YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

THE

RELIGION OF THE EUTURE

THE

RELIGION OF THE FUTURE

JOHN BEATTIE CROZIER, M.B.

LONDON
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., i PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1880

( The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved)

PREFACE.
The ESSAYS in this volume, although unlike in
title, when taken together constitute a natural
unity. They have all been written with one object,
viz., to separate as far as possible the non-essential
and transitory elements of Religion from the essen
tial and perennial, and to give to these latter a
consistent and enduring form — a form that will
satisfy the feelings of the heart, while resting on the
strictest inductions of science. It is no ' new religion '
that I have to offer, but is the essence of the old,
purified and made credible to the modern mind.
Around this, which I have ventured to call the
Religion of the Future, I hope to unite religious
thinkers of all classes in a common stand against
Materialism and Atheism.
In pushing forward to the goal I have had in
view, I have met with theological and metaphysical
subtleties, which had to be brushed aside ; with
confused notions as to the limits of Scientific
Thought, which limits had to be clearly and firmly

vi PREFACE.
defined ; and with certain errors in philosophical
method itself, which have hitherto either been en
tirely overlooked, or, if recognised, have nowhere
that I am aware of been prominently brought for
ward. These errors, which have been the source of
endless fallacies in the past, and which are still very
prevalent, I have endeavoured to point out.
To render a subject so wide and complex as
simple as possible, I have in each essay pursued a
distinct and independent train of thought. By
starting from different points, and following different
routes, I have sought to attain the greatest variety
with the least confusion ; and have been enabled, per
haps, to cover a greater area of thought than would
otherwise have been possible within the same limits.
Where the different routes (like lines drawn in dif
ferent directions around the circumference of a
sphere) intersect, there has been some unavoidable
repetition, but as these repetitions are usually the
cardinal points, on which I desire more especially
to fix the attention of the reader, they will not, I
trust, be considered altogether superfluous.
Besides criticism and analysis, each essay con
tains a sketch of a reconstruction or synthesis.
The same result is reached in all, but by different
facts and illustrations, or by new combinations of
the same facts ; and, as all the roads lead to the
same goal, the general conclusions are thus greatly
strengthened.

PREFACE. vii
The Essays on Carlyle and Emerson find a
place in this volume for two reasons. First, because
the writings of these distinguished Thinkers are the
best embodiments of certain aspects of the World
and Man which I wish to enforce. Secondly, be
cause among the many able and discriminating
criticisms of these writers that have yet appeared,
in none, as far as I am aware, has any attempt
been made to show the harmony and connection of
their thoughts as a whole. The hope that after
some years of careful study I might be able to meet
this want is my only apology for entering on ground 1
not strictly within the scope of this volume.
I have selected Mr. Spencer as the subject of
the third essay, not only because* he is the most
profound and far-sighted of the present school of
materialists, but also because he is the only one
of that school who has attempted to give to Mate
rialism a systematic philosophical basis. If I
have been in any measure successful in my resolute
endeavour to destroy the foundation of his ' System
of Philosophy,' I may for the present leave to
others the task of assailing the imposing and mag
nificent superstructure which he has erected upon it.
I regret that I have not been able to add a
chapter (which I hope at some future time to un
dertake) on Comte, as it would have afforded me
1 I allude to the sections which treat of their views of Society
and Politics.

viii PREFACE.
an opportunity of contrasting his views on the
World and Man with those of Mr. Spencer and
myself, and would thus have enabled me to bring
into clearer relief the controverted points which
must be settled before the form which Religion
will eventually assume can be adequately deter
mined. The truth is, it was not until my last essay
— the essay on Emerson — was in progress that I
had, for the first time, the privilege of reading
Comte. I was struck, on the first perusal, with
many points of agreement between his views and
my own, and especially on doctrines which I fancied
I was alone, or almost alone, in holding. But from
his religious views I entirely dissented. I shall
merely indicate here two reasons for this dissent.
The first lay in his confusion of the two planes of
thought which I have sought in this volume clearly
to separate, viz., the sensuous or material, which is
the sphere of Science, and the super-sensuous or
spiritual, which is the sphere of Religion. In look
ing for an object of worship in the ' phenomenal,'
and finding it in ' Humanity,' he has brought Reli
gion down to the sensuous plane, and confounded
the sphere of Duty with that of Religion. The
second cause of my divergence from Comte lay in
his inability to find any unity in Nature. In the
essay on Herbert Spencer I have pointed out that
by Mr. Spencer's own admission the hypothesis of
Evolution is derived from a simpler law — a law

PREFACE. ix
which I myself hold, and which I have illustrated
at some length in the essay on the Constitution of
the World. All the scientific facts, therefore, which
support the theory of Evolution directly support my
own views, and thus I get the benefit of his facts
without his materialistic basis. But while both
Mr. Spencer and myself find a unity in Nature,
Comte could find none. Indeed, he expressly as
serts that no such unity is possible. In his
hierarchy of the sciences he makes each science in
clude the laws of all those which lie beneath it in
the scale, but with certain special laws of its own
superadded. The consequence is that he can find
no unity of plan in Nature, and therefore can find
no unity of power to which to refer the phenomena
of the World. In short, he can find no God, and
is thrown back on the unity of Humanity for his
Religion. Comte was a consistent thinker, and his
views had an intimate connection and interdepen
dence. Had he been able to find that unity in
Nature which Science has made manifest since his
time, it would have entirely altered his Religion,
and his views would then have been substantially
the same as my own. As it is, we are separated by
a gulf which nothing can bridge. J. B. CROZIER.
St. John's Wood : March, 1880.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Carlyle . . . . . i

Emerson ... .... 105
Herbert Spencer . . . "... 157
Considerations on the Constitution of the
World . . . .216
God or Force?. . . 252

CARLYLE.
I do not intend in the present essay to enter into
a detailed criticism of Carlyle's writings. His
peculiarities of style and expression, his estimate
of historical characters and events, his purely lite
rary as well as social and political opinions have
all been so freely canvassed that but little ground
remains to be occupied. But there is one impor
tant aspect of his works which no one hitherto has
attempted to represent, and which seems to me to
be worthy of consideration, and that is the rela
tionship existing among his thoughts in so far as
they are parts of one harmonious whole. That
some attempt of this kind should be made is the
more desirable as it is not generally believed that
his opinions can be reduced into a body of sys
tematized thought. His influence is commonly
attributed to his deep moral convictions and the
fiery emphasis with which they are enunciated, to
his intuitive sagacity and directness of insight, to
his power of realization and pictorial expression.

''•A

2 CARLYLE.
But it is not generally acknowledged that his
thoughts have a most vital coherence and while
resting separately on the widest inductions of ob
servation and experience are nevertheless organi
cally connected as parts of one great living unity.
Nor is this altogether a matter of surprise. His
ideas are not systematically developed, but lie scat
tered far apart throughout his voluminous writings,
are inserted in out-of-the-way places, in side re
marks, sometimes in parentheses, or are gathered
as the spirit of whole books. Nevertheless, if we
look closely, we shall find running like a thread
through his writings a vital principle which is the
soul of the facts and which degrades his histories
and biographies into mere illustrations. To extract
this vital principle and give it firmness and sta
bility is the object of the present essay. For the
best service that criticism can render is to let us
into the central thoughts of an author and to fur
nish us with the key which commands his whole
procedure. What we want is not the discovery of
this or that particular planet, but the method of
Newton ; not Othello, but the consummate know
ledge of life which held any number of Othellos in
solution ; not the roll of beautiful jewels but the
light that can shed such radiance. The 'select
beauties ' of an author lose much of their force and
even of their beauty when torn from the parent
page. Every great writer draws his principles from

CARLYLE. 3
an infinitely complected web of observation and ex
perience, as a bee its honey from a thousand flowers.
These experiences we can never know, but the light
which is reflected in the handling of his subject
may enable us to read his principles. In endea
vouring, with much diffidence, to give a new set
ting to the thoughts of one of the greatest thinkers
of modern ages, I shall consider, first, his views
•of the World ; secondly, of the Human Mind ; and
thirdly, of Society and Government ; and shall at
tempt to show that the whole forms a coherent body
of thought — an organic unity.
First, then, as to his views of the World. As a
preliminary to any insight into the World, Carlyle
insists on our refraining from all attempts to ex
plain Mind. He has therefore no sympathy with
the Materialist or Metaphysician. Mind and Matter
are the most comprehensive categories in our ex
perience. They have no community of nature or
attribute. They are the poles of existence. They
cannot therefore be comprehended. The schemer
who attempts to discover perpetual motion is
baulked by a first law of physics. The materialist
who attempts to resolve Mind into a property,
product or effect of Matter, is equally baulked by
a first principle of thought. To explain an object
we must get outside of it. . Archimedes promised
to lift the earth if he could find a point of support
for his lever, but the Materialist has never been

4 CARLYLE.
able to get outside of himself to explain himself
As the eye cannot itself see how the eye sees, so
the Mind cannot know how the mind knows. The
metaphysician, too, who tries to account for what
are called the faculties of the mind, to show how
they arise, how the complex grow out of the simple,
lies under the same impossibility. Carlyle sees
the hopelessness of the attempt and characterizes
it with his usual force. In his essay on ' Charac
teristics ' he says : ' Consider it well, Metaphysics
is the attempt of the mind to rise above the mind,
• to environ and shut in, or as we say, comprehend
the mind. Hopeless attempt for the wisest as for
the foolishest ! What strength of sinew or athletic
skill will enable the stoutest athlete to fold his own
body in his arms and by lifting, lift up himself?
The Irish Saint swam the Channel " carrying his
head in his teeth " but the feat has never been imi
tated.' Again, in speaking of Diderot, he says he has
long given up the idea of attempting to understand
any man, even himself, and observes that ' Every
man within that inconsiderable figure of his, con
tains a whole Spirit-Kingdom and Reflex of the All,
and though to the eye but some six standard feet
in size, reaches downwards and upwards, unsur-
veyable, fading into the region of Immensity and
Eternity. Life everywhere as woven. on that stu
pendous ever-marvellous " Loom of Time " may

CARLYLE. 5
be said to fashion itself of a woof of light, indeed,
yet on a warp of mystic darkness, only He that
created it can understand it.'
He hopes the literary A ristos of the future will
attempt to extinguish the idle habit of ' account
ing for the Moral Sense.' ' The Moral Sense, thank
God, is a thing you will never " account for ; " that,
if you could think of it, is the perennial Miracle
of Man ; in all times, visibly connecting poor transi
tory Man here on, this bewildered Earth with his
Maker, who is Eternal in the Heavens. By no
Greatest Happiness Principle, Greatest Nobleness
Principle, or any Principle whatever, will you make
that in the least clearer than it already is ; — for
bear, I say ; or you may darken it away from you
altogether ! '
But besides this, Metaphysical Speculation is bar
ren of fruit also. No new truth can spring from it.
As a building arises from the mechanical combi
nation of organized materials of different kinds, so
knowledge arises from the vital combination of the
raw materials furnished by our different faculties.
By decomposing these organized faculties into ima
ginary homogeneous states of consciousness we can
no more build up knowledge than we can build a
house with pulverised wood or stone. It is as
absurd as to expect to see better by discovering
the parts* played respectively by the retina and
lens of the eye. It may be objected that analysis

6 CARLYLE.
is indispensable, as in Chemistry where we first
decompose that we may afterwards recombine.
But there is no analogy between physical and
mental analysis. For, in the first case, we arrive
at atoms which, though inappreciable to the senses-
perhaps, have nevertheless independent existences.
and modes of combination ; whereas in the latter,
we arrive at states of consciousness which have no
independent existence at all. To break up an orga
nized thought into so much ego and non-ego, so
much sensation and perception, is to reduce it to
elements that cannot stand alone. To resolve the
organized feelings of love, pride, ambition, venera
tion, into different modes of pleasure and pain, is to-
forfeit their distinctive characters, as sunlight is.
lost when decomposed into the seven primary
colours. One metaphysician has analyzed love,
,and has found it to consist of certain proportions-
of sensuality, pride, veneration, love of approbation,,
of freedom &c, but these feelings when added
together do not make love. The ethereal quality
has escaped in the analysis, as the finest essences-
do when distilled, and nothing remains behind but
the earthy residue. It is evident, too, that even
could we show how the Human Mind has been
compounded, or detect its germs in lower animals,
the knowledge would avail us nothing for insight
into the World. Unless we intend to look into life
through the eyes of an ape, it can profit us little

CARLYLE. 1
to know that we have developed from an ape. The
fine insight is got by mounting the high peaks of
thought, as we ascend to elevated ground to get
sight of objects invisible from the plain. If the
prospect of the landscape or the splendours of the
evening sunset can only be seen from the mountain
top, we do not inquire how the mountain has been
upheaved. Nor need we inquire how the mind of
Man has arisen, if it alone can discern the great
laws of the World and the glories of created
Nature. The Mind, then, with its mystic faculties is
utterly inexplicable. It is, indeed, a gleam of light
hovering over a dark unfathomable sea. If we are
to interpret the World we must commence by as
suming the Mind as it is, and not vice versa. But
Mind and Matter, though divided, are also united.
They are separated by a chasm which no art can
bridge, and yet are everywhere vitally united.
It now becomes necessary to find the terms of that
union. It is a main problem of philosophy. All
the narrower currents of thought flow from this, as
streams from a common fountain. Its practical
consequences too are immense. Carlyle, with his
deep intuitive sagacity, perceived this to be the
indispensable preliminary to all comprehensive
thinking. The answer lay around him on all sides.
Like everything of wide human concern it was to
be seen on every highway. Hence Goethe called

8 CARLYLE.
it the 'open secret.' The materialists had dis
covered that Mind was merely an attribute or pro
duct of Matter. Carlyle, on the other hand, found
that Matter existed to represent Mind— to render it
visible and body it forth. He asks : ' The thing
Visible nay the thing Imagined, the thing in any
way conceived as Visible what is it but a garment
or Clothing of the higher celestial Invisible " un
imaginable, formless, dark with excess of bright " ? '
This doctrine makes no assumptions and, in this
respect, is unlike the materialistic one — that Mind
is the product of Matter — where it seems to be
forgotten that the thing (Mind) to be explained is
assumed in the explanation. It neither attempts
to account for Mind, nor Matter, but merely ex
presses the observed connection between them.
Let us look at a few of the facts which support it.
Take, first, our own bodies. Through them
Mind is represented to Mind. Every gesture,
every movement, has significance. The outer ac
companies the inner, like the pointers on a dial-
plate. The state of the mind — its vivacity or
apathy — is expressed in the outward motions, as
the state of the heart is felt in the pulse. In the
eye alone what a world of thought and feeling is
pictured! In a man's attitude and bearing you
may read his fortunes ; in his tone and manners, his
native texture, or acquired culture. The bygone
years of trouble and pain leave their impress on

CARLYLE. 9
the face, as the glacial period has left its traces on
the rocks.
How expressive, again, is Form ! Physiognomy
is true, but we are not learned enough to fully de
cipher the inscription. Among the lower animals,
form and character correspond, but in Man, races
and types have been so crossed and intermixed,
virtues and vices, disease and passion, have been so
dashed and confounded, that the correspondence
is inexact and perplexing. Nevertheless, enough
remains to show the intimate connection between
the two. There is always some feature that more
markedly than the rest bears the impress of the
character. Sometimes it is the eye or brow, again
it is the mouth or jaw, the nose or chin. But the
important point is that we intuitively connect Form
with Character — an immense fact, counterbalancing
an infinitude of adverse experiences. Beauty
always refers back to spiritual attributes, and from
them derives its power to awe and fascinate, as de
formity does its tendency to excite aversion or dis
gust. There can be no doubt that purity of mind
has a tendency to produce lines and features that
are beautiful, and that nobility of soul lends the
most ignoble features a ray of its own divine
majesty. But it is in Language that we have the most
accurate expression of Thought. This is more
^especially the case when Imagination lends her aid.

10 CARLYLE.
The images and pictures which Language employs-
are capable of expressing the most delicate and
evanescent shades of thought and feeling. They
are taken from Nature — are Nature at the first re
move. Nature first expresses her own thoughts to
us, then in turn expresses ours. This power of
making her tell for us what we wish to say is a
divine hint that the Spirit of Man and the Spirit of
Nature are One. That Nature, too, is the expression
of Mind is seen in the ideas of savages and the
early nations of the world. With minds unclouded
by metaphysics, and eyes still unsubdued by the.
glare of scientific nomenclature, they saw all
natural objects and phenomena as direct manifes
tations of spiritual powers. But we no longer see:
the divineness of natural objects — the sun, fire,
man, trees, flowers and the landscape. These have
been so long used for sensuous purposes that they
have become brutalized and degraded, as Man him
self becomes when he lives for low aims. We have
come to regard the sun as useful only to save gas
or fuel, fire to boil the kettle, men to carry burdens,.
trees to build houses, flowers to indulge vanity,.
and the landscape to fatten sheep and oxen. By
vulgar use they have lost their divine impress, as-
coins their royal stamp. We have a potent instru
ment of expression in Music, too, which is the pecu
liar language of emotion, idealised and sublimated.
If we turn to the works of Man we shall find that

CARLYLE. n
there, too, the Visible, the Material, is the expres
sion of the Invisible, the Spiritual. Every institu
tion, organization or class is the embodiment of an
Idea. The Church represents the religious idea,
the State, the idea of social well-being. All the
minor associations of men for the furtherance of
any object are held together by the idea which is
their motto and vital principle. The different
classes in society, too, are each associated with a
general idea, and the individual members take
rank or precedence accordingly. Indeed, it is the
respect paid to the general idea that preserves in
stitutions long after they have departed in practice
from their original principle. Under this segis they
are shielded and protected, as fine names and
euphonious phrases often conceal infamy or crime.
Even a man's clothes are significant and ex
pressive. Carlyle, speaking in a comprehensive
way, says, ' the Cut betokens Intellect and Talent,
the Colour betokens Temper and Heart' The hier
archy of command and obedience, necessary for the
existence of society, demands that every function
should have its expressive outward symbols.
Hence the Judge, the Policeman, the Soldier have
each their distinctive costume, without which
society would lapse into confusion. It is in this
sense that Carlyle says 'Society is founded on
Cloth.' All heraldic coats-of-arms, decorations,
flags, insignia, are symbolical, as are also all rituals,

12 CARLYLE.
forms and ceremonies, which call up the ideas and
conceptions they represent, more vividly than the
unassisted imagination could do. Thus, wherever
we turn, we see that the Material exists to repre
sent the Spiritual ; Mind, to represent Matter ; the
Visible, the Invisible.
Such is Carlyle's general view of the relation
between Mind and Nature. It now becomes
necessary to inquire what are the attributes of
that Mind of which Nature is the revelation — is
the expression, and symbolic representation. The
wide acceptance of religious creeds by man
kind proves that the essence of their teachings
is in harmony with the deepest intuitions of the
soul. But, in sceptical ages, that outermost stra
tum of the organized Human Mind known as its
conscious Intelligence, demands that the harmony
be made apparent to the understanding also. The
religious sentiment can now only arise, when the
intellect is satisfied that the Constitution of Things
is in harmony with our moral and spiritual intui
tions. Otherwise there is revolt and Atheism.
For there is a divine element in the mind of Man
that can be loyal to nothing lower than itself. A
brute Force as the soul and centre of this World
could never command the allegiance of any lofty
spirit. Nor could an unjust, lying or malicious
Power. Before the human mind can bow down in
awe and reverence before this mysterious Universe,

CARLYLE. i j
it must be seen to be the expression of One Mind
and Will, whose attributes are Justice, Beauty, Love,
Goodness and Truth. A glance at the objections of
sceptics will show this to be the case. One asserts
that the Universe is not the product of One Mind
and Will, but is a divided sovereignty, in which
some secondary hostile Power bears partial sway.
Another, that it is inconceivable that Infinite Good
ness could tolerate Evil when Infinite Power could
have suppressed it. A third sees no Justice in this
world, and has lost all hope of a better ; while a
fourth alleges that Virtue, after all, is only a form
of Pleasure, and Duty a modification of selfishness
— a balance of motives — a mere expediency. From
these objections it is evident that many contradic
tions must be cleared away before the Universe can
be seen to be divine. Carlyle suffered from such
difficulties more acutely perhaps than most men,
but by force of insight, after a valiant conflict, he
succeeded in overcoming them, and his victory is a
possession for us all. Gifted with a deep, devout
nature, his early manhood fell on a time when the
beliefs that had been the life-guidance of so many
generations of men, had become discredited, and
were passing away. The Christian Church had
come down through the centuries encumbered with
such a load of Mosaic cosmogonies, medieval theo
logies and superstitions, that its Divine Essence was
scarcely • recognized. The whole was bound up

