our eyes diligently seriously and
sincerely upon action and use, it will not be difficult to discern and
understand what those Forms are the knowledge whereof may wonderfully
enrich and benefit the condition of men.... This part of Metaphysic I
find deficient; whereat I marvel not, because I hold it not possible
that the Forms of things can be invented by that course of invention
hitherto used; the root of the evil, as of all others, being this: that
men have used to sever and withdraw their thoughts too soon and too far
from experience and particulars, and have given themselves wholly up to
their own meditation and arguments.

"But the use of this part of Metaphysic, which I reckon amongst the
deficient, is of the rest the most excellent in two respects; the
one, because it is the duty and virtue of all knowledge to abridge
the circuits and long ways of experience (as much as truth will
permit), and to remedy the ancient complaint that 'life is short and
art is long.'... For God is holy in the multitude of his works, holy
in the order or connexion of them, and holy in the union of them.
And therefore the speculation was excellent in Parmenides and Plato
(although in them it was but a bare speculation), 'that all things by
a certain scale ascend to unity.'" (_Ibid._ Ellis and Spedding, IV.
360-362.)

[bc] The Hulsean Lecturer before alluded to states this point with most
distinct emphasis. Speaking of the Eye as an optical instrument, he
says, "Here are _four_ conditions of things each utterly _independent_
of the others, viz. the nerve, then its non-reflecting coating, then
a transparent medium investing it, then a most remarkable _ether_
surrounding the whole, the concurrence of all four being essential
to the production of vision, nevertheless we are to believe that all
these adjustments and adaptations are accidentally made, retained
and handed down by inheritance. If there be not evidence here of the
selecting, arranging, controlling power of _mind_, will, forethought,
contrivance, then I feel that I have no evidence for the existence of
the individuality of my own being." _Analogies_, _etc._, p. 124.

[202] There is perhaps no familiar tribe in which the wonders of
this mechanical arrangement, can be more easily studied than in the
venerable family of owls.

[203] The stalk-eyed Crustacea are known to most readers through the
fascinating volume of Mr. Bell.

[204] _De Anima_, III. 1, 4. _Hist. Animal._, I. 9, IV. 8. The
structural eye is reduced to an ocellus.

[205] M. Le Court: see Geoffrey St. Hilaire, _Cours d'Histoire
Naturelle, des Mammifères_.

[206] One is glad of this result for Shakespeare's sake, as well as
Aristotle's; though a Warwickshire man might have been expected to know
the exact truth so far as his county is concerned; which Shakespeare
did not:--

              "The blind mole casts
    Copp'd hills towards heaven." (_Pericles_, I. 1.)

      "Pray you tread softly that the blind mole may not
    Hear a footfall." (_Tempest_, IV. 1.)

[207] The Proteus Anguinus has been rendered illustrious by Sir H.
Davy's _Consolations in Travel_. Since his time, living specimens have
been kept in England.

[208] The English reader will be charmed with the account of him in
Bell's _British Quadrupeds_.

[209] "In the organ of hearing in man we have first of all the external
orifice of the ear, which is closed at the bottom by the circular
tympanic membrane. Behind that membrane is the cavity called the drum
of the ear, this cavity being separated from the space between it
and the brain by a bony partition, in which there are two orifices,
the one round and the other oval. These orifices are also closed by
fine membranes. Across the cavity of the drum stretches a series of
four little bones: the first, called the _hammer_, is attached to the
tympanic membrane; the second, called the _anvil_, is connected by a
joint with the hammer; a third little round bone connects the anvil
with the _stirrup bone_, which has its oval base planted against the
membrane of the oval orifice above referred to. The base of the stirrup
bone abuts against this membrane, almost covering it, and leaving but
a narrow rim of the membrane surrounding the bone. Behind the bony
partition, and between it and the brain, we have the extraordinary
organ called the _labyrinth_, which is filled with water, and over the
lining membrane of which, the terminal fibres of the auditory nerve are
distributed. When the tympanic membrane receives a shock, that shock
is transmitted through the series of bones above referred to, and is
concentrated on the membrane against which the base of the stirrup
bone is planted. That membrane transfers the shock to the water of the
labyrinth, which, in its turn, transfers it to the nerves.

"The transmission, however, is not direct. At a certain place within
the labyrinth exceedingly fine elastic bristles, terminating in sharp
points, grow up between the terminal nerve fibres. These bristles,
discovered by Max Schultze, are eminently calculated to sympathise with
those vibrations of the water which correspond to their proper periods.
Thrown thus into vibration, the bristles stir the nerve fibres which
lie between their roots, and excite audition. At another place in the
labyrinth we have little crystalline particles called _otolithes_--the
Hörsteine of the Germans--embedded among the nervous filaments, and
which, when they vibrate, exert an intermittent pressure upon the
adjacent nerve fibres, thus exciting audition. The otolithes probably
subserve a different purpose from that fulfilled by the bristles of
Schultze. They are fitted, by their weight, to accept and prolong
the vibrations of evanescent sounds, which might otherwise escape
attention. The bristles of Schultze, on the contrary, because of their
extreme lightness, would instantly yield up an evanescent motion,
while they are eminently fitted for the transmission of continuous
vibrations. Finally, there is in the labyrinth a wonderful organ,
discovered by the Marchese Corti, which is to all appearance a musical
instrument, with its chords so stretched as to accept vibrations
of different periods, and transmit them to the nerve filaments
which traverse the organ. Within the ears of men, and without their
knowledge or contrivance, this lute of 3,000 strings has existed for
ages, accepting the music of the outer world, and rendering it fit
for reception by the brain. Each musical tremor which falls upon this
organ selects from its tensioned fibres the one appropriate to its own
pitch, and throws that fibre into unisonant vibration. And thus, no
matter how complicated the motion of the external air may be, those
microscopic strings can analyse it and reveal the constituents of which
it is composed." Tyndall. _On Sound_, pp. 323-4 and 5. We may add that
the "fine elastic bristles," mentioned by Dr. Tyndall, are known to be
prolongations of the free ends of the epithelial cells. The _other_
ends of these cells--(_i.e._ the deep or attached ends) are delicately
ramified, and are said to be in connection with slender nerve-fibrils.