14 CARLYLE.
together in one heterogeneous creed, belief in which
was found to be impossible. Criticism had stormed
and dismantled the outworks, and the citadel itself
seemed in danger. Science, in her lusty youth, had
so maimed and perforated the huge unwieldy mass,
that by many it was abandoned, and left for dead.
It was not until other days had brought a deeper
insight, that its spirit was seen to be still fresh and
strong — young and beautiful as in its first morning.
Carlyle turned away from it in despair, and sought
in the wide world for that satisfaction to his soul
which had been elsewhere denied him. But there,
too, he could find no rest for his feet, but wandered
over God's blessed earth, as over burning sands.
The whole surface of Life, like a waste battle-field,
was everywhere strewn with contradictions. Good
and Evil, Greatness and Meanness, lay side by side
in indiscriminate confusion. The sighs of the
wretched and unfortunate ascended with the wail
ing of the disconsolate and forlorn ; and Justice
seemed to have taken her flight to Heaven. On all
sides lawlessness appeared to reign, and above all,
Time was flying fast, roaring like a whirlwind over
the silent Eternity. To reunite the disjointed limbs,
to educe harmony out of this stunning dissonance,
seemed a hopeless task. Carlyle tells, in the Sartor,
¦of the long years of anguish he endured, before he
could again look up to Nature as his mother and
divine. But as the contradictions he had to

CARLYLE. 15
wrestle with are the same to-day as when he en
tered the arena, it may not be unprofitable to for
mulate them in a definite shape, and to subject them
to a brief examination. A satisfactory solution of
them, if possible, may well merit the attention of
the thoughtful reader. They assume many forms,
but may all be reduced under a few heads.
ist That the Universe is an Aggregate of conflict
ing forces and not a Unity. 2nd. That it has no
aim, but is purposeless and indifferent. 3rd. That
Duty is only a balance of Motives, and Virtue a
form of Pleasure. 4th. The existence of Evil.
As a preliminary to the consideration of these
objections, it is essential to remark that the Universe
is everywhere made up of living forces. The im
pression that the Universe is dead, has probably
arisen out of the popular distinction between dead
and living matter. Plants and animals are spoken
of as living ; stones and earth as dead and inert.
But this distinction, although convenient, is not
philosophical. What we call dead matter is really
made up of living forces, but these forces are in a
state of stable equilibrium. The living energies of
steam are the same forces, set free, as are locked up
in the dull inanimate ice. A concussion of suffi
cient power would dissipate this rocky globe into
-living vapour. Carlyle says ' Think you there is
anything without force and utterly dead ? Even
a withered leaf has forces in it and about it, else

16 CARLYLE.
how could it rot ? ' Hence Goethe was justified in
calling Nature ' the Living Garment of God.'
The Universe being everywhere made up of
living forces, we come now to the first great objec
tion, viz., that these forces form an aggregate only,
not a Unity. A few considerations will help to
show that this is not the case. In the Human Body,
for example, there is an organic connection between
all the parts, so that the smallest change in any
organ affects every other. No part is detached or
cut off from the rest, but the same blood and
nervous energy circulates through and animates
the whole. This connection and interaction con
stitute what may be called an organic or vital
unity. It is the same with the Universe. There,
too, nothing is detached, but each effect strengthens
or modifies every other. 'It is a mathematical •
fact ' says Carlyle ' that the casting of this pebble
from my hand alters the centre of gravity of the
Universe.' The mysterious power by which the
words we utter are conveyed to the minds of others
and effect changes there, is true of the Universe,
and is a hint of the invisible bonds that unite all
things together. Besides, the Universe is con
structed on one plan. This is admitted even by
the materialists. In the doctrine of Evolution they
hold that the same Law is everywhere present,
operating alike in the formation of solar systems
and in a blade of grass. But the Unity of Nature is

CARLYLE. i7
apprehended by our Intuitions as well as by the
Intellect. All things seen from a sufficient per
spective and at the right angle of observation
make an identical impression on the mind. Through
the endless variety of forms the same spirit
breathes. Carlyle was especially struck with this,
as indeed all poetic natures are, when standing one
evening at sunset on the top of one of the moun
tain ranges of his native land. He writes of it in
this way. ' A hundred and a hundred savage peaks
in the last light of day ; all glowing of gold and
amethyst, like giant spirits of the wilderness, there
in their silence in their solitude, even as on the
night Noah's deluge first dried ! Beautiful, nay
solemn, was the sudden aspect to the Wanderer.
He gazed over these stupendous masses with
wonder, almost with longing desire, never till that
hour had he known Nature, that she was One, that
she was his mother and Divine. And as the ruddy
glow was fading into clearness in the sky ; and the
sun had now departed, a murmur of Eternity and
Immensity of Death and Life stole through his soul ;
and he felt as if Death and Life were one, as if the
earth were not dead, as if the spirit of the earth
had its throne in that splendour, and his own spirit
were therewith holding communion.'
On another occasion, when resting on the high
table-lands in front of the mountain, watching the
tempest in the distance, and seeing the storm*
C

1 8 CARLYLE.
clouds turning into snow, he exclaims ' How
thou fermentest and elaboratest in thy great fer
menting vat, and laboratory of an Atmosphere, of
a World O Nature — or what is Nature ? Ha ! why
do I not name thee God ? Art not thou then the
" Living Garment of God " ? O Heaven, is it in very
deed He then that ever speaks through thee, that
lives and loves in thee, that lives and loves in me ? '
This poetic intuition is of more weight than a
whole catalogue of merely intellectual reasons, and
•is the highest test of truth. It is the certificate
that the poles of thought are in a line with the
poles of Nature. The wave current of feeling is the
surest guarantee that the electric links are all con
nected. We test the delicacy of a piece of humour,
for example, by the way in which it affects our feel
ings, as we judge of wine by the way in which it
affects the palate. It is the same with the percep
tion of the finest truths. At times, when involved
in a maze of bewildering details, we are made
aware, by an indefinable instinct, of the presence of
the subtle principle that pervades them. Though
it eludes us when we attempt to seize it, we are
nevertheless conscious of its existence. In some
spontaneous hour, perhaps, it reveals itself to us,
announcing its presence, as it opens on the mind,
with a joyous burst of emotion. The value of the
intuitions as an intellectual instrument is seen, too,
in the way in which they detect the presence of

CARLYLE. 19
error. In reading the writings of the Materialists
we are conscious of an inward dissatisfaction. The
facts they adduce may be sufficient; and the reason
ing cogent and plausible, but there always remains
in the mind of the sensitive reader a residuum of
consciousness which is still unsubdued — an inner
protest. We feel that a fallacy is lurking some
where, although we may be unable to detect it, as
sensitive persons are conscious of the presence of
electricity in the atmosphere before it appears in
the lightning, or as we are sensible of the least
want of harmony or sympathy among our acquaint
ances, long before it has come up into their action
or conversation. The Universe, then, being alive
and not dead, being a Unity and not an aggregate,
must be the expression of One Mind and Will.
This leads us to the second objection, viz., that
the Universe has no aim or purpose, but is an indif-
feren.t machine. This difficulty pressed heavily on
Carlyle during his long struggle with unbelief.
Speaking of his inability to believe in the Devil even,
who, in that age of scepticism, had been pulled
down with the rest, he says : ' To me the Universe
was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of
Hostility ; it was one huge dead, immeasurable
steam-engine, rolling on in its dead indifference to
grind me limb from limb. O ! the vast gloomy
solitary Golgotha and Mill of Death ! Why was-
the living banished hither companionless, conscious ?
c 2

20 CARLYLE.
Why, if there is no Devil ; nay, unless the Devil is
your God.' To believe that the World is a dead
indifferent machine, without aim or purpose, is fatal
to all spiritual life. It is one of the contradictions
that lie in our path and must be removed before
we can make any progress. And yet, looking ¦
merely at the surface of things, nothing strikes ,us
more than the apparently purposeless character of
life. It seems an endless iteration and brute repe
tition, without advancement. Generation after gen
eration appear on the scene, tread the same weary
round, and disappear ; and we ask impatiently, For
what end ? Nor, looking more closely, can we dis
cover any law regulating the fortunes of the actors
themselves. The wicked seem to succeed, the good
to be trodden under or cast aside.
The good die young,
But they whose hearts are dry as summer's dust
Burn to their sockets.
The capriciousness of fortune characterises Life
itself. The air is full of aimless shafts — pestilence
and disease — flying hither and thither, but directed
by no divine hand. Our life is a perpetual dodging.
No sooner do we elude one danger than another is
upon us. There is no apparent purpose running
through this entangled web, and human life looks
like the irony of mocking spirits.
Now, all this is sufficiently obvious. Neverthe
less, a deeper inspection will disclose beneath these

CARLYLE. 21
inharmonious particulars, 'a musical perfection, a
Heaven without rent or seam.' But it is essential
that we should know how the facts are to be
grouped and arranged. Emerson says ' He who is
immersed in what concerns person or place cannot
see the problem of existence.' We must bear in
mind, then, that all the complex circumstances and
events of life are merely the clothing of great
general Laws or Tendencies — are the dress they
appear in. These Laws or Tendencies may be called
the soul of the facts. A few simple principles, end
lessly varied and combined, make up this magnifi
cent panorama of life. These are physical, organic,
and spiritual ; and to them we must direct our at
tention, if we are to find the aim and purport of
the World. On an attentive consideration, then,
we shall find that they all work for the Good of the
Whole, that is to say, for Justice, and that the result
is a gradual progress and amelioration. Nature
does not work for any particular end, but for uni
versal benefit. Take, first, the Physical forces. The
solar system must be stable, before we can have
any order or progress on this particular planet.
Hence we have the Law of Gravitation everywhere
operative, and although, by neglecting it, I may
fall and injure myself, it nevertheless works for the
general good. ' Shall gravitation cease till I pass
by ? ' Is the heat of the sun not beneficial, because
we # may have had sunstroke, or steam, because

22 CARLYLE.
it is explosive, or fire because it may scorch
us, or water, because it may drown us ? It is
the same, too, with the Organic laws. The ani
mal passions subserve a great general end, although
they may be abused to the detriment of the indi
vidual. So, too, with the Spiritual laws. All
the great spiritual faculties of Man work for the
good of the Whole, and not for the aggrandize
ment of the individual. Benevolence, Justice, Love,
Mercy, and Truth are the indirect workings of the
First Cause for the general welfare, through the will
and consciousness of man. If we take a general
survey of Nature, where these laws are seen in their
combined action, we shall find that provision is
made for the good of the Whole, not for the exclu
sive benefit of any individual. Every inch of this
wide globe is packed with life, the excess of which
flows into every cranny. The very air is full of
germs. The adaptation, too, is perfect, and just that
sort of creature that can find its existence on any
spot, is placed there, whether it be plant, insect or
worm. Every scrap of material is worked up and
utilised, and the creative superintendence is every
where busy, regulating and adjusting all with an
eye to the Whole. There are no preferences.
Nature does not pamper one plant or animal to
starve another, but even-handed justice is done to
all. Every organism is weaponed for defence as
well as for offence. There are ho lotteries, but each

CARLYLE. 23
draws its fair share, and care is taken that all shall
be provided for — plant, animal, and tree. If a race
is exposed to unusual danger, it becomes more
prolific ; when the danger is past, its fertility de
clines. As the end and ideal of civil government
is to give the greatest good to all, without favour to
any, so in the Divine Government of the Universe,
the great Laws — physical, organic, and spiritual —
work impartially for the benefit of all ; and he who
best obeys them is most in harmony with the de
crees of his Maker, and, in the great sense, alone
succeeds. This working for the good of all, consti
tutes Justice, and is the proof that the Mind and
Will of which Nature is the interpreter and repre
sentative is Just and Good.
Not only does Nature work for Justice, but pro
vision is also made for amelioration and progress.
The races that inhabited the earth during the geo
logic epochs, show a steady advance in type and
organization. The earlier forms disappeared, and
were replaced by new and higher ones. Savages
and barbarians retreat before advancing civilisation,
and in the course of time disappear altogether.
Among civilised nations, the tendency is to advance
gradually from brute force to moral and spiritual
domination. Every great discovery throws the
emphasis of power from a lower to a higher plane,
until all things are brought under the power of
Thought. Mountains and seas are annihilated, the

24 CARLYLE.
hostile elements are subdued, and harnessed to the
will of man. Carlyle says that the invention of
printing will bring on democracy, and that thfe
discovery of gunpowder will replace brute force by
spiritual. And thus, through the coming ages, we
may anticipate that mankind will ascend higher
and higher up the slope of ' that mountain which
has no summit, or whose summit is in Heaven only.'
We now come to the third objection, which
leads straight to Atheism, viz., that Duty is only a.
form of Selfishness, and Virtue a form of pleasure.
In Carlyle's youth, this doctrine was everywhere
propagated by atheists and utilitarians, and is still
a main doctrine of the materialists. By these men
Duty was reduced to a mere enlightened Self-
interest. It was for the greatest benefit of the
greatest number. You counted the cost of dis
honesty, and the cost of Duty, and on the whole,
Duty was found to be the more profitable. It was
the best policy. It was no Divine Idea implanted
in the heart of Man by his Maker, but was merely
a form of selfishness, a matter of expediency. The
metaphysicians had analysed it carefully, and had
found it to consist of certain proportions of self-
interest, force of public opinion, and love of esteem.
They had ground all that was Divine out of it, and
only the husks of Pleasure and Self-interest re
mained behind. Against this doctrine, Carlyle
hurled a most indignant protest. He clearly per-

CARLYLE. 25
ceived that in the heart of Man, Virtue still existed,
and pointed it out. It was the inner command,
' Work thou in Well-Doing.' Men may differ as to
what their special duties are, under certain circum
stances, and from the confusion and uncertainty
thence arising, may be tempted to doubt whether
Duty itself exists, but the impulse to Well-Doing,
innate and eternal, cannot be got rid of. All men
feel it, and no vulgar success, of money or fame, can
entirely obliterate our consciousness of it. ' The
true God's voice, voice of the eternal, is in the heart
of every man — there, wherever else it be.' What
each shall consider as well-doing, will depend on
education and circumstances. Some think it consists
in developing and extending trade and commerce ;
others in cheapening the loaf, or feeding the poor.
Some believe in helping others directly, others, in
helping them to help themselves. There are those
again, who slight these material benefits, considering
them as of less importance than instructing the
mind, or reclaiming the heathen and drunkard, the
prostitute and slave. But in every human soul the
impulse to well-doing exists. And what are all
these, but more or less enlightened ideas as to how
best promote, what each considers as the highest
Good ? That Virtue is not a mere form of Pleasure
or Self-interest, is seen also in this, that where the
belief is genuine, it is attended with a self-sacrifice,
grand in proportion to the purity, depth and in-

26 CARLYLE.
tensity of the conviction. For it, men freely give
their time, their money, their comfort, their reputa
tion, their position, their dignity, and even life itself.
To doubt this, is rank and hopeless atheism. Carlyle
calls it ' the infinite nature of Duty,' for it has an
unlimited character in our thoughts. No metaphy
sical or materialistic hocus-pocus can decompose
or dissipate this primary intuition of the mind.
But while Duty, as a spiritual impulse, is eternal
and divine, the special duties of nations or indi
viduals depend on circumstances. They must
adapt themselves to the necessities of the hour.
At one time, we must think, at another, act ; now
we must fight, and again, we must pray. And
rightly so, for the world is in constant evolution and
metamorphosis, and what was yesterday a further
ance, becomes an obstruction to-day. We must
discern the tendencies of the time, throw ourselves
at their point, clear the way for them, and allow
them to act. Nature gives us the hint. Her
grand geological epochs, once completed, never
return. The old megatheria and ichthyosaura
sleep in their fossil beds, never to awake. They were
there and wanted, in their time and place, but. their
age is past, and the new hour brings a new require
ment. And as the realities and duties of life
differ in different ages, so must the spiritual
symbols that represent them. To drag some old
forgotten mummy from its grave, and insist on its

CARLYLE. 27
being our duty to warm it into life, is to mistake
the aim and purport of this world.
This brings us to the last great contradiction of
life — the existence of Evil. This has been the
cause of more scepticism, perhaps, than any of the
contradictions which Life presents. It has thrown
its gigantic shade over our moral and spiritual life,
blighting it like a poisonous tree. The seed from
which it. has grown, is the dogma of the absolute
Infinitude of God. It is asked, why an omnipotent
God should permit Evil, why happiness should not
be the lot of us all. From a Creator infinite in
Power and Goodness, we should expect a world free
from frailty and misery. And it must be confessed
that if the premises are sound, the conclusion is
just and rational. But I dispute the premises. I
doubt the omnipotence. And yet it has come
down to us through so many centuries, consecrated
by such a weight of authority, that its denial will
cause a recoil of feeling in the best minds. Never
theless, on severe examination, you will look in
vain for any evidence to support it. What reason
have we for believing the Creator to be absolutely
Infinite, absolutely Omnipotent ? All reason points
the other way. There is every reason for believing
the Universe to be of no known limits, none for
believing it to be absolutely unlimited or Infinite ;
and it is a capital point in philosophy, that the
burden of proof lies with the theory least in

28 CARLYLE.
harmony with the consolidated experience of man
kind. All Nature points to the continued opera
tion of a vast, but limited Power. It is not at all
essential to our spiritual welfare that the Creator
should be Infinite, but only that He should be
commensurate in Power and Glory with his created
works. From this point of view, then, the existence of
Evil is a matter of course. It is a necessary result
of limitation. The soul of man is boundless in its
desires and aspirations, but the poor Earth is.
limited. With many to satisfy and but little to
divide, Evil commences. Carlyle asks if all the
finance-ministers and confectioners of Europe
would undertake to make even one shoeblack
happy, and concludes that if half a Universe were
allotted to him, he would commence quarrelling
with the proprietor of the other half, and think
himself the most ill-treated of men.
Having cleared away the superficial contradic
tions which Life is constantly forcing on our
attention, we find our moral and spiritual intui
tions once more in harmony with the constitution
of Things. The darkening clouds of doubt that
had drifted over the heavens, break and clear away,
and we look into the serenity of the eternal sky.
Our hearts, infolded by the cold touch of scepti
cism, open up again to the glory of life, like flowers
to the morning sun, and are refreshed as with dew.

CARLYLE.

29

We may pass, then, at once to Carlyle's Religion,
which has a living organic connexion with his in
sight into the World. ' For Philosophy, in its true
sense, is or should be the soul, of which Religion,
Worship is the body.'
We have seen that the World is the product
of One Mind and Will which works everywhere
for Justice, Goodness, Beauty and Truth, but under
conditions and limitations. From this will follow
our Religion, i.e., our attitude of mind and heart
towards this Supreme Being, and our practical
duties in this world. The end of Nature is Justice,
Goodness, Spirituality and Beauty. The immense
variety of objects which make up the world of
Nature, by their action and interaction work out
that end. Although each of these objects has a
distinct, separate existence — mineral, worm, insect,
flower, tree, animal and man — they are all kept
subordinate to their great end, by subtle links
which attach them to the Will at the centre. Man,
equally with the humblest and meanest of created
things, is an instrument for working out that
Justice and Beneficence which Nature has at heart.
He forms part of those great world-forces that ply
their unwearied spindles around him, weaving in
the garment of existence. He cannot be isolated
from them. He appears to enjoy an independent
existence and to follow his own. private ends, but
he is as dependent on the Will of God, as a tree

30 CARLYLE.
on its mother earth. He cannot live for selfish
ness alone. He may be fanned by the sweet
breezes of pleasure, and bask in the world's bright
sunshine, but unless he is nourished through the
roots of his being which are fed from that central
Fountain, he withers away. And as the central
Law of the World is Justice and Goodness, of
which the thousandfold complexities of Physical
and Organic Law are instruments, so the central
Law of Man is dependence on that just and good
Will ; all the superficial laws of his nature, phy
sical and organic, being merely instruments of this
central Law — subsidiary and subordinate to it
Hence the first Duty of Man is Self- Renunciation.
This is a total change of heart and will, or in other
words, a conversion. It is what is known in Scrip
ture as a being ' born again.' It is a change in the
motive-springs of action. In our natural state, our
main desire is to secure for ourselves personal
happiness, but in this, it is to do the will of God
— even at the expense of our personal happiness.
We wish God's will to prevail, even although we
should suffer. This temper of mind is mystic in its
nature, cannot be compelled, but dawns on the heart
like love. It arises when we have come to realize
that the World has been created by God for just
and good ends, and that we are His instruments.
It is not enough that we should apprehend this
merely as an intellectual truth. It must lay hold

CARLYLE. 31
of our hearts and sink into the soul. But it arises
more readily when we see that the great and bene
ficent Power that controls all things, Himself works
under limitations. Nor is this surprising. The
parent who, possessing the power to make his
child happy, should wantonly decree its misery,
might command its obedience, but not its love. In
the same way, no power in the Universe could
prevent the free spirit of Man from rebelling
against a God, who had withheld a good which he
could have conferred, or permitted an evil which
he could have withheld. And in the current
theologies where this doctrine is avowed, it has
given rise in the loftiest minds, as we all know, to
a Byronic gloominess of temper and sourness of
heart, in spite of the immense prodigality of
agencies everywhere at work for the good of Man.
But, on the other hand, when we see that the vast
and beneficent Power which Nature reveals to us,
Himself works under difficulties and limitations ;
when we see that the poor Earth has nothing
more to give — ' is our needy mother and not our
cruel step-dame' — there rises from our hearts a
burst of grateful emotion, and with loving resig
nation we can look up and say ' Thy will be done'
As the poor mother, who divides her last poor
crust equally among her famishing children, gets
their blessing, although they are still wretched and
unhappy, so we mortals, miserable and heavy-

32 CARLYLE.
laden, seeing that the good God has, by His impart
ial laws, fairly divided among us what He had to
give, can still bless Him, and be blessed in return.
This doctrine of Self- Renunciation is distinctive of
Christianity, and is a direct deduction from our in
sight into the World. It is the beginning and end
of Carlyle's religion. He constantly quotes Goethe's
remark, that ' only with Renunciation can Life be
properly said to begin ' and everywhere inculcates
it as our first and highest duty. He says ' It has
ever been held the highest wisdom for a man not
merely to submit to Necessity — Necessity will
make him submit — but to know and believe well
that the stern thing which Necessity had ordered
was the wisest, the best, the thing wanted there.
To cease his frantic pretension of scanning this
great God's World in his small fraction of a brain ;
to know that it had verily, though deep beyond his
soundings, a Just Law, that the Soul of it was Good ;
that his part in it was to conform to the Law of
the Whole, and in devout silence follow that ; not
questioning it, obeying it as unquestionable. I say,
this is yet the only true morality known. A man
is right and invincible, virtuous and on the road to
wards sure conquest, precisely while he joins him
self to that great deep Law of the World, in spite
of all superficial Laws, temporary appearances,
profit-and-loss calculations ; he is victorious while
he co-operates with that great central Law, not

CARLYLE.

33

victorious otherwise — and surely his first chance of
co-operating with it, or getting into the course of
it, is to know with his whole soul that it is ; that it
is good, and alone good.' Throughout his biogra
phies the great doctrine is everywhere enforced
that Manhood begins when we submit to Necessity
— when we brighten the ring of Necessity into a
ring of Duty.
The belief that Self- Renunciation is the highest
moral act is justified by the feeling which attends
it It is a feeling of Blessedness as distinguished
from all lower forms of Pleasure, however refined.
It communicates to the soul a sense of unbounded
strength and freedom. It has upheld the saint in
the dungeon, the martyr at the stake. It was pre
sent with Him who 'trod the wine-press alone,1
an all-sustaining spirit by His side. It is the
highest emotion of which Man is capable, and is
the direct influx of the Divine. ' Feel it in thy
heart,' says Carlyle, ' and then say whether it is of
God.' The next Duty that flows directly from a just
insight into the genius of Nature is ' to love our
neighbour.' Indeed, it is more correct to say that
it arises simultaneously with the act of Renunciation.
All contentions among men, with their concomi
tant misery, folly and sin, spring from the limita
tions which we have just been considering. With
insatiable desires, and but limited means of grati-
D

34 CARLYLE.
fying them, selfishness begins. Crammed together
in a narrow space each one struggling, ' like an
Egyptian pitcher of tamed vipers to get his head
above the others,' what can result but heartburnings
and hatred ? But when we have renounced our
selfishness, and conformed our wills to the Will of
God, the barriers that formerly divided us from our
fellow-men fall away, and our hearts mingle as the
waters. Carlyle says in this connection ' Man with
his so mad wants and mean Endeavours had become
dearer to me, and even for his sufferings and his
sins I now first named him Brother.' When we
have learned that no thread in this vast web of
existence is detached, but each is connected with
all others — the poor earth, the very worm, and Man
himself — and that all are instruments in the hands
of God, all ' furtherances of what is holy,' what is
there that we cannot reverence and love ?
The Love of God and of our Neighbour are, then,
the first duties of Man. They constitute the tem
per of mind and heart which it becomes us to bear
towards our Maker and the world around us. But
the circuit of human duties is incomplete without
Action. Our principles must be converted into Con
duct. Thought and Action— these are the two
poles between which our being swings. To be
complete, each must be supplemented by the other.
Our first duty being submission to the will of God,
our second duty is to assist it by Action. ' All that

CARLYLE. 35
is right,' says Carlyle ' includes itself in this of
co-operating with the real Tendency of the World.'
All right action consists in obeying the Laws of
Nature, as in these God has indicated His will.
The whole will of God, so far as we are concerned,
is embodied in the whole of these Laws. Our whole
Duty, therefore, is to conform to the whole of
them. But they are an organised code, with grada
tion and subordination. The head of all is that
great central Law of Justice, Goodness, and Truth
of which all others are the subordinate instru
ments. Our whole duty therefore is, first, Spiritual
Obedience or Renunciation ; then, obedience to
the rest, in as far as they are consistent with this
great central Law. For example, we should avoid
fire, but if our Duty calls we must go even if
through fire. This vital union of all in one grand
-obedience forms the highest type of character and
culture. It is Beauty of Character — not Asceticism,
but a noble universal manhood. This identifica
tion of Religion with Work is everywhere insisted
on by Carlyle. He says ' Properly speaking, all
true Work is Religion ; and whatever Religion is
not Work may go and dwell among the Brahmins,
Antinomians, Spinning Dervishes or where it will ;
with me it shall have no harbour,' And again
' The essence and outcome of all religions, creeds
and liturgies whatsoever is To do one's work in a
faithful manner. What is the use of orthodoxy, if

36 CARLYLE.
with every stroke of your hammer you are break
ing all the Ten Commandments.' We must first
study to know the Laws of God, then work to pro
pagate them. With all men at their tasks, each
working humbly ' ever in his great Taskmaster's
eye,' what a new divine face would be put on this
old selfish world !
Self- Renunciation, Love of our Neighbour and
Work, all of which are strictly deducible from a
just insight into the World, are the main elements
of Carlyle's religion. They are also the soul of
the Christian religion, without its corruptions— its
excrescences, theological superadditions, metaphy
sical subtleties and vain sectarian refinements. To
these corruptions the prevailing scepticism is due,
almost as much as to the doctrines of scientific
Materialism. They have become so identified with
Christianity, in the vulgar mind, that denial of the
one involves that of the other. It is not difficult
to foresee that, as long as these continue, scepticism
will prevail and the influence of the Church be
seriously impaired. Is it not painful and melan
choly to witness the reluctance with which these
old worn-out garments are cast aside ? Like frost
bitten fruit shaken by the winter's wind, I .see
them still clinging to the tree, long after their time
is past and their fellows have all departed. At
last they fall unnoticed, and the good earth receives
them again into her bosom. They drop silently

CARLYLE. 37
one by one, but sooner or later all must go, and
Science does a good and even sacred work in gently
hastening their fall. It has often been said, and
with truth, that true Religion has nothing to fear
from Science. Science deals with the physical and
organic laws of Nature, which are the subordinate
instruments of that central Law of Goodness,
Justice and Truth, for which the World exists.
She must therefore be subordinate to those Spiritual
Laws of man which correspond to that central
Law of the World, as the means are subordinate
to the end. In her legitimate sphere she has a
noble and imperative duty to perform. But she
must work under the inspiration of the great truths
of Religion, as a mason under an architect. And
when the Christian Church has, once for all, thrown
off her old rags, and rehabilitated herself in the
simple garments of Renunciation, Brotherly Love,
and Noble Work, she will draw to her side the
great and good of all succeeding ages, and will
stand on a rock, eternal and immutable, against
which ' the gates of Hell cannot prevail.'
We come now to the second division of our
subject viz., Carlyle's mode of representing the
Human Mind. In a former part of this essay we
saw that he regarded all the attempts of meta
physicians to explain or account for the Mind, as
impotent and vain. We have now to remark that
he equally regards their mode of representing it as

38 CARLYLE.
superficial and inadequate. Indeed, it is now
generally admitted that they have failed in their
map of the mind. They have split it into what are
called faculties ; have thrown these faculties into
certain categories, founded on their superficial re
semblances ; but have entirely overlooked the deep
connexions that bind the whole together as mem
bers of one living unity. They have treated sepa
rately of the Intellect, of the Imagination, of the
Fancy, of the ^Esthetic faculties and Moral Senti
ments, as if each were independent of the rest in its-
manifestations and modes of activity. But while
these divisions are convenient for purposes of ex
pression, they are as far from representing the
actual operations of the Mind, as a descriptive
catalogue of the organs of the body is from repre
senting their vital play and interaction. Of course,
there are all degrees of superficiality in these
systems, from the crude incoherent chart of the
phrenologists up to the subtle and immaterial re
presentations of the German philosophers. But
all, at bottom, end in analysis — in the divorce of
the faculties — whereas the problem of philosophy
is to find how they are united. The ingenuity and
subtlety of many of these systems has imposed on
the world for profundity. But ingenuity and sub
tlety are not depth of insight, but in many cases
are the reverse. All deep thoughts are cha
racterised by their simplicity, and although couched

CARLYLE. 39
in philosophic" language, are at last in harmony
with the unconscious instincts of men. They are
at one with our deepest intuitions, even when at
variance with our superficial opinions. But the
metaphysician's theorem, the more it is elaborated
the more it recedes from those cardinal intuitions
which are common to humanity, and to which all
philosophy should approximate. The intuitions
of Man make an eternal and insuperable distinc
tion between God and Force, Right and Wrong,
Duty and Pleasure ; but the metaphysicians will
undertake to show that Unselfishness is really only
a form of Selfishness, Duty a form of Pleasure,
and God a form of Force. The truth is, the meta
physician proper resembles very much the perpe
tual-motion schemer before alluded to, who, the
more he exercises his ingenuity, the more displays
his want of sight, and while constructing his most
ingenious contrivance is blind to the first laws of
physics. His intellect is of much the same type as
that of the mathematician, who deals with symbols
which have as little to do with the facts of life as
figures on a chess-board ; or of the logician, whose
work can be equally well done by a machine, where
you put the premises in at one end and the conclusion
is ground out at the other. There is a long road
to travel between the insight of such men and that
of Emerson and Carlyle. And is it not a curious
fact that those who are universally admitted to

40 CARLYLE.
have had the profoundest insight into the human
mind — Shakspeare, Bacon, Goethe— were not meta
physicians at all ? They drew their wisdom from
Nature at all" points, lying close to her and sucking
her nourishment, like the polypus, through every
pore, while the metaphysician sits high aloft in the
midst of his abstractions, spinning his web from his
own consciousness.
If we turn from the metaphysicians to Carlyle,
a broad contrast at once strikes us. Instead of in
genuity and subtlety, we have breadth and simpli
city ; instead of dead dismemberment, we have a
living Unity. We have seen that the World is the
product of One Mind and Will, which works every
where for Justice, Beauty, Truth, and Goodness, and
that to these high ends all things in Nature con
spire. Each individual must, therefore, have some
provision made for its own self-preservation. For
this purpose Nature has furnished her creatures
with certain animal propensities and physical
powers — horns, claws, hoofs, fangs and stings.
Properly speaking, these are not part of that Spirit
that works everywhere for Justice. They are
merely instruments of it. One race of animals, for
example, is weaponed to exterminate another.
But that other is also furnished with means of de
fence or escape from the first, and so the balance
is preserved. This balance is Justice ; but the
organs of defence and offence are merely the means

CARLYLE. 41
by which it is accomplished. Thus it is in Nature.
Now, Man is the epitome of Nature, and gathers
all her powers into himself. He is Nature dis
tilled and condensed. The physiologists tell us
that the human foetus in its development from the
germ, passes successively through the forms of fish,
reptile, and mammal. It certainly seems as if
every existence had left some hint of its nature in
the mind of Man. There are threads of relation
running out from Man to all things, and these are
the media by which he converses with them. Ac
cordingly we find that the same Mind, Soul, Spirit,
Essence or whatever you choose to call it, which
works everywhere throughout Nature, diffused over
areas of brute unconscious life, has concentrated it
self in Man and become a conscious existence. Its
sides are, as I have said, Beauty, Justice, Goodness,
&c. which are the ends of Man as they are of
Nature. But like every other being, Man has an
individual self which must be protected. For this
purpose he, too, is equipped with certain organised
powers, physical and mental. The physical com
prise, besides his bodily advantages, the tools and
weapons which his ingenuity devises for his self-
protection, and which correspond to the horns,
fangs, and jaws of the lower creation. The mental
assume various forms, as Love of Life, Love of
Approbation, Combativeness, Envy, Pride, Fear,
which are all modes of selfishness, more or less re-

42 CARLYLE.
fined, as their object is, in the widest sense, his
own preservation. Now, these mental attributes,
although known through the Mind, are not pro
perly parts of the Mind, but are merely the mental
instruments of Self-Preservation. Or say, rather,
that although connected with the Mind, they are
not parts of it. And now, observe, how this dis
tinction is recognised by the spontaneous intuitions
of mankind. When we say that a man is selfish,
bigoted, vain -glorious, cowardly, false, or spiteful,
we really mean that he is wanting in the attributes
of the soul known as generosity, sympathy, humility,
heroism, uprightness, or magnanimity. The one set
of attributes are positive and real, like light and
heat, the other negative, like cold and dark
ness. If we turn to Carlyle, we shall find that he
everywhere recognises this broad distinction.
' Crabbedness, pride, obstinacy, affectation,' says he
' are at bottom want of strength.' ' All faults are
properly shortcomings ; crimes themselves are
nothing other than a not doing enough ; a fighting
but with defective vigour.' In another place he says
' The Dead are all holy to us, even they that were
base and wicked when alive. Their baseness and
wickedness was not They, was but the heavy and
unmanageable Environment that lay round them,
with which they fought unprevailing ; they (the
ethereal god-given Force that dwelt in them, and

CARL YLE. 43
was their Self) have now shuffled off that heavy
Environment, and are free and pure, &c.' Accord
ingly we find him everywhere ranking virtues
or vices according to the degree in which they
are admixed with the primary attributes of the
soul, as alloyed metals are valued in proportion
to the gold they contain. Speaking of the French
at the time of the Revolution, he says 'Noble
sentiment — the film-shadow of a raw material of
Virtue, not woven, nor likely to be, into Duty — thou
art better than nothing, and also worse' In de
scribing the ' feast of pikes ' in the Champ de Mars,
when the King and People, before the whole world,
plighted their mutual faith, so soon alas ! to be
broken, he observes that ' the theatricality of a
people goes in a compound ratio — ratio indeed of
their trustfulness, sociability, fervency, but then
also of their excitability, porosity, not continent ;
or say, of their explosiveness, hotflashing, but
which does not last' He has no sympathy with
the softer emotions of our nature, unless they
spring from, or rest upon, the grand attributes
of the soul. ' That pity which does not rest on
Justice is maudlin laxity of heart, grounded on
blinkard dimness of head — contemptible as a drunk
ard's tears.' ' Some readers know that softness with
out rigour — rigour as of adamant to rest upon —
is but sloth and cowardly baseness, that without
Justice first, real pity is not possible, and only false

44 CARLYLE.
pity and maudlin weakness is possible. Others
again are not aware of that fact.' The Exeter
Hall philanthropy, that claims fraternity with
criminals, and builds model prisons for their ac
commodation and comfort, he denounces as an
' indiscriminate mashing-up of Right and Wrong
into a patent treacle,' and predicts that ' it will one
day be drummed out of the world, with due placard
stuck on its back, and the populace flinging dead
cats at it.' He speaks of the good Howard in
mildly contemptuous terms, and admits that his
regard for him lies a long way on this side of
idolatry. The smooth-shaven cleanness that, with
its fine phrases and sentiments, simulates Virtue, but
behind which there is no heart, is his special abomi
nation. It is Insincerity, the parent of Cant reli
gions, Cant moral, Cant political. On the other
hand, his heroes have all the primary virtues of sin
cerity, veracity, insight — Cromwell, Frederick the
Great, Johnson, Burns, Luther, Shakspeare. The
high premium he sets on these attributes explains
his love for such strong and even brutal characters
as Frederick William and William the Conqueror.
He will forgive or palliate anything in a man —
crimes like Danton's, excesses like Mirabeau's —
provided'he can show him a general superabundance
of heart and soul. He admires the savage bloody
valour of the Norsemen, and their superiority to
fear ; and considers that the extent to which we

CARLYLE. 45
have put fear under our feet is, even now, a good
measure of manhood.
With this broad division of the Mind into the
attributes of Mind proper, or soul, and the attri
butes pertaining to Man as an individual, (the latter
being merely negative, the former alone being posi
tive and real), we may now pass to Carlyle's great
Law of the Unity of the Mind. The attributes of
the Soul are Justice, Goodness, Beauty, Truth,
Magnanimity, Sincerity, Valour, Mercy, Reverence
&c. These are its different sides, different affec
tions of the mind in which it is present. It breaks
itself into these different forms according to the side
of the mind on which it acts, as light is broken into
different colours according to the nature of the ob
ject on which it falls. Now, there can be no doubt
that individuals differ immensely in their suscepti
bility or openness to these different affections of the
mind. The poet lies more open to the Divine cur
rents on the side of Beauty, the moralist and saint
on the side of Justice and Reverence, the philosopher
on the side of Truth, the heroic heart on the side of
Valour and Magnanimity. Nor is the difference
one in ,kind only. It is also in quality and degree.
These differences depend on Temperament, or the
way in which the general Soul incorporates itself
with the organization of the individual. But just
as in physics, the movements of bodies in relation to
each other are not chaotic, but follow fixed laws,

46 CARLYLE.
so the superficial movements of the mind obey a
profounder law — the law of Unity. This law may
be defined to be — the tendency which the excitation
of any one attribute of the soul has to excite the
rest, to arouse not one virtue merely, but all. We
are all conscious of this, at times. When the flood
gates of the mind open up to the entrance of the
Soul, under the inspiration of music or of a tale of
heroism, we are conscious of more Magnanimity,
more Justice, more Pity, more Sincerity, more
Resignation. In some men such states of mind
are habitual, and their life takes its impress from
them, but in most they are occasional only ; the
individual relapsing into his ordinary routine.
But it is in these high moments that we catch
sight of the Law of Unity, as we catch sight of the
laws of Electricity, for example, when we get it
concentrated. We may see this law, too, in our
experiences of men. The man who stands for a
great principle and is ready to sacrifice himself for
it, blossoms into all the virtues. But the virtue
displayed must be a true virtue, springing from the
character, not a mere patchwork overlaid on it, or
the result of custom merely. Politeness, as we all
know, may go with heartlessness, church-going
with irreligion, almsgiving with vanity. Honour
may co-exist with dishonesty. But when a man
has renounced himself and become the servant of
God, it is quite certain that all the virtues spring up

CARLYLE. 47
in his heart — sincerity, justice, patience, courage,
reverence, and resignation. Perhaps there is no
doctrine that Carlyle impresses more frequently,
and with greater emphasis, on his readers than this.
He says the just man is, at bottom, the good man,
the merciful man. When rough old Johnson finds
a poor wretched prostitute fallen on the streets and
carries her home on his shoulders ; — when Balder the
Sun-God of the Norse mythology, sends his ring to
Odin, and his wife sends her thimble to Frigga as
a remembrance, Carlyle remarks that ' true Valour
is the fountain of true Pity also.' He will allow of
no separate virtues, but, as the same light shines
through them all, they must be all convertible.
' Justice is only another form of the Reality we
love.' The hero is not distinguished from other
men by any high transcendental or exceptional
quality, but merely by the simple virtue of Sin
cerity. Religion itself he considers to be only
another form of the same virtues. Frederick the
Great, who flirted with French Scepticism, never
theless ' showed his religion by his veracity and
respect for facts,' and Abbot Sampson by ' doing
his duty faithfully in this world, where his work
lay awaiting him.' He defines Worship to be
' transcendent Admiration.' The love of Nature,
that inspires the true poet and artist, he regards as
a kind of diluted worship, whilst ' Beauty in its
highest clearness is religion.' The Beautiful and

48 CARLYLE.
the Good have the same connection and converti
bility. One great writer says that ' the sound
ness of the bone ultimates itself in the peach-bloom
complexion ; ' and Carlyle echoes Goethe's saying
that the ' Beautiful includes the Good.'
We are now in a position to consider the most
important aspect of this doctrine of the Unity, viz.
that the Intellectual and Moral faculties are One,
— are but different sides of the same indivisible
Unity — a living Mind. This doctrine has been
very much questioned and I find as yet but little
recognition of it in contemporary thought. But I
venture to regard it as one of the profoundest in
philosophy, and more fruitful perhaps than any
other. It was a favourite topic of dispute between
Carlyle and his friend Sterling. Carlyle affirmed
that the Intellect was not a separate faculty, but
the result of the union of all the faculties ; and that
between the Intellectual and the Moral or Spiritual
there was, in all cases, the strictest correspondence.
Sterling, on the other hand, contended that the
Intellectual faculties might be deep and compre
hensive where the Moral were weak ; and in his
essay on ' Carlyle ' adduced, among other things, a
number of historical examples to support it. And
as this opinion is one that is very widely held, it
may be well to devote a short space to its conside
ration. The indispensable condition to a just in
tellectual perception of a thing, is to have a true

CARLYLE.