[210] _E.g._, Coleridge. "I have at this moment before me, in the
flowery meadow, on which my eye is now reposing, one of its most
soothing chapters, in which there is no lamenting word, no one
character of guilt or anguish. For never can I look and meditate on
the vegetable creation without a feeling similar to that with which we
gaze at a beautiful infant that has fed itself asleep at its mother's
bosom, and smiles in its strange dream of obscure yet happy sensations.
The same tender and genial pleasure takes possession of me, and this
pleasure is checked and drawn inward by the like aching melancholy,
by the same whispered remonstrance, and made restless by a similar
impulse of aspiration. It seems as if the soul said to herself: From
this state hast _thou_ fallen! Such shouldst thou still become, thyself
all permeable to a holier power! thyself at once hidden and glorified
by its own transparency, as the accidental and dividuous in this quiet
and harmonious object is subjected to the life and light of nature;
to that life and light of nature, I say, which shines in every plant
and flower, even as the transmitted power, love and wisdom of God over
all fills, and shines through, nature! But what the plant is, by an
act not its own and unconsciously--_that_ must thou make thyself to
_become_--must by prayer and by a watchful and unresisting spirit, join
at least with the preventive and assisting grace to make thyself, in
that light of conscience which inflameth not, and with that knowledge
which puffeth not up!" _Statesman's Manual._ Appendix B. pp. 267, 8.
Ed. 1839.

CHAPTER VI.

CAUSATION.

    "Chidhar, the Prophet ever-young
    Thus loosed the bridle of his tongue.

    "I journeyed by a goodly Town,
    Beset with many a garden fair,
    And asked of one who gathered down
    Large fruit, 'how long the Town was there
        He spoke, nor chose his hand to stay,
        'The town has stood for many a day,
        And will be here for ever and aye.'

    "A thousand years passed by and then
    I went the self-same road again.

    "No vestige of that Town I traced,--
    But one poor swain his horn employed,--
    His sheep unconscious browsed and grazed,
    I asked 'when was that Town destroyed?'
        He spoke, nor would his horn lay by,
        'One thing may grow and another die,
        But I know nothing of Towns--not I.'

    "A thousand years went on and then
    I passed the self-same place again.

    "There in the deep of waters cast
    His nets one lonely fisherman,
    And as he drew them up at last
    I asked him 'how that Lake began?'
        He looked at me and laughed to say,
        'The waters spring for ever and aye,
        And fish is plenty every day.'

    "A thousand years passed by and then
    I went the self-same road again.

    "I found a country wild and rude,
    And, axe in hand, beside a tree,
    The Hermit of that Solitude,--
    I asked 'how old that Wood might be?'
        He spoke, 'I count not time at all,
        A tree may rise, a tree may fall,
        The Forest overlives us all,'

    "A thousand years went on and then
    I passed the self-same place again.

    "And there a glorious City stood,
    And 'mid tumultuous market-cry,
    I asked 'Where rose the Town? where Wood
    Pasture and Lake forgotten lie?'
        They heard me not, and little blame,--
        For them the world is as it came,
        And all things must be still the same.

    "A thousand years shall pass, and then
    I mean to try that road again."

    Lord Houghton, _after Rückert_.

 "What a modern talks of by the name, Forces of Nature, Laws of Nature;
 and does not figure as a divine thing; not even as one thing at all,
 but as a set of things, undivine enough,--saleable, curious, good for
 propelling steam-ships! With our Sciences and Cyclopædias, we are apt
 to forget the _divineness_, in those laboratories of ours. We ought
 not to forget it! That once well forgotten, I know not what else were
 worth remembering."--Carlyle. _Heroes_.

 "Two worlds, the one intellectual, the other sensual, were equally
 given to us from the beginning, and all attempts to deduce them from
 one principle (except the Deity) have failed."--Von Feuchtersleben.

    "What am I? how produced? and for what end?
    Whence drew I being? to what period tend?
    Am I th' abandon'd orphan of blind chance?
    Dropped by wild atoms in disorder'd dance?
    Or from an endless chain of causes wrought,
    And of unthinking substance, born with thought?
    By motion which began without a Cause,
    Supremely wise, without design or laws."--Arbuthnot.

    "Pouvoir c'est vouloir."--_Guesses at Truth._

    "If only once weird Time had rent asunder
      The curtain of the Clouds, and shown us Night
      Climbing into the awful Infinite
    Those stairs whose steps are worlds, above and under,
    Glory on glory, wonder upon wonder!...

    "Ah! sure the heart of Man, too strongly tried
      By Godlike Presences so vast and fair,
      Withering with dread, or sick with love's despair,
    Had wept for ever, and to Heaven cried,
    Or struck with lightnings of delight had died!

    "But he, though heir of Immortality,
      With mortal dust too feeble for the sight,
      Draws thro' a veil God's overwhelming light;
    Use arms the Soul--anon there moveth by
    A more majestic Angel--and we die!"

    Frederick Tennyson.

SYNOPSIS OF CHAPTER VI.

 The two last Chapters are intended to be read consecutively, but are
 formally separated in order to mark the transition of Argument. If
 this is borne in mind, and the line of thought pursued continuously,