49

image or mental representation of that thing. And
as the eyesight is common to us all, the difference
between one man and another must depend on
what the eye is stimulated to see. This stimulus
must come from the other attributes of the mind —
its width of sympathy, its intensity, its fineness and
sensibility. In the ordinary intellectual perception
of the man of business or politician, we may see
how the vision is sharpened by self and party in
terest. But when we come to the realm of Intel
lect proper — to the higher and wider vision of the
Poet and Philosopher — the dependence of the in
tellectual on the moral and spiritual is still more
intimate. The poetic Thinker's representation of
Life, his insight into the World and Man, comes
directly from his openness of mind and power of
sympathy, that is to say, from the depth, fineness,
and intensity of his moral nature. To begin with,
he must have had love and reverence, to put him
self into the proper attitude for reception ; he must
have had sympathy, to catch the spirit of things ;
sincerity, patience, and humility, to see them dis
passionately in spite of obstruction and difficulty ;
magnanimity, to resist the bigotry, prejudice, and
pressure of surrounding opinion ; justice, to adhere
to the right and true in spite of the shock to his
most cherished convictions. Now, these are all
moral and spiritual attributes, and are inseparable
from any profound insight into Life. Indeed,
E

50 CARLYLE.
I know of no author who has attained to real depth
and comprehensiveness, in whom these virtues are
not apparent. There is a general elevation of
mind, — a general openness to great thoughts and
emotions — shining through the pages of great
writers, which is the light that has illumined their
intellects. Where this temper of mind is wanting
there may be ingenuity, subtlety, wit, rhetoric,
logic, but never depth or originality. I am, of
course, aware of those special aptitudes which are
made so much of at schools and colleges, as quick
ness, power of memory, calculation and the like.
These are the results of temperament or fortunate
constitution, often of some overgrown cell in the
brain, but have little appreciable influence on the in
tellectual power. Great feats of memory or calcula
tion, great facility in learning languages or music,
do not, either alone or in combination, constitute a
great intellect. Indeed, instances might be quoted,
in abundance, where these powers have been ab
normally developed, and yet have, coexisted with
an almost total want of human insight, and even
with idiocy. But the fact is, the identity of our
moral and intellectual nature cannot be made
apparent by any enumeration of examples, but by
a careful observation of the .relations subsisting be
tween them in our own minds. We shall find that
the finer and deeper secrets of any art disclose
themselves to those only who love it for its own

CARLYLE.

5i

sake ; that they remain hidden to those who culti
vate it for money or applause, and only those
superficial aspects of it which are marketable or
* practical ' will be seen. It is true that men of eminent
talents have sometimes turned them into a market
able commodity. But, if we consider it, they must at
one time have loved their art and cultivated it for
itself alone, or they never would have attained their
mastery over it. We shall find, too, that, if, on
any subject, we have a point of prejudice, of pride,
of bigotry, or obstinacy, our knowledge on that sub
ject will be less exact, deep, and comprehensive ; as
it will also be, in proportion as our egoism, affecta
tion, insincerity, interpose between our mind and
the object we are endeavouring to represent, ob
scuring or distorting the image. Is a man dull or
unimpressionable on any side of his mind, lacking
in sympathy with any side of Nature or Life ?
Then that side will remain dark and unknown to
him. If his sympathies generally are dull, he may
be a metaphysician, logician, senior-wrangler or
double-first, but not a great Thinker. Is his mind
dead to the great mystery of existence, to the
nature of the Universe, and his duties and destiny
in it, caring only for it in as far as it is a good
kitchen garden ? Then he will lack breadth of
thought, elevation of mind, and all that constitutes
greatness. Does he look at life with the eye of a
diplomatist, an attorney, or a detective ? Then he

52 CARLYLE.
will see only the weaknesses of men — their idio
syncrasies, their vices, their infirmities of temper or
will — but the nature of Man he will never see.
Carlyle calls this stamp of intellect ' the vulpine
intellect which knows where the geese lodge,' and
asks contemptuously, ' what else does it know than
this or the like of this ' ? Beecher compares men
of this class to cats that sit watching the rat-holes
of life, and let the elephant pass by unheeded.
Again, is a man the slave of public opinion ? Then
he will see no greatness in anything until it is re
cognised. Or, one of that numerous class who, like
' Bobus of Houndsditch,' worship, not talent, but ' the
power, cash, celebrity, or other success of talent' >
Then talent itself he would not know if he saw it.
But when we say that the Moral and Intellec
tual are one, the term ' Moral ' is apt,»perhaps, to
be misleading. It is associated in the common
mind with the mere external observance of the
Ten Commandments, and although this is in
dispensable to the well-being, nay, to the very
existence of society, we are liable to forget that it
is after all only the lowest form of morals, and may
coexist with the entire absence of all that consti
tutes nobility of soul. There is, no doubt, a feeU
ing of hollowness attaching to any person of high
and refined qualities, who is wanting in a proper
sense of social obligations. He affects us as a
fine piece of architecture on rotten foundations.

CARLYLE. 53
And, indeed, we cannot too highly respect those
solid virtues which lie at the root of all society.
As a general rule, the man who respects the higher
moral code will respect the lower. But exceptions
must not be made too much of, or pressed too far.
I do not defend Bacon or Goethe in their delin
quencies, but I know, against all biography, that pre
cisely what intellect they had, must have rested on
and been proportioned to their moral qualities.
The Ten Commandments, as I have said, are by no
means a final code of morals. Christ found it
necessary to ascend to a higher platform — the love
of our neighbour. But it is still necessary to give
even this a wider expansion, owing to the way it
has been narrowed in its application. We have to
ask of a man, not only, do you not steal, but also
have you a sense of the high and noble wherever it
is found ; have you a wide and deep sympathy
with all forms of life ; do you love truth for its own
sake ; have you candour and tolerance, simplicity,
humility, and magnanimity ? We have attained
to magnanimity in warfare, and in every street row
examples of it are to be seen. But the magnani
mity that can make us disdain to show our wit or
our knowledge at the expense of those weaker than
ourselves, or to envy those more successful, is a
rare virtue ; and is not found in those who merely
keep the Ten Commandments, but in those who are
possessed of the sublimer morals which we have

54 CARLYLE.
seen to be the basis of all intellect. In the long
run, the dependable man is the man of deep and
sure insight, who sees the littleness of life, and of
man, or of any man. But if your friend is the
slave of public opinion, and his set of beliefs are
such merely as society commends — his admirations,
loves, and aversions regulated by it alone — then
beware of him when the tide turns against you.
So clearly does Carlyle perceive that our in
sight is rooted in our moral virtues, that he regards.
these as the basis of all literary greatness. Force
and fineness of understanding, he expressly asserts,
are not distinct from general force and fineness of
nature, or partly independent of them, but they
always go together, except in special cases which
are the result of special causes. His secret for
being ' graphic ' is simply to have ' an open loving
heart and what follows from that' There is no
other secret for it that is worth having. He ad
heres to the old truth that love is the beginning of
knowledge. The merit of originality is not novelty,
but sincerity. ' The believing man is the original
man ; whatsoever he believes, he believes for him
self, not for another.' In his life of Frederick the
Great, he says, ' Better symptom of its quality
human intellect cannot show for itself than that
of gravitating to reality, to fact — not fiction.' He
considers that ' the highest and only literary suc
cess is the virtue to produce belief.' ' For of all

CARLYLE.

55

feelings, states, principles of mind ' he asks, with
great penetration, 'is not belief the clearest,
strongest, against which all others contend in
vain ' ? The power of imagination, the power of
invention, to be any evidence of intellect ' must be
invention of new truth, and has nothing to do with
fiction.1 All mythologies were once philosophies,
were believed. Homer's Iliad, the Bible, were
believed ; and one of the highest merits of Shaks-
peare was ' the talent he showed of being able to
turn the History of England into a kind of Iliad,
almost perhaps into a kind of Bible.' All other
invention or imagination he thinks can be bought
cheap. Byron believed it could be had at any
time from an ' Irishman with whiskey in his head.'
He agrees with him who said that genius was
eternal patience. ' To swallow our disgusts, to do
faithfully the ugly commanded work, taking no
council with flesh and blood — Genius everywhere
in Nature means this, first of all, and without this
it means nothing — generally even less.' He could
have foreseen, he says, from Luther's greatness of
heart that he was a great thinker. ' Poetry ' he
affirms ' is no separate faculty, no organ which can
be superadded to the rest, but rather the result of
their general harmony and completion.' A poet
without love he regards as an impossibility. He
advises the Literary Man to consider it well and
he will perhaps discover that ' The genuine "Art" in

56" CARLYLE.
all times is a higher synonym for God Almighty's
Facts — which come to us direct from Heaven, but
in so abstruse a condition, and cannot be read at
all, till the better intellect interpret them.' 'All
real Art is definable as Fact, or say as the disim
prisoned " Soul of Fact," and any other kind of
Art, Poetry, or High Art, is quite idle ill com
parison.' As all heroism rests on the same primary
qualities of mind and heart, all forms of it are con
vertible — the poet, prophet, priest, man of letters
and king. Each has the raw material out of which
all the others are made, the difference in the form
being mainly due to circumstances.
As he regards the moral virtues as the basis
of intellect, so he regards intellect as the sum of
human worth. 'The end of intellect is to make
us see something, for this the whole man must co
operate.' When he defines Shakspeare's faculty
as superiority of intellect, he says he has included
all under that. We have seen above that when
we attain to a clear insight into the World and our
duties in it, the feeling of Self- Renunciation dawns
on the mind. Otherwise, the passions, which must
be leashed in by some great controlling thought, are
liable to run riot. Speaking of Hoffman, Carlyle
says ' he found no sure principle of Action, no
Truth adequate to the guidance of such a mind.
He loved Art, not as the fountain of Beauty, but of
refined enjoyment ; demanded from it not peace,

CARLYLE. 57
but earthly excitement.' His weakness was in in
tellectual perception, which reacts on the character
as the character reacts on it. ' He had not learned
the Truth that for human souls a continuance of
passive pleasure is inconceivable, has not only been
denied us by Nature, but cannot, could not be
granted.' We value men in proportion as their
lives or writings show that they have gained the
mastery over the lower elements of their nature.
The egoism, gloom, and passion of Byron deduct
from his greatness, and prove that he, too, had
grasped no truth comprehensive enough to hold
his passions in check. That is to say, he had not
intellect enough. Add to him a few more pro
found convictions, a wider range of insight, and his
whole procedure would have been different. His
literary works would have been of another stamp,
both in matter and treatment, and would have been
as different from those we know, as the ' Meister's
Travels ' of the old Goethe is from the ' Sorrows of
Werter ' of his youth.
This doctrine of the unity of the Moral and
Intellectual furnishes us with the key to Carlyle's
biographies, and opens a new era in criticism. His
conception of how a life should be written is a
very lofty one. He demands that the biographer
shall give us not separate features, but a portrait,
not a catalogue of attributes, but their resultant as
a living unity. And it must be admitted, that . in

58 CARLYLE.
his own practice he has realised this ideal. In this
he differs greatly from his eminent contemporary,
Macaulay, who floods his page with contradictory
attributes, virtues and vices, the principal art dis
played being their mechanical separation and
arrangement into striking antitheses. This is only
a superficial grouping of the outermost details of
a character, and requires but ordinary insight.
For, however significant the minutest circum
stances may be, no addition of them in a Chinese
catalogue will let us into their inner meaning.
' Wilt thou know a man ' says Carlyle ' by string
ing together beadrolls of what thou namest Facts ?
The man is the spirit he worked in, not what he
did, but what he became.' To grasp this spirit
requires a rare faculty. Besides the primary virtues
of sincerity, candour, truthfulness, there must be
that openness of mind, sympathy, or sensibility of
nature that, by its own self-movement, realises the
deep experiences of the heart. And as these are
all moral attributes, they lend additional weight to
Carlyle's doctrine of the dependence of the intel
lectual on the moral. But the drawing of character
from the outside, by the mere accumulation or dis
position of superficial details, requires no excep
tional faculty. Differing from gossip only in its
greater order and condensation, it is, like it, un-
instructive, although perhaps entertaining and
amusing. To say that an author's characters have

CARLYLE. 59,
such marked individualities that their prototypes.
are recognisable in a drawing-room, or in the street,.
is no high compliment. Shakspeare's great cha
racters are not recognisable in the sense in which
Pecksniff and Mkawber are. We should not
know Othello, but any jealous man is he in spirit.
Shakspeare takes a central passion as his point of
departure, and shows how it affects the whole
nature, from the core to the most evanescent cir
cumstance on the circumference. This is true also
of Carlyle. By his wide intuitive sympathy, he
feels about him until he gets into the motive
spring of his hero's character, and works out from
that All the outermost facts are grouped and
arranged around this central principle, and from it
take their interpretation. Having found the nature
of the moral principle, — its strength, compass, and
elasticity — he proceeds to show that the intellectual
power is commensurate. Thus, Voltaire has wide
and keen sympathies, but is wanting in earnestness
and reverence. His intellect corresponds, being
quick, clear, and many sided, but wanting in depth
and solidity. Johnson's sincerity and courage,,
which are his central moral characteristics, appear-
in his intellect, which is characterised by strength
of judgment and directness of insight. Schiller's
intellect is refined and sublime, rather than broad
or deep, corresponding to his moral nature which
is pure and priestlike in character, but limited in

60 CARLYLE.
sympathy. His want of sympathy with common
things accounts for the almost entire absence of
humour in his writings. Goethe, on the other
hand, has the highest, deepest, and widest range
of sympathies, and his intellect is as broad and
manysided, as it is deep, aerial, and imaginative.
Sir Walter Scott, again, is ' one of the healthiest
of men,' a finely balanced organisation, with wide
but common sympathies — not high, earnest or
enthusiastic — and his intellect is in consequence
picturesque, discursive, and graceful, but without
elevation or intensity.
This doctrine of the identity of our moral and
intellectual nature, is the vital bond that reunites
those faculties of the mind which the metaphy
sicians had divorced. But the interpretation of
the phenomena of life is incomplete, until we find
the motive power by which this restless human
activity is driven. We have still to ask, by what
impulse the secret wheels of a man's nature are
set in motion ? Carlyle answers that we are driven
by the Fantasy or the Imagination. This is his
second great doctrine. It is freighted with the
weightiest practical issues, and from it his views
on Society and Government are derived. The life
of man, from youth to age, is a fertile field for the
illustration of this great truth. It is not the mere
game or prize that the boy pursues with such
avidity and delight, but it is the glittering charm,

CARLYLE. 61
with which his imagination has surrounded it, that
entrances his eye. The lover is not led by any
mere beauty or grace, however transcendent, but
by that divine ray, which he sees playing behind
these, and which burns like a pillar of fire before
his eager heart. The most sordid and calculating
are no exception. The ' practical ' man, the man
of business, is as much the slave of his imagination
as the most fervid and romantic enthusiast. He
indignantly denies it, and protests that his mind
can be moved only by the coldest prudence and
caution. That he takes the safest path to his end
within his power of vision, and in his choice of
means is directed by judgment and discretion, may
be admitted. But the end which sets in motion
this agency of means, what is it but a fantasy ?
It is not the mere wealth, however colossal ; it is
not the mere success as it stands bare and un
covered, however overpowering ; it is not the
political measure as we know it when passed, —
not the bald fact of negro emancipation or ex
tension of the suffrage— but it is that mystic multi
coloured light, surrounding the fact and suffusing
it, that enhances it in his imagination. It is fantasy,
too, that leads those, who macerate themselves to
obtain a position in society, an entree into this or
that distinguished circle, as well as those whose
lives are spent in accomplishing great designs or
forwarding the progress of science, art or letters.

¦62 CARLYLE.
In all these illustrations, we have, first, the object
to be attained, praiseworthy or not, and secondly
the idea which gathers round the object, but which
is distinct from it. That it is the idea and not
the bald fact, which we so eagerly pursue, is evident.
For if we take away the idea and leave the fact
unaltered, we can not be tempted to move. The
girl that we once loved and fondly fancied to have
gathered into herself the choicest excellences of
Nature, in whose presence we breathed a purer, a
diviner air, and who added a new and loftier
heaven to our life, we outgrow alas ! the waxing
and exorbitant thought stealing away her charms,
as the cold unfeeling wind bereaves the tree of its
leaves and flowers. The political, literary or social
success which we hoped to attain, and which was
the light of our life through long years of struggle
and disappointment, comes at last, bringing with it
every thing, perhaps, that we expected, but the fancy
which endeared it to us. The book, too, which was
once our supreme^fdelight, filling the eye and
running over the horizon on all sides, from which
we drank as from an exhaustless fountain, and
which seemed coextensive with Thought itself, we
gradually come up to, see its limitations, and at
last outgrow, leaving it behind, as the toys of our
childhood. Nothing that man can attain is final.
As soon as we come in possession of our idol, the
Divinity that hedged it in, flies away to objects more

CARLYLE. 63
distant and unknown. This pursuit of illusions,
as a chase of butterflies from flower to flower, is
the good or evil genius of our life, and woos us to
Heaven or Hell. ' Fantasy,' says Carlyle, ' I might
call the true Heaven-gate or Hell-gate of man ;
his sensuous life is but the small temporary stage
whereon thick-streaming influences from both these
far yet near regions meet visibly and act tragedy
and melodrama. Sense can support herself hand
somely in most countries, for some eighteen-
pence a day ; but for Fantasy, planets and solar
systems will not suffice. Witness your Pyrrhus
conquering the world yet drinking no better red
wine than he had before.'
That it is the idea, and not the fact, which
leads us on, becomes apparent when we recall the
stages of life we have already outgrown. The
boy smiles at the toys of his childhood ; the
youth at the frivolities that enchanted his boy
hood ; the adult at the sweet illusions that be
guiled his youth. With every advance in culture,
and at each stage of life, we require a new and
less palpable temptation. The goddess Illusion
is not to be jilted, and comes in all shapes and
disguises, until she succeeds in captivating us.
None escape her. Emerson says that, after read
ing books all his life, he is still the fool of every
new page. This goddess by whom we are so
willingly led, is the incentive to all exertion.

64 CARLYLE.
Without her inspiring influence, all enterprise and
activity would droop and die. She is a most
beautiful illustration of the skill with which the
world is constructed.
This mystic halo which surrounds every object
we pursue, is the light from that Divine* Essence
or Soul which works in, through, and behind
all things. This is seen in the fact that it is
always associated with the idea of excellence.
Nothing low or grovelling, or that we fancy to be
so, can lead us. ' Even for the basest sensualist,'
asks Carlyle, ' What is sense but the implement
of Fantasy ; the vessel it drinks out of ? ' The
object that can lay hold of our Fantasy must be a
reflex, true or false, of those great attributes of
the Soul — Beauty, Goodness, Justice, Truth, — of
which Nature is the expression. The beauty of
woman, suggesting an infinite grace and loveliness
at the heart of Nature '> the magnanimity of the
hero, with his scorn of baseness and proud contempt
of sensuous happiness ; the unconquered heart of
the martyr, silent in its sublime resignation ; genius,
consecrating with its sacred fire, the low, the
wretched, the despised, or playing with the laws of
life as with toys ; these are all great in themselves,
and well worthy of drawing on the imaginations of
men. But there are others which more or less
deceptively resemble these, and which are repre
sented by social position or public recognition.

CARLYLE. 65
With the vulgar and the mass, these are the true
representatives of excellence and greatness. The
great attributes are believed to reside in kings, with
their power and majesty ; in the aristocracy, with
its grace, dignity, and easy condescension ; in men
of position and title, and in those whom the rever
berations of fame have exalted in the general
imagination. But the important point is, that
these lay hold of the imagination because they are
believed to typify or embody that Divine Essence, —
pure, formless, impersonal, — which is more excellent
than any form. It is a curious illustration, too, of
the unity of the Mind, that whatever suggests that
high excellence which typifies the soul, suggests all
its forms. If we admire a man with our whole
heart, we unconsciously credit him with all excel
lence, and interpret or extenuate his vices in such
a way as to leave the impression of virtue. And
thus it is, that love, starting frequently from some
single quality — lofty expression, grace and beauty
of carriage or manners — suggests endless possibili
ties, endows its object with all excellence, and is
quite infinite in its nature.
That which within us is Imagination, in the
world outside of us is an Ideal. Ideals are thus
the soul and vital principle of our lives — our
activities and efforts in this world being their ex
pression and embodiment. We admire, emulate,
imitate, follow, and endeavour to form our minds
F

€6 CARLYLE.
to our ideals. According to their character, there
fore, is our life high or low, prosaic or poetic. A
man's ideal may be read in the clothes he wears,
the house he builds, the company he keeps, the
society to which he belongs, the studies he prefers,
the actions he performs. On the other hand, if we
know his ideal, we know all that is essential about
him. We can predict, in a great measure, how he
will think, and how he will act, as we know, in a
general way, how a man will vote, when we know
the party to which he belongs. ' Show me the
man you honor,' says Carlyle, ' I know by that
symptom better than by any other what kind of a
man you yourself are. For you show me there
what your ideal of manhood is ; what kind of a
man you long inexpressibly to be, and would thank
the gods with your whole soul for being if you
could.' Ideals not only determine a man's worldly
aspirations and endeavours, but they reach to the
deepest recesses of his nature and determine also
his religion. We have seen that Nature is the
expression of the Mind and Will of God, and that
every object in Nature (so intimate is the Unity
that pervades all things,) when deeply seen, reveals
the presence of God. We have seen also that Man
is the epitome of Nature, and, gathering into him
self all her excellences, is a clearer revelation of
God than any other work of creation. The great
man, therefore, is the highest and clearest embodi
ment of the Godhead, and in so far as we admire,

CARLYLE. 67
love, and reverence .him, do we worship God. For
what worship can a man have in his soul for God,
if he have none for God's likeness in his fellow-man ?
The religions of the world grew out of the trans
cendent admiration of great men — Odin, Buddha,
Mahomet. The divine attributes shone through
these men with such transparent clearness, as to
compel the admiration and worship of their fellows.
* Whatsoever Gods or Fetishes ' says Carlyle ' a man
may have about him and pay tithes to, and mumble
prayers to, the real religion that is in him is his
practical Hero-worship. Whom or what do you
in your very soul admire and strive to imitate and
emulate. Is it God's servant or the Devil's ? This
is clearly the whole question.' Ideals constitute
our religion, inasmuch as they are what we really
believe in, rather than what we say we believe in.
" A man's religion consists not in the many things
he is in doubt of, and tries to believe, but in the
few he is assured of, and has no need of effort for
believing.' As ideals thus determine our highest
spiritual, as well as lowest temporal concerns, it is of
the greatest moment that we should distinguish the
true from the false. This is the great end of all
education. In this, says Carlyle, all instruction
begins and ends. True ideals are the embodiments
of those attributes of God known as Justice,
Beauty, Goodness, and Truth, and embrace art,
literature, science, cultivated in a religious spirit,
F 2

68 CARLYLE.
and for high ends, and all noble self-sacrificing
work in any good cause. False ideals, on the other
hand, are the embodiments of the lower side of our
nature, and comprise sordid love of money, selfish
ambition, love of applause, and love of power.
Those who aspire to the first, leave God's creation
fairer and better, and become themselves nearer in
likeness to the image of their Maker ; while those
who aspire to, the latter, although their work is
converted into good, (for all things in Nature are-
converted into good, even manure,) sacrifice the
soul to the body, and become themselves poor and
defaced. ' Honour Barabbas the Robber,' says
Carlyle, ' thou shalt sell old clothes through the
cities of the world, shalt accumulate sordid moneys
with a curse on every coin of them ; and be spit
upon for eighteen hundred years.' To clear the
mind, so that we shall see what are high and noble
ideals, what are false and hollow, is thus the end of
all education. All mere school and college learn
ing, all scientific instruction, are poor and incom
plete when divorced from this great end. ' Know
whom to honour and emulate and follow ; know
also whom to dishonour and avoid and coerce under
hatches as a foul rebellious thing, this is all the
Law and all the Prophets. All conceivable
evangels, bibles, homiletics, liturgies and litanies
and temporal and spiritual law books for a man or
a people issue practically there. Be right in this,.

CARLYLE. 69
essentially you are not wrong in anything, you read
the Universe tolerably aright and are in a way to
interpret well what the will of its Maker is. Be
wrong in this, had you liturgies the recommenda-
blest in Nature, and bodies of Divinity as big as an
Indiaman, it helps you not a whit, you are wrong in
all things.' Around ideals the units of a Society
aggregate, as iron-filings around a magnet. To
estimate the worth of any Society, therefore, we ask
what is its ideal ? But as ideals differ in different
ages and nations, a few remarks of a general
character as to the conditions under which they
arise may not be out of place here, and will serve as
a connecting link between Carlyle's views of Man,
and his views of Society and Government.
We may remark, first, that no ideal can be im
posed on a man ; he must either be educated up
to it, or it must run in the line of his beliefs — either
those he has been directly taught, those he has
inhaled from the social atmosphere in which he
lives, or those derived from his own observation,
experience, or reflection. It is the same, too, with
an age. The laurel crown of the Olympic games
was an object of ambition alike to the highest as to
the meanest citizen of Greece, and the victor's
praises were commemorated in immortal verse by
the first poets of the nation. The asceticism of
the early Christian ages became the ideal of man
hood, and the object of ambition of vast numbers,

70 CARLYLE.
and continued so for centuries. The chivalries and
tournaments, too, so felicitously described by Sir
Walter Scott, were once the models of excellence
to which all aspired. But these ideals of bygone
ages it would be impossible to graft on the present
world. By being kept in a strong glare before the
eye, they may raise all the feelings of admiration"
and enthusiasm which are the stimulants to imita
tion and exertion. But they are evanescent and
transitory. They are not supported by surrounding
opinion at the present hour, and no one takes the
first step, in consequence, towards their realisation,
We find, too, that as nations advance in civ
ilisation and intelligence, their ideals ascend in
character. Among rude and early tribes the phy
sically strongest was most admired. When these
tribes were being welded into incipient nations, the
military hero naturally became the ideal. As
civilisation advanced, other attributes began to be
respected. In the time of Homer, strength and
subtlety, oratory and judgment, all received their
due share of homage, in Achilles, Ajax, Ulysses„
and Nestor. In the present day, physical strength is
quite secondary, the emphasis of admiration falling
on intellectual supremacy. Intelligence, by freeing
the mind from the trammels of superstition, gives
greater scope to individuality, and breaks the
uniformity of thought into a wide diversity of
forms. The sources of our admiration are, in con-

CARLYLE. 71
sequence, indefinitely multiplied ; and at the present
time, we may reckon the ideals of eloquence, art,
poetry, philosophy, politics, arms, and commerce.
This advance of ideals, which accompanies ad
vancing intelligence, is retarded, however, by several
potent causes. I shall here mention only two —
National Utility, and the power of Organisation.
These causes operate through Public Opinion,
which in the long run determines the ideals that
a nation will accept We have to deal, therefore,
not with the opinions of the most advanced and
cultivated minds, but with that inert mass of pas
sion,- prejudice, interest and tradition, which makes
up the intellectual outfit of what is called society.
Now, Society keeps always on hand a stock of
ready-made ideals, which the majority of young
men accept without question, as if they were part
of the ordinances of Nature. These stock-ideals
are determined by National Utility and organised
Power. The military ideal, for example, still holds
its place in European society, from State-necessity,
long after it has been outgrown by the progress
of thought. The sword, which was once so essen
tial to civilisation, now retards it, and yet the mili
tary man remains a choice ideal in society, and is
admired, emulated, and courted, as much as any
other. It is his importance as a State-machine
that keeps this prejudice in his favour alive and
active, and furnishes a ready-made ideal to the

72 CARLYLE.
young ambitious mind. It is owing to the same
cause that members of Parliament, returned in the
majority of instances by length of purse, take what
is called a ' position ' in society out of all proportion
to their personal merits. For it is of the first
necessity that the Supreme Power in the State
should be invested with due weight and dignity.
The power that is acquired in the house by a
clever speaker, and the career it opens, supplies
another ideal to youth. Hence the prevalence of
that ambitious figure — ' the stump orator.'
The second great influence that determines the
ideals of Society, is organised Power. All powerful
organisations reflect a portion of their own dignity
on the individual members. The leading offices in
the Church-Hierarchy invest their holders with an
importance and dignity in the public mind, which
is denied to the solitary spiritual thinker, however
transcendent ; while, on the other hand, the mem
bers of the Press '(which Carlyle regards as the
real effective Church of the present day, but which
is still unorganised) receive but scant admiration
from society. The working classes, too, as a body,
are flattered, precisely in proportion to their poli
tical power and the extent to which it is organised.
Money itself is an organisation, and the great in
fluence it exerts furnishes an ideal within the
possible reach of the many. It, in consequence,
attracts more devotees to its shrine than any other;

CARLYLE. 73
We have now arrived at the last division of
our subject, viz. Carlyle's views on Society and
Government. I do not intend to enter into a full
consideration of this wide subject, which would
require volumes, rather than a small portion of an
essay. I shall merely confine myself to his leading
lines of thought, and shall endeavour to arrange
them in such a way, that they shall be seen to har
monise with, and follow from, all that has preceded.
We have seen that every thought, feeling, or aspira
tion of the individual mind, has its visible exponent
in action, word, or gesture. This outer visible ex
pression of the inner invisible is figured by Carlyle
as a clothing. Under the same figure, we may say
that the thoughts, feelings, and aspirations of bodies
of men, clothe themselves in visible organisations,
by which they are rendered alive and active. Our
widest spiritual concerns, for example, embody
themselves in a Church, with its small outlying
dependencies of missionary, tract, and bible socie
ties. Our widest material interests embody them
selves in Government, in which are included and
protected all the lesser organisations of trade,
commerce, and industry, with their shops, markets,
and exchanges. Our intellectual activities which,
in this age of division of labour, are so specialised,
have built for themselves appropriate institutions —
philosophical, scientific and literary. Our aesthetic
faculties proper have provided, for their growth

74 CARLYLE.
and expansion, theatres, operas, academies of
music, and galleries of painting and sculpture.
Our social feelings, too, have made for themselves
clubs, coteries, and the institution of the family ;
while, for the grosser excitements of our nature, we
have betting, hunting, racing, and gambling associa
tions. These organised groups, in which Society em
bodies its feelings and aspirations, may be re
presented as lying, not along a horizontal, but a
vertical line. This is the line of its ideals.
Around the top are clustered the ranks, dignities,
honors, and titles, which Society provides for
its emulation and imitation, its admiration and
worship. Around the bottom lie the gallows,
prisons, and other more subtle, but equally deter
rent punishments, provided for its censure or re
probation. If we carry the line upwards and
downwards still farther, we shall come to Heaven
and Hell ; for, as Carlyle profoundly remarks,
' not because Heaven existed did men know Good
from Evil, the " because " I invite you to consider
lay quite the other way. It was because men
having hearts as well as stomachs, felt there and
knew through all their being the difference be
tween Good and Evil, that Heaven and Hell first
came to exist.' But just as a man's ideal is the
most important point about him, so the ideal of
Society is its most significant feature. From this

CARLYLE. 75
we know whither all its aims, endeavours, aspira
tions, and efforts tend, and can at once determine
whether it is good or bad, healthy or diseased.
But before proceeding to examine the present
state of Society, I shall glance for a moment at
the significance of Society in itself, and the influ
ence it exerts over the individual mind. Growing,
as it does, mystically and mysteriously out of the
thoughts of men, it may be considered as a second
higher life surrounding our individual lives, and in
which all our powers find their arena and signifi
cance. It thus stamps its characteristic features
on its individual members, as an animal stamps its
features on its offspring. It imposes on us its pre
judices, opinions, habitudes, and aspirations ; and
our education is, after all, only a superficial varnish,
which does not alter the original form, but disap
pears at a sufficient perspective. Here and there
we may meet with a man of haughty commanding
isolation, who disdains the yoke of contemporary
opinion, and who walks with a free unimpeded
step ; but the masses have no self-reliance. They
are kept erect, like the stones in an arch, by lateral
pressure merely, and would collapse if it were
withdrawn. The power of sympathy and the
sense of security which numbers afford is immense.
Carlyle often quotes the remark of Novalis that
' our belief gains quite infinitely in strength and
importance, the moment we can get others to agree

76 CARLYLE.
with us.' The solitary thought of the individual
mind is cold and transitory. The common thought
of multitudes, scattered far apart, is equally so.
Like separate faggots, though dry and combus
tible, they are easily extinguished. But when
brought in contact, the smallest spark sets the
subtle flame a-leaping, and presently the whole is
enveloped in a wide-consuming blaze. Society is
thus omnipotent for good and evil, and its condi
tion is of immensely greater concern than that of
any individual. While, on the one hand, it
strengthens and intensifies noble thought and
noble action, on the other, it perpetuates idolatries,
error, and injustice. The thoughts of men who
were the lights of their age have fallen cold and
neglected on their contemporaries, while the arts
of some dexterous impostor, who understood scenic
effects and the disposition of costume, have stolen
men's admiration and worship. The anguish
which attends the withdrawal of public sympathy,
even for trivial causes, is another instance of the
powerful influence exerted by Society over the
individual. Society, too, tends to obliterate indi
viduality by throwing its emphasis on conventional
abstractions rather than on personal distinctions.
It packs men into artificial categories, called
' classes,' for its own convenience, and attaches
labels to these, which serve to indicate the charac
ter of the contents. It does not countenance the

CARLYLE. 77
doctrine that Man is an immortal spirit with
infinite possibilities, not to be gauged or exhausted,.
but regards him rather as a piece of fate, attach
ing interest and importance to him, not as a man,
but as a nobleman, clergyman, tradesman, work
ing-man or footman. The truth is, this immense
force, called Public Opinion, is not in itself a moral
or divine force, although it stirs up the moral na
ture more than any other. It does not confer any
divine ' sanction,' although it has practically the
same effect, as we naturally believe that whatever
everybody else believes or does must be right.
But it is powerless against high virtue, and, when
confronted by genuine greatness, proves blustering
and impotent. And thus, Society, by generating
Ideals, by fixing our moral conceptions whether
true or false, by strengthening our beliefs, whether
right or wrong, by stimulating action, whether
good or bad, is of supreme importance. Carlyle
recognises this, and his long line of historical works
is intended to influence Society, perhaps, more
than the individual.
With these somewhat trite remarks on the in
fluence and general significance of Society, we have
now to ask, what is the condition of Society at the
present time, or in other words, what are its ideals ?
That which any nation believes with its whole heart,
and with its whole heart strives to realise, is its
ideal. It is the belief that has been powerful enough

78 CARLYLE.
to reach the heart, and which is accepted as an
axiom needing no demonstration or enforcing. An
established reputation needs no heralding, an estab
lished business no advertisement. The Spartan
needed no exhortation to courage ; the Highlander,
to devotion to his chief or clan ; the Spaniard, or
Scotchman, to veneration for his priest. ' What need
of preaching patriotism ' asks Carlyle, ' when the
Decii were rushing with devoted bodies on the
enemies of Rome ? ' But when Religion begins to
decay, when Loyalty is dying out, and Patriotism
is declining, then, proclamation of their beauty and
virtue begins, and is heard far and wide. As we can
read the prevailing crimes of an age from the old
statute-books, so from the current preaching we can
read the prevailing unbeliefs. If we ask what are the
beliefs in the present age that need no enforcing, we
can at once answer — belief in money, in applause,
in position, in power. These are everywhere laid
to heart and accepted as the ends and aims of life.
On the other hand, while high virtues are so widely
preached, to admit that you are working for a high
and noble, but unremunerative ideal, to admit
that your aim is not merely ' to get on in the world '
but to attain to inward harmony, to religion and
culture, is it not regarded by your friends as
suicide and ruin ? Sauerteig was not far off the
mark, when he said, that ' the terror of not succeed
ing, of not making money, fame, or some other

CARLYLE. 79
figure in the world — chiefly of not making money,'
was the ' Hell of the English.'
We found that Society grouped its institutions
along a vertical line, which was the line of its ideals.
Properly speaking, this line splits itself into two.
One runs up to titles, rank, position, power and fame.
Along this steep and difficult ascent the feet of
the ambitious are seen laboriously plodding. The
dilettante in art, science, and literature, although
under quite other colours, is found on the same
road. The other line runs up to money, which,
being within the possible reach of the great multi
tude, is accordingly the most frequented highway
on earth. ' Mammonism ' says Carlyle ' divides the
world with Dilettanteism.' A few devoted to high
and noble aims may also be seen going their own
way, but (although in these the hope and ideals of
the future lie) they may practically be left out of
account at the present time.
Carlyle, perceiving that Society is led by these
low ideals, pronounces it to be in a diseased, un
healthy condition, and predicts that it cannot con
tinue. He assigns as the central cause of this un
healthy condition, the want of Religion. He says,
' you touch the focal centre of all our diseases, of
our frightful nosology of diseases, when you lay
your hand on this — There is no Religion, there is
no God.' Indeed, to say that Society is devoted to
selfish aims, is, in other words, to say that it is

80 CARLYLE.
devoid of Religion. For, there cannot be two an
tagonistic ideals in the soul at once, as each by its
nature absorbs the whole mind, and necessarily ex
cludes the other. It is too literally true that we
cannot serve both God and Mammon. A religious
Society is one that aims at high and noble ends
outside the range of individual self-interest ; and
its health consists in working towards the accom
plishing of these ends. In former times, the reli
gion of Society took the form of patriotism, of
loyalty to a person or institution, or of devotion to
a creed. In the future, it will prescribe other
duties, suited to changed circumstances and condi
tion. But at the present time, Society is without
a religion, and the motto of all is * each for him
self This is evident to anyone who conscientiously
looks at what is passing around him. The old
Church has unmistakably lost its hold on the best
minds, many of whom have withdrawn from it
altogether. Of those who are still outwardly at
tached to it, the majority pay it but a lip-homage,
a conventional conformity. Great numbers have
gone quite over to Materialism, and the secret un-
avowed scepticism of the last generation has come
to the surface, and is openly, sometimes boastfully,
paraded. It therefore becomes the question of
questions for all earnest minds to consider, whether
Society can continue to exist without a belief in
God and Human Duty, or whether from the very

CARLYLE. 81
nature of things it must not inevitably fall to
pieces. By Carlyle, this question is not regarded
as of a merely hypothetical, speculative character,
but as one that can be determined with scientific
precision. Let us glance for a few moments at
some of the leading lines of thought involved in
it, and see in what direction they tend.
A body's individuality is maintained by the
attraction of cohesion, which keeps its particles
together and enables it to resist the disintegrating
forces in and around it. If this cohesion is
weakened or relaxed, the body loses its stability.
Now, Religion does for Society, what the cohesive
force does for matter. Society, in its strict sense, is
the mutual union and co-operation of man with man,
and is therefore moral by its very nature. Selfish
ness in all its forms, from the grossest to the most
refined, divides men. Only love, justice, goodness,
and truth can unite them. We love a man not for
his selfishness, but for the unselfishness which we
see or fancy we see in him. We cannot co-operate •
for any end, unless we subordinate our selfishness
to the attainment of that end. The union will be
real, and the self-sacrifice great, in proportion as our
aim is high, our enthusiasm intense, and our sense
of duty strong. But when Society has no aim
outside of itself, but each individual works only for
his own aggrandisement, every man's hand must
be against his neighbour's, and Society cannot long
G

82 CARLYLE.
continue. Ifwelookat those associations of men
of which Society is composed, we shall see how
essential Duty and Virtue are to their very exist
ence. What would become of a country if its
soldiers were devoid of honour, and could be bought
and sold like a horde of mercenaries, or were willing
to sacrifice their country to their own personal
safety ? What would become of commerce and
industry, if men could not be relied on to fulfil their
engagements ? The least want of confidence in
stantly affects markets and exchanges, and paralyzes
the hand of Labour. The system of credit, which
stimulates enterprise and multiplies wealth, is
secure, only where the standard of commercial
morality is high. The end of all literary, philoso
phical, or scientific societies would be frustrated,
unless men were earnest in searching for truth, and
truthful in reporting it. Not even a gambling or
betting club could continue to exist, if its members
were devoid of honour. If Charity were to stay
her hand, hundreds would die daily of starvation or
disease, and Society would be seriously endangered.
Now, it is important to note, that these virtues,
which are so essential to the very existence of '
Society, (especially in our highly complex state of
civilization) are prescribed by Religion, and are held
sacred, in proportion as Religion is believed. The
root of all religion is the belief in God. The
essence of all duty and virtue is obedience to His

CARLYLE. 83
Laws, founded on that belief. The decay of Reli
gion is the death-blow to Duty and Virtue, as the
excision of the roots is the death of the tree. But
it may be contended that there is in Man a prin
ciple of reverence, goodness, truth, and justice,
which is as natural and spontaneous as the love of
pleasure or self interest, and which can no more be
rooted out by atheism, than the passions can be
by asceticism ; that these virtues will always arise
when they are wanted, and by furnishing that
cohesive force which is necessary to keep our self
ishness in check, will preserve the equilibrium of
Society. Now, it is most important that the truth
which this view contains, should be separated from
the error. There can be no doubt that Nature, in
the widest sense of that term, has no intention of
breaking up of retrograding, and that she will
therefore throw out such balances as are necessary
for her own great ends. But it is quite a different
matter with an individual or a nation. The human
body, for example, is so constructed that in walk
ing there is a perfect self poise at every point ; but
if from carelessness, indifference, or conscious
intention, we overbalance ourselves, the slightest
push will bring us to the ground. It is the same,
too, with our moral nature. The mind of every
sane healthy man is provided with a moral nature
as the balance to his selfishness, but as we so often
see, it may become seared, deadened and even
G 2

84 CARLYLE.
obliterated ; no balance being thrown out to stay
the inevitable consequences of laws that have
been violated. The thief, the murderer, and the
drunkard slide gradually down the slippery de
scent, each delinquency smoothing the way for a
greater, until ruin embraces them. The like holds
true with nations. Take, for example, the fall of
Rome. With religion dead, and augurs winking at
each other ; with Society destitute of patriotism,
loyalty, public and private principle ; with wealth
and poverty confronting one another in huge un
sympathetic masses ; what could happen but that
she should stagger and stumble from bad to worse,.
until she was swept out of existence ? The condi
tion of France before the Revolution, affords.
another pregnant and instructive example of the
same thing. For Religion is the director of Man's
mind, as the mind is the director of his body. A man
might as well attempt to guide himself with his feet
and walk with his head, as a nation to guide
itself with selfishness elevated into a religion.
The doctrine of the Materialists, too, demands
a passing consideration. It is contended by them
that a man's self-interest acting on an enlightened
judgment, will, as a mere matter of prudential cal
culation, cause him to respect the rights of others,
while insisting on his own. This is not even true
of individuals, much less of the classes into which
Society is divided. For, as a matter of fact, in a

CARLYLE. 85
Society devoid of Religion, it is only where the
powers of contending interests are nearly equal,
that there is the least chance of their being re
spected, like the compromise of bullies who are
uncertain of each other's strength. But where
power is unequal, legislation from its very nature
must follow power. For some centuries the Aris
tocracy were more powerful than the Commons,
but no ' enlightened Self-interest ' made them
respect the rights of others, while insisting on their
own. Each and every right had to be extorted
from them, sometimes even at the point of the
sword. And when power shall have passed over
to the People, in reality as well as in name, the
Aristocracy will have to whistle for their rights,
if they have nothing more to rely on than the
'enlightened self-interest' of those to whose in
terests they are opposed. Indeed, so little faith
have we, at present, in the ' enlightened self-interest '
of others, that we are made aware by a fatal instinct,
that over and above the rights which the law allows
us, we have no chance of any other rights in this
world, except by looking well after our own interests ;
which we accordingly do.
But the Materialists also contend that the duty
and virtue at present existing in Society are, at
bottom, only a form of that same ' enlightened
self-interest.' Carlyle denies this, (and it behoves
all earnest minds to consider well these two oppo-

86 CARLYLE.
site views,) and affirms, on the contrary, that they-
are the result of the religious teaching of the past ¦
that the commercial morality which is still very
high among us, compared with many other nations ;,
that loyalty, patriotism, and honour, (equally with
the laws that thou shalt not kill or commit adul
tery,) have been slowly built up by religious pre
cept, have been enforced by religion, sanctioned
by religion, and transmitted to us, like all our habi
tudes, customs, and modes of thought and proce
dure. The young mind inhales them with his life's
breath, and pays them respect, in proportion as he-
finds them held sacred by that corporate individual,,
which is no one and yet every one, named Society..
These virtues will linger, like idle ceremonies that
have lost their meaning, long after the religion
which prescribed them has become extinct, but in
the end, like them, must perish. At the present
time, everybody professes to believe in the neces
sity of duty, of .straightforwardness, of honesty,,
and of doing good. The most advanced atheists
have not as yet ventured to reject these fundamen
tal virtues. But as they have no vital principle
when Religion is gone, what can keep them alive ?
Thoughtful men will ask themselves, what is the
use of performing disagreeable duties that have no-
religious sanction ; and, while keeping' up a show
of belief, will secretly devise means of shirking the
onerous tasks which interfere with their comfort

CARLYLE. 87
and pleasure. Each will try to feather his own nest,
while still preaching duty to everybody else, lest
they should insist on sharing his spoils. In the
meantime, money, ambition, and power, which
directly gratify selfishness and vanity, will be seen
to be the only good, as indeed they must be if there
is nothing higher. With a selfishness increasing
in intensity as the sense of duty and virtue de
clines, the laws of honour, of commercial morality,
the sacredness of the marriage bond and of personal
integrity will become more and more weakened and
relaxed. Then will begin to appear the legitimate
and necessary consequences of disbelief in God and
Religion. The consciousness of having a sympa
thetic audience will give boldness to those who
have long felt, that Religion being dead and buried,
Duty was an obsolete impertinence. Convictions
that had long been secretly cherished will now be
openly avowed, and duty, virtue, and morality, as
in the French Revolution, will be ignominiously
ejected. This rapid decomposition which follows the
loss of religious belief is accelerated by the onward
tread of Democracy. When money, independence,
luxury, and love of power become the ends of a
people, Democracy tends to establish itself, and is a
mighty additional element of disruption. It is a
grand and everlasting ' right of Man ' that no facti
tious advantage should be given to any class, creed,

88 CARLYLE.
or organised body in the State, but that a paved
and open thoroughfare should lead, from every man's
threshold, to an arena where his intellectual and
moral nature shall have full power to expand to its
utmost limits, and where every facility shall be given
him of taking that place among his fellow-men to
which by merit he is entitled. The democracy
that aims at this great end, is high and glorious, and
every effort made to realise it is worthy of support.
But, observe, that where the motto is ' each for him
self and ' Devil take the hindmost,' democracy
cannot stop here. Every extension of the suffrage
throws power into the hands of those less and less
capable of exercising it wisely, that is to say, for
any other purpose than their own interests ; until
with Universal-Suffrage there is nothing to control
the passions of a self-interested, ignorant, and irre
ligious mob. John Stuart Mill, the clearest-
sighted of the materialists, foresaw this inevitable
result, and advised such checks as the ' representa
tion of minorities' and 'plurality of votes.' But
when the power is once obtained, it will not, on the
principle of self-interest, submit to such checks,
but will be abused, as that of the aristocracy was
before it. Mr. Gladstone advocates the extension
of the suffrage, mainly on the ground that it has
been historically beneficial, and that there is such
an innate reverence among the lower orders for
their 'superiors,' that any power put into their

CARLYLE. 89
hands would not practically be abused. But I fear
this is a fond imagination. The fallacy lies in not
sufficiently allowing for the element of time. He
should have gone back as far as the Tudors, rather
than only to the first Reform Bill. Since the time
of Henry the Eighth, every popular right has been
won by power, or in other words, by a real, if not
nominal, extension of the suffrage. But at the
present time, what has become of the power, or if
you like, the ancient rights of the Aristocracy and
Crown ? Have the rights gained by the People
not been taken away from the Nobility ? It is be
yond the region of doubt, that as religion declines
and self-interest increases, loyalty to superiors
cannot long continue, and that a universal-suffrage
without a religion must hasten the decomposition
of Society. Hence Carlyle's denunciations of Democracy,
and of Parliamentary Government as the temporary
halting-place on the road to it. In considering
Carlyle's ideas on Government, it is important to
bear in mind that his eyes are fastened on the
future, rather than on the present. The point with
him is not with how little parliamentary jolting we
are getting along, but the goal to which we are
hastening. As we drift so pleasantly along the
sunny stream, he warns us of the Niagara that lies
before us. A glance at some of the broad charac
teristics of Parliamentary Government may serve to

90 CARLYLE.
bring into greater prominence the wide divergence
of opinion that separates him from his own age.
The first thing we have to remark of Parliamen
tary Government is, that, as it exists to represent
the different interests of Society, legislation must
follow the line of greatest power, as in physics, a
body acted on by opposing forces follows the line
of their resultant. Previous to the passing of the
first Reform Bill, for example, the landed Aristo
cracy controlled the Legislature, and legislation
accordingly, after a superficial play of logic-fence,
eventuated in measures for the interest of that
powerful body ; with a sop thrown in occasionally
to appease the drowsy masses when they began to
growl. The Reform Bill itself was the outcome of
the conflict of interests that had reached a climax,
and was the symptom that power had passed over
to the Middle Classes. The first practical result of
this conversion of potential into actual power was
the decay of the House of Lords, which was stripped
of its ancient political authority. This slice cut
off the political interests of the Aristocracy was
followed by a slice off their commercial interests,
in the repeal of the Corn Laws. The Church too
would, in all probability, have shared the same fate,
had it not been bound up with the feelings of a
large section of the Middle Classes, as well as with
the whole Aristocratic regime. Its disestablish
ment now only awaits the return of a sufficient

CARLYLE. 9j
number of members pledged to the interests of
Nonconformity. This play of opposing interests
is made respectable by dignifying it as a conflict of
rights. But that Parliament exists to represent
interests, and not rights, is seen in the way mem
bers are returned. They are returned primarily in
the interests of a particular party — the Conserva
tives, to hold on to what they already possess, the
Liberals, to take from them their prerogatives, and
apply them to their own interests. Besides this
primary object, members are returned in the special
interests of locality or trade — as the Irish interests,
the manufacturing or agricultural interests, the
interests of consumer or producer. These minor
interests try to secure the co-operation of one or
other of the major interests of Conservatism or
Reform, and legislation as before is the mathema
tical resttltant of the powers engaged.
The next point to be noted about Parlia
mentary Government is that it drifts aimlessly
without a rudder down the stream of time. As
the legislature is the reflex of the people, so the
government is the reflex of the legislature. With
a cabinet merely to carry out the wishes of the
legislature, and a legislature to carry out the
wishes of the people, the age of statesmanship is
gone. It is replaced by the meaner arts of adroit
ness and diplomacy. A Conservative Premier, as
the representative of power that, on the whole, is,

•92 CARLYLE.
losing ground, requires perhaps an excess of adroit
ness ; a Liberal Premier, as the representative of
power that is gaining ground, an excess of bold
ness. But neither require commanding insight.
The complaint which we sometimes hear, that so
few intellectual men are returned to Parliament, is
purely gratuitous. The world may be trusted to
know what it wants. They are not returned be
cause they are not needed there. To steer the
Ship-of-State requires a high order of intellect
and a far-reaching power of vision ; the ability it
requires differs as much from what Carlyle calls
steering by the ear (by the voices from the sur
rounding benches, and the shouts of the people
from the shore through the Times) as the insight of
the cultivated physician, who treats symptoms with
a wide view of their relation to the whole, differs
from the empiric, who, when his patient cries out,
puts a soothing-plaster over the seat of pain. To
Carlyle, the whole forms a melancholy spectacle as
it drifts along the rapids towards the Niagara of
Democracy. In front the figure-head of the
Crown ; behind it, the Cabinet pushed on by the
Legislature ; and drawing up the rear, the jostling
noisy multitude pushing all before it.
That the present form of Parliamentary Go
vernment is drifting towards Democracy is unques
tionable. Every extension of the suffrage brings
it a stage nearer. Formerly the Aristocracy con*

CARLYLE. 9 j
trolled legislation, then the Middle Classes. But
the late extension of the suffrage to a part of the
Working Class, and the flattery that attends it,
indicate too well where the balance of political
power will lie in the future. The pointers on the
dial plate of legislation, which are thus of them
selves veering towards democracy, are accelerated
by the wide-spread belief that democracy is the
' Cause of Man,' and for the well-being of all. The
consequence is that an extension of the suffrage,
which formerly followed the appearance on the
horizon of a new and menacing political power,
now has a tendency to anticipate it. The extreme
enthusiast would thrust Universal-Suffrage on us
without any regard whatever to the condition of
the masses ; the more moderate, only after they
were sufficiently educated to receive it. But both
believe that the possession of the suffrage is in
itself a training for its wise exercise. If it is
meant that they will use it intelligently for their
own interests, the point is at once conceded. But
if it means that they will respect the rights of
those whose interests are opposed to their own, it
is questionable, even deniable. The aristocracy
have always had sufficient intelligence to exercise
their power wisely, but the fact is, they have always
used it for their own interests. So too have the
middle-classes. What reason then, is there, for
supposing that the lower-classes will act otherwise ?

94 CARLYLE.
There is still, doubtless, among the lower-classes a
large measure of virtue. There is still a strong
sense of duty, and a religion that, at all events,
takes the form of a genuine respect and reverence
for their ' superiors.' Now, these are all conserva
tive forces, and give Society cohesion. They also
maintain the balance of power in the upper and
middle classes. But when Universal-Suffrage throws
the balance of political power into the hands of
the masses, and demagogues begin to play upon
them, (and power that is flattered soon forgets that
it has superiors,) to believe that they will not
force legislation along the line of their own interests,
is contrary to all experience of Parliamentary Go
vernment. If we turn to Carlyle's ideal of Society and
Government, a striking contrast presents itself.
Instead of Society being a conflict of opposing
interests, it is to be a state of mutual helpfulness ;
instead of Religion being merely the policeman's
assistant, it is to be the inspirer of our lives ;
instead of the Ship-of-State being allowed to drift
about, blown hither and thither by popular passion,
it is to be steered by Great Men, guided by the
pole star of Eternal Truth. We have now to ask
how this New Era is to be inaugurated, what are
the conditions necessary to its existence, and how
it is practically to be realised ? But before entering
into Carlyle's views on this subject, it is necessary

CARLYLE. 95
to point out that it is only in the far distant future
that he looks for its realisation. It is the Ideal
to which Society, by straight or crooked paths,
must ultimately attain ; the realising of that King
dom of God on earth, for which the good and
great of all ages have sighed, but sighed in vain.
It is the Golden Age of the world, which lies in
the future, not in the past. Carlyle's views have
been renounced by many, as being impracticable
in the present stage of Society. But his critics
have forgotten that he has distinctly stated that
there is not the slightest chance of their being
realised, except by a total change in our present
aims and aspirations. He confesses that he has
no ' Morrison's Pill ' for the present ills of Society.
We must have a total change of regimen. Our
way of life must be completely altered. If Society
is for ever to be given over to the conflict of self
interests, ' cloaked under due forms of war, named
" Fair Competition," " Supply and Demand," ' he
candidly admits that there is no hope of the New
Era. But as he regards the present stage of
Society as transitional, and foresees that it must
either reform itself or be annihilated, he lifts up
his Ideal from afar, as the haven to which we must
steer for safety.
In every Society that is not destroyed by
foreign conquest or reduced to slavery, while the
old Forms are being cast off, the germ of a new

96 CARLYLE.
order of things is slowly forming beneath. This
germ is Religion, which is the keystone of Society.
The first essential therefore of the New Era is
that we regain the Religion, which we have lost.
This is itself a work of ages. With Materialism
not so much militant as triumphant ; with Duty
and Virtue reduced to the caput-morluum of self-
interest ; and the Old Church split up into a num
ber of jangling sects ; a long time must elapse
before the intellects of men can be brought into
harmony with their spiritual intuitions. In the
section in which I have treated of Carlyle's Re
ligion, are embodied the essentials of the Religion
of the Future. As we have seen it is not a new
Religion, but is the essence of the old, freed
from the superficial adhesions and encrustations
which have become incredible to the modern mind.
It consists in the knowledge and clear insight
that at the bottom of all the contradictions of
Time, there is a God who is all-Just, all-Beautiful ;
that it is our duty to renounce ourselves and sub
mit to His will ; to love our neighbour ; and to
convert all our principles into Conduct and Action.
When Science, hitherto the most powerful instru
ment in destroying the old forms of Religion, gets
an eye for the whole, instead of losing herself as
at present among the bewildering details, she will
become the most powerful support of Religion.
But Religion has a more powerful antagonist than

CARLYLE. 97
Science, and that is Public Opinion. This is and
has always been her greatest rival. The truth is
Public Opinion is Society's real religion. But the
gods of this world are not the true gods. The
religion of Society is not the true religion. It is
no doubt difficult for the ordinary worldling to
believe, that Society will ever have different aims
from those it has at present. Nevertheless, those
who have had deep religious experiences, know
that it is quite conceivable, nay credible. And
what one man knows, all in time may. In those
seasons of religious excitement which ever and
anon visit communities, the things of this world
are burnt as a scroll, in the fierce heat of the
Eternal. And even in that more equable glow of
religious conviction, which warms the heart and
refreshes like light, men rise above the low aims of
their contemporaries. It is not impossible, then, to
conceive that, in time, Society shall have regained
her Religion. The first effect of a Society imbued
with Religion, would be the dethronement of the
' Money-bag of Mammon.' Or, perhaps, it were
more correct to say that the two processes would
go on simultaneously, as the machinery of Society
must always adapt itself to the changes in its
vital conditions. The brute-god of Physical Force
has been dethroned, why should not Mammon
likewise be ? In the early stages of Society,
physical strength was the test of manhood. Ad-
H

98 CARLYLE.
miration and emulation, in consequence, followed
personal prowess. We may see a remnant of this
among the lowest class of our population, even in
our own day. As late as the Middle Ages, the
barbarians who overran Europe, settled matters of
Right and Wrong, and adjusted personal disputes,
by physical force. In the ' trial by combat,' it was
believed that God would defend the right. But
the right man was the ' best man,' as we say, or the
one who was successful in a personal encounter.
In the present day, the display of physical supe
riority confers no honour, and is not emulated or
esteemed. Physical force has been replaced by
a more subtle gauge of manhood. Our admira
tion and emulation now follow the man who can
make most money. The consequence is, that men
sweat and jostle, wearing away both soul and body
in the scramble for wealth. Is it impossible then
to conceive that in a Society imbued with Religion,
the possession of money should be as little a mark
for our admiration, as is now the possession of
physical strength ? For the progress of Society
consists precisely in this — that the lower attributes
of our nature are, one by one, degraded in esti
mation, and the emphasis falls on higher qualities.
From the lowest savage to the highest civilised
being, the poles of Man's nature are the same
— good and evil, admiration and reprobation,
greatness and meanness, heaven and hell. The ad-

CARLYLE. 99
vance of intelligence consists in more accurately
classifying the aims, endeavours, thoughts, and
actions, that are to occupy these poles ; as the
progress of Science consists in more accurately
classifying the endless variety of animals and
plants under their proper species and genera. To
find, by a deeper insight into life, what is good,
and what is evil ; what ought to be admired, and
what reprobated ; what should be the heaven, and
what the hell of a man ; and to conform Society
to it, is the end of all science, thought, and
legislation among men. At one time, as we have
said, personal prowess was the greatest good of
a man, was his heaven and ideal. In the New
Era it is to be wisdom and virtue. A man's
hell was once physical inferiority, but in the New
Era it will be stupidity, moral obliquity, and a self
ish, animal existence. But in the present transi-
tionary stage of Society, the heaven or ideal is
mixed, as is also the hell or reprobation. The
ideal is intellect and virtue, with the accessories
of money, position, fame, power ; but you will note
that, practically, the greatest weight is attached
. to the accessories. The hell or reprobation is
poverty, with the accessories of crime, baseness,
selfishness ; the emphasis (if we judge by action,
not by sentiment) falling on the poverty.
But with a Religion that throws our ideal on
Wisdom, Moral Worth, and Noble Action ; and our

ioo CARLYLE.
reprobation on the opposites of these virtues, Society
will have an aim outside self-interest. It may be
objected, that, unless each individual can secure
what he works for, the hand of Labour will be-
paralysed. But if we consider it, it is not so much
the reward of labour, in its material sense, that:
men prize, as the honour, dignity, and power, which.
it can procure. The objection, therefore, has no-
weight, when applied to a state of society, in which,,.
by the hypothesis, there is no honour attaching to
the possession of wealth. It may also be objected,,
that, although we have thrown out self-interest (in
the shape of money,) as an aim, Vanity, which is the:
most subtle form of selfishness, will still elude us ;
and ambition, hypocrisy, and all their train will not
have been eradicated, but only have changed their
form. To this it may be replied, that, although it
is impossible to root out of the human heart the
love of esteem, under the influence of Religion it.
assumes the nobler form of love of sympathy, and
loses its vulgar and selfish character. Besides, as.
wisdom is the aim, there is no sphere for vanity..
It is only by subordinating our selfishness, that we
can ever attain to true wisdom. If there is any
truth in Carlyle's doctrine of the dependence of the
intellectual on the moral, vanity must either take
a nobler form, or disappear altogether. Nor will
there be any field for the Demagogue, or ' Stump-
orator,' in a society where the characteristic of

CARLYLE. 101
Heligion is Work, and where Speech, unless con
verted into Action, is worthless and of no influence ;
nor for the Political Economist, where the end is
mutual helpfulness, and not self-interest, competition,
supply-and-demand ; nor for the Materialist and
Mechanical Philosopher, where Duty and Virtue
are known and felt in the heart to be divine. But,
of course, the truths of universal application, which
they have discovered, will be embodied in the
general stock of human knowledge, and on them
Society will stand and work.
Society, then, having attained a Religion of
Work, we now want to know what it is to work at.
This requires two things. We must know what
are the Tendencies of the World, or the Laws of
God ; and also what are the special wants of the
time. For this we require the man of deep insight,
and wide prophetic vision. He it is who can
best interpret the Will of God to men ; and best
bring the affairs of men into harmony with the
Will of God. To reverence and loyally follow
him, is our duty and highest privilege. Hero-
worship does not seem to be in high repute, in this
-age of independence of thought There is such a
variety of opinion on every subject, human and
divine, that we have agreed to differ, and each to
follow his own nose. Nevertheless, Hero-worship
is in as full play as ever it was, only nothing
comes of it. In renouncing Hero-worship, men do

102 CARLYLE.
notthe less admire and worship. Each has his
own idolatry, but is suspicious of that of his neigh
bour. Hence there is no united action to any
great end. Besides, as Society has no aim out
side the self-interest of its members, it does not
require to be led by heroes. It asks from its.
governors, not so much guidance, as passive obedi
ence to its will. But in a Society that wishes to-
steer to a certain point, to attain an object outside
of itself, Hero-worship at once establishes itself,
as in France under Buonaparte. A hierarchy of
command and obedience necessarily ensues, and
what may be called the aristocratic form of society
tends to establish itself. Besides, where the aim
of each is not personal and peculiar, but common to-
all, a unanimity of opinion would be more easily
attained, and the best men would be readily found.
If we take those associations that exist for the
discovery of Truth, as scientific, literary and philo
sophical societies, we shall find that the best men
are soon known. All the members, pursuing the
same inquiries, and being animated by the same
aims, the men whose knowledge is most extensive
are at once recognised. They are accordingly-
appointed to the posts of honour, and are loyally
revered. The same, too, would be the case in a
nation that pursued high and unselfish aims. But
when the object is self-interest, there is no hope of
finding the best man, or of his being reverenced

CARLYLE. 103
when found. In America, the President's chair is
filled by the man who has made himself least ob
noxious to the general interests of his party, and
who can command the greatest number of votes.
Looking over Society at the present time, we
have to ask, what part of its business has to be put
into harmony with the Laws of God. The first
thing that strikes us is the question of Labour.
Its motto at present is ' Each for himself and its
law, ' Cash is the sole nexus between man and
man.' Men count their coins, as Indians their
scalps, and are admired and worshipped accord
ingly. The consequence is, that, although wealth
has increased beyond example, three-fourths of
mankind spend their lives in the inglorious struggle
against want. But the Law of God is, that only in
' mutual helpfulness ' is Society possible. At pre
sent our mutual helpfulness goes to the extent of
throwing a penny into the hat for soup-kitchens,
poor-houses, and the conversion of the heathen.
Some fairer distribution of the products of Labour
is imperatively demanded by the Law of God.
Labour must not be left in its present ' Chactaw '
condition, but, in Carlyle's words, must be ' made a
chivalry of For the epic is not now ' Arms and
the Man,' but ' Tools and the Man.' In the New
Era, men will be admired, not for what they have
succeeded in clutching for themselves, but for the
noble manner in which they have distributed it

104 CARLYLE.
among their fellows. The next most pressing de
mands are Education and Emigration. ' Is it not
scandalous to consider' writes Carlyle in 1843
' that a Prime Minister could raise within the year,
as I have seen it done, a Hundred and Twenty
Millions Sterling to shoot the French ; and we are
stopped short for want of the hundredth part of
that to keep the English living ? The bodies of
the English living, and the souls of the English
living ; these two " Services " an Education Service
and an Emigration Service, these with others will
actually have to be organised.' Carlyle does not
go into detail on any of these questions. He
admits that it is impossible to foresee more
than the general direction which legislation ought
to take, but considers that, if men were willing,
there would be little difficulty in devising machinery
to meet the ends.

105

EMERSON.
THERE is perhaps no writer of the nineteenth
century who will better repay a careful and pro
longed perusal than Emerson. He enjoys the rare
distinction of having ascended to the highest point
to which the human mind can climb — to the point
where, as he says of Plato, the poles of thought
are on a line with the axis on which the frame of
things revolves. From this elevation, he has given
us his views of the World, of Man, and of Society.
But, unfortunately, he has not chosen to lead us
up to his own point of view by a connected chain
of thought. Hence the difficulty we find in read
ing him. Thinkers like Comte and Mill have
done us the honour of admitting us to the recesses
of their minds, and of allowing us to see the
processes by which they arrived at their views of
the World. In doing so, they have furnished us
with the key to their special opinions. Had
Emerson given us, at the outset, a general out
line of his philosophy, his pages would have been
more intelligible. As it is, we are as much in the
dark, on a first perusal, as we should be in

106 EMERSON.
attempting to read the Principia before mastering
the steps that lead up to it. Having finished his
thinking before he commenced writing, he has
drawn up the ladder by which he ascended, and
sits uttering his oracles in solitary isolation. The
consequence is, that the brilliant exhibitions of
thought and metaphor, puzzle and surprise, rather
than edify us. These difficulties are aggravated
by the way in which he treats his subjects. The
topics are the ordinary concerns of life — expe
rience, prudence, character, heroism, friendship,
wealth, beauty, and the like. We open the book
anticipating little difficulty from such trite and
well-worn themes. But we are quickly unde
ceived. The first sentence will very likely stagger
us, and we are fortunate if the succeeding ones do
not increase our mystification. The thoughts are
not consecutive, and have as little connexion, it
has been said, as if they had been scattered out
of a pepper-box. He passes rapidly from point
to point, without any of those easy transitions and
connecting links that indicate the way we are
travelling, and apprise us of any change in the
point of view. He never dilates or amplifies, but
condenses a chapter into a paragraph. Each
sentence might form the text of an ordinary dis
course. His illustrations, even, have often as little
apparent connexion with the thought, as the-
thought has with the subject. Some of them

EMERSON. 107
would exemplify equally well any number of
different principles. Others, again, are themselves
generalizations, and must not be construed lite
rally. The whole body of thought is so overlaid
with metaphor, that we have difficulty. in recog
nizing its true character.
The key to this procedure is to be found in his
intellectual standpoint. He does not arrange his
facts according to their outward or logical rela
tions, but according to their inner spiritual
affinities. He stations himself at the point where
the ascending lines of Law (on which the diversity
of physical and moral phenomena are strung) pass,
into Unity. Once attain to that position, and
every sentence becomes luminous. The con
nexion of ideas becomes apparent ; the illustra
tions are seen to be pertinent and exact ; and the
subject to be laid open on all sides by direct and
penetrating insight. We can then return to him,
with the same delight, for the philosophical ex
pression of the deep laws of human life, as we do
to Shakspeare for their dramatic representation.
For he is one of the profoundest of thinkers, and
has that universality, serenity, and cosmopolitan
breadth of comprehension, that place him among
the great of all ages. He has swallowed all his
predecessors, and converted them into nutriment
for himself. He is as subtle and delicate, too, as
he is broad and massive, and possesses a practical

108 EMERSON.
wisdom and keenness of observation, that hold his
feet fast to the solid earth, when his head is
striking the stars. His scientific accuracy and
freedom of speculation mark him out as one of
the representative men of the nineteenth century.
We cannot afford, therefore, to lose thoughts of
so much weight and importance, through imperfect
apprehension. We must not be daunted by the
difficulties attending a first or second perusal.
With patience, light begins to dawn on us ; and
with light, hope. With the reader's indulgence, I
shall endeavour in the following pages to gather
up a few of the larger fragments of connected
thought which he has let fall by the way, in the
hope of being able to lighten a little the difficulties
of interpretation and to follow the steps by which
he ascended to the Temple of Philosophy.
Emerson is associated in the popular mind
with Carlyle. By some, his works are regarded
as a weak and diluted, by others, as a strong
and concentrated form of the writings of that
distinguished thinker. This is, of course, a mere
superstition. They both belong, it is true, to
the same class of spiritual or intuitive thinkers.
Their general views of Man and Nature are alike.
Neither of them is a logician or metaphysician, in
the ordinary acceptation of the term. Both have
pierced through the contradictions of life, and have
centered themselves in the divine Unity. But they
owe little to each other, although, like other great

EMERSON. 109
men, they are deeply indebted to their predecessors.
Their disagreement is more marked than their
agreement. Their speculative views are almost
identical, but in their practical application of these
views, there is the most striking antagonism.
Carlyle is the exponent of Despotism, in the best
sense of that term ; Emerson, of Liberty ; and to
these opposite principles, which re-appear in every
Society, they have respectively given the deepest
philosophical basis. I have accordingly regarded
a study of Emerson as a fitting sequel to a study
of Carlyle. But as I wish to avail myself of every
mode of statement that will help to strengthen
those views of the World which it is the main
object of this volume to enforce, I have deemed
it expedient to develop Emerson's views of Nature
and Man at some length. When I arrive at the
point where he parts company with Carlyle, I shall
consider their views together, and endeavour, by
contrast, to bring into clearer relief the charac
teristic differences between them.
In his mode of representing Nature, Emerson
belongs to the school of Idealism. The distinctive
doctrine of this school of thought will be more
clearly seen, perhaps, if we contrast it with the
opposite doctrine of Materialism. The Materialist
considers Man as a product or outcome of an
order in Nature, that exists and would exist inde
pendently of himself. The Idealist, on the con-

no EMERSON.
trary, considers Man as the centre of Nature, and
his mind as the point from which all things (in
cluding the Laws of Nature) take their interpre
tation. Since the advent of modern Scientific
Materialism, it must be admitted that Idealism
has been under a temporary eclipse. Nevertheless,
it may be confidently asserted, that around the
widest ring of Materialism, a ring of Idealism may
be drawn. ' Every Materialist ' says Emerson
'will be an Idealist, but an Idealist can never go
backward to be a Materialist.' To make good
this statement, it is not necessary to examine in
detail the different systems of Materialism that
have appeared in the world. They have all a
common basis, and it is in this basis that the weak
ness lies. That it should have been so persistently
•overlooked by materialists themselves is only to be
accounted for by the fact that they have neglected
to examine their foundations, in their zeal to rear
an imposing and symmetrical superstructure. Let
us examine for a moment, the doctrine which lies
at the base of all Materialism, viz. that Mind, being
an attribute of nervous action, is, like it, explained
and accounted for by the physical laws of Nature.
In setting out to investigate the relation between
Mind and Matter, the conscientious Materialist,
after clearing from his mind all preconceived
hypotheses, determines to follow the true Baconian
method, and base his conclusions on the observa-

EMERSON. Ill
tion of facts, and of facts only. As the result of a
long series of experiments and observations, he
finds that from the first dawning of consciousness
in the lower creation, up to its noon-splendour in
Man, there is an exact correspondence between
the mental manifestations and the condition of the
nervous centres. Whatever else varies, this rela
tion remains constant throughout his investigation.
He feels justified, therefore, in drawing the conclu
sion, that Mind is merely one among other mani
festations of the laws of Matter. Now, this con
clusion, reached inductively, is afterwards made
use of deductively, to solve some of the deepest
human problems. It is carried about as a lamp
to throw light on the great questions of Immor
tality, of the existence of God, of Final Cause, and
of the nature of the First Cause. It is therefore
all the more essential that the fallacy in it should
be clearly pointed out. It lies, in short, in the
materialist's assuming that only one element goes
to make up his conclusion, whereas, there are
really two. The element on which he entirely
bases his conclusion is the series of facts observed.
But there is a second element which he completely
ignores, viz. — the mind of the observer. Does he
imagine that the mind of the observer has nothing
to do with the conclusion ? Does he consider it
merely as a blank sheet of paper ? Has it not, on
the contrary, a complex constitution of its own,

H2 EMERSON.
which modifies the facts observed, as the constitu
tion of the stomach modifies the elements of the
food, which it converts into blood ? Would a
lunatic, an idiot, or an inferior animal, draw the
same conclusions from the facts of life, as a sane
and normally constituted mind ? If not, then he
must explain the normally constituted mind, before
he is justified in making a single observation.
But the truth is, his explanation of the mind follows
his observations, because it is deduced from them.
It is clear, therefore, that he has been assuming the
mind in every step which he has taken to explain
the mind, which is unphilosophical and absurd.
Emerson sees this absurdity, and resigns all
hope of explaining the Mind. , His only alternative
is to take his stand on the Mind, and account for
Nature. Like Carlyle, he regards Nature as exist
ing to represent Mind — as the vast symbol and
hieroglyph of Mind. This view falls into accord
with our natural intuitions ; and commends itself
alike to the man-of-the-world, the poet, and the
religious thinker. What interest, for example,
could there be in the actions, sayings, manners, and
behaviour of men, but that they are the signs of
thought and character ? And what is this but the
admission, that the outer and visible is the symbol
of the inner and invisible?- What charm could
mere sensuous beauty have for us, but that it refers
to that inner sea of Beauty, of which it is the mani-

EMERSON. 113
festatibn ? The fact, too, that we use the objects
and appearances of Nature as language to express
our thoughts and feelings is another proof of how
naturally we regard the World as the symbol of
Mind. ' Every word, ' says Emerson, ' which is used to express a
moral or intellectual fact, if traced to its root, is found to
be borrowed from some material appearance. Right
means straight ; wrong means twisted. Spirit primarily
means mind ; transgression the crossing of a line ; super
cilious the raising of the eyebrow. We say the heart to
express emotion, the head to denote thought, and thought
and emotion are words borrowed from sensible things
and now appropriated to spiritual nature . . . Every ap
pearance in Nature corresponds to some state of the
mind, and that state of the mind can only be described
by presenting that natural appearance as its picture. An
enraged man is a lion, a cunning man is a fox, a firm
man is a rock, a learned man is a torch. A lamb is in
nocence ; a snake is subtle spite ; flowers express to us
the delicate affections. Light and darkness are our
familiar expressions for knowledge and ignorance ; and
heat for love. Visible distance behind and before us is
respectively our image of memory and hope. '
The metaphors, too, which the poet employs
to express the wide compass of human sentiment,
ranging from the ordinary emotions of joy and
sorrow, up to those ethereal tones that impinge at
times on the very circumference of our being, are
all combined from natural appearances. Unless
the spirit of these appearances were identical with
I

114 EMERSON.
the spirit of the poet's thought, his thought would
be unintelligible. In parables and proverbs also
we have natural facts selected as pictures of moral
truths. In such proverbs as ' Make hay while the
sun shines,'. ' A rolling stone gathers no moss,' and
the like, the natural fact is of no significance what
ever, except as the expression of a moral fact.
Emerson, perceiving that Nature is the symbol
of Mind, is led by the very gravitation of thought
to that Cause of causes that works in, through, and
behind all things. Indeed, to lead us up to that
transcendent Being is the last and highest end of
Nature, as to feed and clothe us is its first and
lowest. If we survey the economy of the World
from an elevated standpoint, we shall find that it
works everywhere for Beauty, Goodness, and Jus
tice. But to see this, we must fix our eye on re
sults, not on processes and means. A healthy
balance is kept between animal and vegetable life,
although the animal aggrandises itself at the ex
pense of the plant ; between the different races
of animals, although accomplished by a round of
ferocity and antagonism, race preying on race ;.
between the different activities of human beings,
although each individual would impose on his
fellows his own way of thinking, and, if he had the
power, would fashion the world in his own image.
In all this, we see that Nature works, not for the
exclusive benefit of any one creature, but for the

EMERSON. 115
Good of all ; for broad and even-handed Justice ;
and amid all her complexities struggles everywhere
up into Beauty. ' The spirit and peculiarity,' says
Emerson, ' of that impression which Nature makes
on us is this, that it does not exist to any one or
to any number of particular ends, but to numberless
and endless benefit ; that there is in it no private
will, no rebel leaf or limb, but the whole is oppressed
by one superincumbent tendency.' This respect
for the whole in the disposal and distribution of
parts, is the direct inworking of that Divine Cause,
which, by its omnipresence, overpowers the self-will
of individuals, and reduces every refractory atom
into subservience to its own ends. The Universal
Spirit pervades every particle, and constrains every
clod, every crystal, every plant, every animal, and
every man, so that none can rebel. All- private
eccentricities are rounded in by that mighty arc, as
the irregularities of the earth's surface, by the curve
of the sphere.
Is this view of the World whimsical and arbi
trary ? Or, is it, on the contrary, founded on a
principle so universal and inherent, that it cannot
be evaded or denied ? It is founded on the fact
of Polarity. Every particle is armed with two
opposite poles. The result is, that there is a self-
poise in the whole and in every part ; and any ex
cess of direction in animal or plant that would
disturb the universal harmony, is at once counter-

u6 EMERSON.
balanced. ' The World,' says Emerson, ' looks
like a multiplication-table or a mathematical equa
tion, which, turn it how you will, balances itself
He has abundantly illustrated this in his essay on
Compensation. The earliest appearance of these
two poles is in Matter itself, which physicists
are obliged to conceive as consisting of centres
of force, which attract and repel each other
at the same time. Indeed, the Evolutionists (as
I shall point out in my next Essay) deduce the
endless variety of the World from a fixed quantity
of force, which is made up of these antagonistic
forces of attraction and repulsion. But what we
have here to observe is, that these two poles are to
be met with everywhere ; in centrifugal and centri
petal gravity ; in electricity and magnetism ; in ebb
and flow of waters ; in heat and cold ; in chemical
affinity ; in rhythm of motion and of sound ; in in
spiration and expiration ; in male and female.
' An inevitable dualism bisects Nature, so that each
thing is a half, and suggests another thing to make
it whole, as mind, matter ; man, woman ; odd,
even ; subjective, objective ; in, out ; upper, under ;
motion, rest ; yea, nay.' In mechanics, what is
gained in power, is lost in time, and vice versd.. In
the animal kingdom, no creatures are favourites, but
every advantage is compensated by a defect. The
same creature pays for an excess of development
in one part, by a reduction in another. If the

EMERSON. 117
head and neck are large, the trunk and extremities
are small. The same law is seen in the relation
that exists between the soil and climate of a
country, and the character of the men who inhabit
it. The fertility of the tropics tends to enervate
the character ; the comparative sterility of the
temperate zone, to strengthen it. The same com
pensation insinuates itself into the administration
of nations. ' If the government is cruel, the
governor's life is not safe. If the taxes are exor
bitant, the revenue will be defrauded. If the
criminal laws are too sanguinary, juries will not
convict. If the law is too mild, private vengeance
comes in.' In commerce, as we all know, the
cheapest are often the dearest commodities, as the
cheapest is often the dearest labour. In the human
mind the same law reappears.
' The ingenuity of man, ' says Emerson, ' has always been
dedicated to the solution of one problem — how to detach
the sensual sweet, the sensual strong, the sensual bright,
&c, from the moral sweet, the moral deep, the moral fair ;
that is, again, to contrive to cut clean off this upper sur
face so thin as to leave it bottomless ; to get a one end
without an other end. The soul says, Eat ; the body
would feast. The soul says, the man and woman should
be one flesh and one soul ; the body would join the
flesh only. The soul says, Have dominion over all
things to the ends of virtue ; the body would have the
power over things to its own ends . . . Men seek to be
great, they would have office, wealth, power and fame.
They think that to be great is to possess one side of

118 EMERSON.
nature — the sweet without the other side — the bitter.
This dividing and detaching is steadily counteracted.
Pleasure is taken out of pleasant things, profit out of
profitable things, power out of strong things, as soon as
we seek to separate them from the whole. We can no
more halve things and get the sensual good by itself, than
we can get an inside that shall have no outside, or a
light without a shadow.'
Vanity, in its attempt to make a good impres
sion, defeats itself. The man who borrows cannot
rid himself of the tormenting sense of obligation.
Pride is dearly purchased at the expense of the
sentiments and heart. Truth is sacrificed where
bigotry, intolerance, and prejudice are cherished.
When we do a mean action, or an injury to our
fellow-man, we loose our erectness of character.
The guilty are haunted by remorse, or, if they
escape it by hardening themselves, it is because
they have lost their manhood, and have sunk in
the scale of being.
The great ends of Goodness, Justice, Beauty,
and Truth are thus everywhere accomplished by
the same means, carried successively up to higher
and higher platforms. It is this Unity of Idea
that gives every object its universal character ; so
that the meanest blade of grass is a mirror of the
Universe. ' The true doctrine of omnipresence,'
says Emerson, ' is that God reappears with all his
parts in every moss and cobweb. The value of the
Universe contrives to throw itself into every point.

EMERSON. 119
If the good is there, so is the evil ; if the affinity,
so the repulsion ; if the force, so the limitation.'
' Although no diligence can rebuild the Universe in
a model by the best accumulation or disposition
of details, yet does the world reappear in minia
ture in every event, so that all the laws of Nature
may be read in the smallest fact. For this reason
a mercury or index of intellectual proficiency is
the perception of identity.' It is owing to this
pervading Unity, that Nature always leaves on the
poetic mind a harmonious impression. To this
Unity is due also the universality which we attri
bute to great works of Art. As each individual
object or event has its roots in the universal, it may
be so represented as to be a perfect picture of
human life. Hence a drama of Shakspeare, a song of
Burns, a sonata of Mozart, or a picture of Raphael,
is intelligible alike to the meanest and the most
cultured understandings.
' Not only resemblances exist,' says Emerson, ' in things
whose analogy is obvious, as when we detect the type of
the human hand in the flipper of the fossil saurus, but
also in objects where there is great superficial unlikeness.
Thus architecture is called ' frozen music ' by De Stael
and Goethe. Vitruvius thought an architect should be
a musician. 'A Gothic church,' said Coleridge, 'is a
petrified religion.' Michael Angelo maintained that to
an architect a knowledge of anatomy is essential. In
Haydn's oratorios, the notes present to the imagination
not only motions as ©f the snake, the stag, and the

120 EMERSON.
elephant, but colours also, as the green grass. The law
of harmonic sounds reappears in the harmonic colours.
The granite is differenced in its laws only by the more or
less of heat from the river that wears it away. The river
as it flows resembles the air that flows over it ; the air
resembles the light which traverses it with more subtle
currents ; the light resembles the heat which rides with it
through space. Each creature is only a modification of
the other ; the likeness is more than the difference, and
the radical law is one and the same. A rule of one art
or a law of one organisation holds true throughout
Nature. So intimate is this Unity that, it is easily seen,
it lies under the undermost garment of Nature and be
trays its source in Universal Spirit. For it pervades
Thought also. Every universal truth which we express
in words implies or supposes every other truth. Omne
verum vero consonat. It is like a great circle on a sphere
comprising all possible circles ; which, however, may be
drawn and comprise it in like manner. Every such
truth is the absolute Ens seen from one side. But it
has innumerable sides.'
Justice, Beauty, Goodness, and Truth are, as I
have said, the ultimate ends of Nature. We have
already seen this exemplified in the equity and
balance that adjusts the conflicting forces of the
animal and vegetable kingdoms ; in that ' golden
mean' which cannot be overstepped without in
stant compensation — that moderation which cannot
be abused without ruinous recoil. But it is seen,
dynamically, also, in the gradual amelioration
which the planet has undergone, from the earliest

EMERSON. 121
geological epoch up to the present time. There
has been an advance not only in intelligence, but
also in order, justice, and beauty. In the primeval
world, order and justice are seen working their way
darkly, through the polarity of unconscious mole
cules, and the struggles of rival races ; but when
we arrive at Man, these high attributes have become
purer and more concentrated, and have emerged
into consciousness. The megatheria and ichthyo
sauri of the older epochs are the first rough block
ings of the marble, which in later periods is chiselled
into a more finished beauty. Nature eventually
succeeds in throwing off her quadruped disguises,
and clothes herself in a human form of such com
pactness, mobility, and transparency, that the work
ings of the spirit may be seen through it. And,
finally, in the highest order of men, the spirit is, as it
were, set free altogether, and seeks anew to create
for itself a fairer, purer, and better world. The
artist, for example, after drinking in the beauty of
Nature's works, reproduces on the canvas an ideal
beauty which ' never was on sea or land.' The poet,
too, following the spirit of Nature, carries her flow
ing tendencies a little farther, and anticipates that
perfection which she is struggling to attain, through
a tough, unyielding medium. The philanthropist,
moved by the miseries of mankind, tries to leave
the world a legacy of benefits, free from the cruelty
and inhumanity with which they are purchased

122 EMERSON.
among the primitive races, and even now, too often,
among ourselves.
But the most incontestable proof that these
high attributes of the Soul are the ends of Nature
is, that, whereas all other gifts and benefits have
their penalties and compensations, there is no tax
on justice, goodness, and truth. With every in
crease of virtue, we are conscious of having ascended
a step in the scale of existence. The good man,
the wise man, the just man, is the height of
humanity. He shares the nature and attributes of
the First Cause, and is therefore superior to the
ebb and flow of circumstance. The world has
borne witness to this in every age, by the devotion
with which it has followed, and even worshipped,
those who have conquered Fate, or who have
sacrificed their lives for principle, for virtue, for
humanity. This- mode of representing the World, by its
harmony with the native intuitions of the mind,
carries with it the highest certificate of truth, and,
while congenial to the poet and religious thinker, is
based on the most rigid inductions of experience.
From Emerson's insight into the World follow as
a consequence his religion and ethics. The stead
fastness of our faith is, in the long run, proportioned
to the clearness and sureness of our intellectual
perception. Insight is the root out of which
springs faith as the flower. As long as a man's

EMERSON. 123
diagram of the Universe is not incredible, that is
to say, as long as it is not contradicted by positive
knowledge, authority and tradition are sufficient to
keep alive the flame of faith. But when Science
and criticism have forced its main positions, faith
begins to waver, and disruption and collapse gra
dually ensue. For a time, especially during sea
sons of religious excitement, the fervour of imagi
nation may suffuse the old formulae with a deceptive
appearance of vitality, but this soon passes away,
and disintegration sets in. But Emerson's religion
requires no such exercitations of the imagination
to vivify it. It rests on an insight into Nature so
comprehensive and central, and yet, withal, so
subtle and delicate, as to defy the last revelations
of the scalpel or microscope. He sees evidence
on all sides of an Omnipresent Being, working
steadily for Justice, Goodness, and Truth. His
first great duty, therefore, is as clear as the sun.
It is Self-Renunciation — the disregard of Self in
the ardour to forward these great ends. This is
no new truth. It is as old as the world, and has
been unconsciously believed and followed by the
army of noble men who have in all ages dedicated
their lives to virtue ; although it was first distinctly
announced and inculcated by the Christian Reli
gion. From whatever point of view we regard the
facts of life, this truth steps at once into the fore
ground as our first moral duty. If we look at the

124 EMERSON.
World in perspective, and represent to ourselves
the moving panorama of life as it comes up from
the past, we see it working steadily towards greater
intelligence, goodness, and justice. Our first duty,
therefore, is to assist this deliberate tendency by a
voluntary and spontaneous obedience. We, too,
must choose and forward the just, the good, the
true ; and this demands, at every turn, the subordi
nation of our personal and selfish inclinations, or,
in a word, Self-Renunciation.
If, on the other hand, we prefer to look at the
world of the present, we shall find running through
it two groups of tendencies. The first group
ministers to the welfare of the individual, and com
prises the appetites, ferocities, propensities, and
natural weapons of offence and defence. The
second group ministers to the welfare of the whole,
and includes the spiritual and moral laws of Man.
That the former of these two groups of tendencies
must be subordinated to the latter, is supported by
an appeal either to the facts of consciousness, or to
the facts of Nature. Consciousness testifies that
the moral and spiritual are higher and nobler than
the individual and selfish impulses, and that when
any antagonism arises the latter must yield.
The facts of Nature equally teach us that the in
dividual is always sacrificed to the general welfare.
The myriads of insects that come into being,
flutter for a moment, and are extinguished ; the in-

EMERSON. 125
exhaustible productiveness of lower organisms,
serving as prey for enemies, a few only surviving
to continue the species ; the prodigality of seed
and blossom, and paucity of fruit ; the internecine
warfare of races — all prove how little Nature re
gards individuals, and how readily she sacrifices
them to higher ends. Or, again (slightly varying
the mode of representation), if we regard Nature
as made up of individual objects and creatures,
none of which are independent and unrelated, but
all attached to, and dependent on the Supreme
Will at the centre of things ; our first duty is still
dependence and trust, and our highest good a lowly
obedience and Renunciation.
Emerson is deeply imbued with this truth. ' The
man,' he says, ' who renounces himself comes to
himself He would have us take our egotism and
nothingness out of the path of the Divine circuits. A
voluntary obedience he regards as the last lesson of
life —as the choral song that rises from all created
beings. Without Renunciation, Action must ever be in
complete, and wanting in purity and beauty. As
long as we are under the dominion of vanity,
avarice, or fear, we are only half men, and every
thing we do is alloyed. The men who have deeply
moved the world, and have become its ideals, have
been lifted out of themselves by some intense en
thusiasm, some burning Idea, which has smelted

126 EMERSON.
the dross out of their natures in its consuming
heat, or converted it into fiery energy, and so has
left them free to act with the momentum of natural
forces. If Action without Self-Renunciation is incom
plete, so is Self-Renunciation without Action. Our
beliefs, to be sound and wholesome, must be con
tinually reinforced by practical activity ; otherwise
they are sure to degenerate into passivity and sen-
timentalism,and soon become noxious. The efforts
we make to realise our convictions in life and con
duct, may be fairly taken as an index of their
strength and genuineness. The world hates dis
cursiveness, but honours those who can concentrate
the resources of their mind on a point, whether it
be a work of art, a speech, a poem, a campaign, or
an invention. But the necessity of putting our
principles into practice is now so generally acknow
ledged, that it needs little enforcing. It could only
have been prominently brought forward as a set-off
against the remnant of asceticism still clinging to
the popular teaching. Emerson thinks that the scho
lar cannot, for the sake of his _ nervesa nd his nap,
afford to lose any action in which he can partici
pate, for it brings a rich return of wisdom, and
loads his words with power. Only so much do we
truly know, as we have lived. But he has no
superstition about it. While, on the one hand, he
sees that Action strengthens belief and intensifies

EMERSON. 127
it ; on the other, he sees that it narrows the mind.
While he sees that it converts doubt into certainty,
and in the labyrinths of opinion and logic, deter
mines the point on which the issue depends ; he sees
also that it imprisons us in a limited circle of ideas.
He would not have the scholar sacrifice any wider
principle of activity in deference to the popular
modes. Epaminondas was a man of action ; but
he thinks that if Epaminondas were the man he
takes him for, he would have been content to sit
still, if his lot had been his. There can be no doubt
that the work a man is engaged in, stamps its im
press on the mind, and soon begins to tell on his
body, face, and manners. The routine of the
labourer, the mechanic, the soldier, the tradesman,
the lawyer, does not tend to form complete and
harmonious characters. Nor does the work of the
man of science, who is engrossed in details. Hence
the necessity of Culture, to correct this excess of
bias and partiality, and to bring all the faculties
and sides of our nature up to rotundity. To ap
proximate in any measure to a complete and uni
versal manhood, Action and Contemplation must
alternate, in accordance with that deepest law of
Nature — the Law of Polarity, whereby out of the
action and reaction of two opposite principles
springs the harmonious whole.
We come now to Emerson's mode of repre
senting the Human Mind. Like Carlyle, Emerson

128 EMERSON.
holds the doctrine that the intellectual and moral
faculties act and react on each other, and form an
organic unity. He sees the hopelessness of analy
tical metaphysics, and the impossibility of treating
the Mind under any one division of its activity,
whether intellectual, moral, or practical ; because
sincerity and earnestness are the parents of intel
lectual perception, and intellectual perception is the
parent of action. They pass rapidly into one another,
like pictures in a dissolving view. He sees that the
interdependence between intellect and morals is so
intimate, that talent uniformly sinks with character.
He sees that of two men of equal practical activity,
the one whose thought is deepest is the strongest cha
racter. He sees, in fine, that the really simple-minded
have the key to all the virtues and talents, as they are
in the spirit which contains them all. ' Those who
are capable,' says he, ' of humanity, of justice, of
love, of aspiration, stand already on a platform
which commands the sciences and arts, speech and
poetry, action and grace. For whoso dwells in this
moral beatitude, already anticipates those special
powers which men prize so highly.'
Emerson also holds the doctrine (discussed at
length in the preceding essay) that we are led by
the Imagination. ' I find men,' says he, ' the vic
tims of illusion in all parts of life. Children, youths,
adults, and old men are all led by one bauble or
another.' In his essay on Illusion he has illus-

EMERSON. 129
trated this by examples in great abundance : the
boy whose fancy is captivated by the exploits of
heroes ; the children in the desolate hovel, who,
nevertheless, hung it round with romance, like the
children of the happiest fortune ; the prosy alder
man, who imitates the air and actions of those he
admires, pays a debt quicker to the rich than to
the poor, wishes for the bow and compliment of
some leader in the State and in society, and
dies all the happier ; and the scholar who is the
victim of every new book. ' Life,' says he, ' is a
succession of lessons which must be lived to be
understood. All is riddle, and the key to a riddle
is another riddle. There are as many pillows of
illusion as flakes in a snowstorm. We wake from
one dream into another dream. The toys, to be
sure, are various, and are graduated in refinement
to the quality of the dupe. The intellectual man
requires a fine bait ; the sots are easily amused.
But everybody is drugged with his own frenzy.'
Up to this point the views of Emerson and
Carlyle are, at bottom, the same. Their modes of
representing the World and the Human Mind are,
in the main, substantially alike. But when they
proceed to apply their principles to the practical
affairs of life, they begin to diverge, and ultimately
end as far apart as the poles. The remaining pages
will be devoted to a consideration of the causes of
K

130 EMERSON.
this divergence, and its effects on their literary and
political views.
Men may be regarded in two aspects — either as
to their common likeness, or their individual differ
ences. The fundamental elements of the human
mind, like those of the body, are the same in all.
Not only are the appetites and passions the same,
but also the spiritual, moral, and intellectual at
tributes. But Goodness, Justice, Truth, and
Beauty, are also sides of the Divine Mind, and are
the ends to which Nature works. All men, there
fore, in virtue of a common possession, have equal
access to the mind of God, and the secrets of Nature.
This identity is the basis of the equality of men.
Men are not only like one another, but, on the
other hand, each is unlike' every other. No two
are precisely alike physically ; no two are precisely
alike mentally. These differences are due to
what is called organisation or temperament. One
man is sensitive and nervous, another is dull
and phlegmatic. One is more susceptible to
truth, another to beauty, another to goodness. In
one, the passions are so strong, that the voice of
reason is but faintly heard ; in another, selfishness
is so exorbitant, that nobility and generosity of
nature are starved and attenuated. The diversity
is as endless as the combinations of every faculty,
in every quality and degree. This diversity is the
basis of the inequality of men.

EMERSON. 131
The stern fact of organisation, on the one hand,
and on the other, the identity of nature (by virtue
of all men having within them the attributes of the
Spirit which made the World), are recognised alike
by both Carlyle and Emerson. During a course of
lectures which Emerson delivered on the Conduct of
Life, it was complained that in discoursing on
Fate, Wealth, and Power, he had attributed so
much influence to organisation and temperament,
that he had run the risk of abolishing the Godlike
from human affairs altogether. He replied that
there was no danger of his falling into his ink-pot ;
that he had no lack of belief, and could afford to
give a long line to scepticism, in the assurance
that a grain of Faith, like a grain of mustard seed,
could uplift a mountain of Fate. He then pro
ceeded to discourse on Worship, Culture, and
Beauty, as the antagonism and counterpoise to
Fate, Wealth, and Power.
Carlyle also recognises that all men are equally
open to divine illumination and power, by virtue of
an identical nature. The remark of Novalis that
' bending before Man is a reverence done to this
Revelation in the flesh,' he quotes frequently and
with approval. Doctor Johnson, he remarks, would
only bow to a clergyman or man with a shovel hat.
He would go farther, and would bow to any man
whatever, whether he had a hat or not ; because
every man has within him the Godlike. When he

i32 EMERSON.
remembered, however, that there was also a per
sonal and selfish side to Man's nature, he confessed
that the bow had better be withheld, lest it should
be pocketed by Vanity. His doctrine, that the in
tellectual depends on the moral, and that men
Choose to be little, because they will not sweep
from their hearts insincerity, cant, and intolerance,
proves also how clearly he perceives that all men
have equal access to the Divine Spirit, if they would
but suffer themselves to be guided by it.
But when Emerson and Carlyle proceed to
apply their principles to practice, they at once take
different sides. Emerson takes his stand on the
Godlike in Man ; Carlyle on temperament and or
ganisation. This divergence affects their whole
literary procedure, and characterises their views
of Man, History, Art, Biography, and Politics. It
first makes its- appearance in their views of the
relationship that should exist between man and
man. Carlyle, taking his stand on organisation,
preaches Hero-Worship ; Emerson, taking his
stand on the Godlike, preaches Self-reliance. Let
us trace briefly the chain of thought that leads up
to these respective conclusions.
Carlyle sees a Divine Will behind the ever-
changing phenomena of the World, as clearly as he
sees a, thinking principle like his own behind the
countenances of his fellow-men. He sees also that
our greatest good is in obedience tc this Will, as

EMERSON. 133
revealed in the physical, organic, and spiritual laws.
But as these lie in a web, intricate and involved,
there is great difficulty in reading and understand
ing them. Among the mass of men, however, there
appear from time to time, individuals gifted with the
rare insight which enables them to interpret these
laws, and make them known to their fellows. In
olden times these were the prophets and law-givers
whom the nations have so willingly followed —
Menu, Moses, Solon, Lycurgus, Mahomet. For,
although all men may be equally open to the
Divine Mind, by virtue of a common nature, there
is practically this immense difference between them.
We have experience every day of the fact that one
man is more richly gifted than another. And such
is the intimate interdependence of insight and mo
rality, that the truly intellectual man is also the
truly just, the truly good, the truly magnanimous
man ; as the sincere and earnest man is the man of
solid judgment also. The Great Man is therefore
the highest present exponent of the Divine Will.
All the attributes of God are represented in him in
miniature — justice, goodness, truth. It follows
accordingly that in reverencing the Great Man, and
following his guidance, we are practically manifest
ing our belief in God, and our desire to obey His
commandments. Hence Carlyle's remark that
' all religion issues in due practical Hero-worship.'
Besides, in following those whom we believe to be

134 EMERSON.
our superiors, we are obeying one of the deepest in
stincts of our nature. Let a number of men (to
take a hypothetical case), all equally independent
and unrelated, meet together and form a society.
Let each have a fair opportunity of demonstrating
his powers and capacity to the rest ; gradually the
society loses its homogeneous character, mystic
fibres shoot through it in all directions, and the
whole becomes bound together into an organic
unity. It has become a hierarchy, with the ablest
man at the top. Thenceforward the leader gives
guidance and protection in return for loyalty and
obedience. He becomes, accordingly, the Ideal after
which the whole society fashions itself. His man
ners, tastes, aspirations, and culture are imitated.
Each member tries to realise in himself the virtues
he so much admires ; and insensibly, through the
magnetic influence of a single man, the whole so
ciety has been elevated and refined ; and at the same
time, every faculty and side of the nature has been
duly and becomingly exercised. This is precisely
what we should expect. Men are made better, not
by stuffing their minds with dead and barren ab
stractions, which jingle through the head and never
touch the heart ; but by elevating before them a
living, concrete, human Ideal, which, by the hold it
takes on the Imagination, warms the heart, stimu
lates the will, incites emulation, and draws out the
active powers. 'Of this thing be certain,' says

EMERSON. 135
Carlyle, ' wouldst thou plant for Eternity, then plant
into the deep, infinite faculties of man, his Fantasy
and Heart ; wouldst thou plant for Year and Day,
then plant into his shallow, superficial faculties, his
Self-love and Arithmetical Understanding, what
will grow there.'
This train of thought is the key to Carlyle's views
of the present state of Society. We have lost, he
thinks, our Religion, and practical belief in God has
faded into a faint and incredible tradition. Duty
has, in consequence, almost lost its divine meaning,
and is resolved into the diluted form of ' enlightened
self-interest' Having lost our belief in God, we
have lost with it our sense of Human Worth. Our
governors have become impotent, and unworthy
to govern ; we have become free, and are unwilling
to obey. Loyalty has accordingly died out, and
the ties that formerly bound Society together have
become so relaxed, that ' Cash-payment is now the
sole nexus between man and man.' For guidance,
we have ' laissez-faire ' and ' Supply and Demand ' ;
for obedience, we have insubordination and ' inde
pendence.' Society is fast becoming an aggregate
of conflicting atoms, without any principle of co
hesion to keep it from falling to pieces. What,
then, is to be done ? ' Universal Suffrage ' and ' the
Ballot-box ' can do nothing for us. Our votes will
only reflect ourselves, and our false and unworthy
admirations. They will never return the Great Man

136 EMERSON.
to the helm of affairs, but rather the sham-great
man. As the loss of our religion was the primary
cause of our unhappy condition, our first step
must be to find it again. We must come again to
realise that there is a God presiding over the affairs
of this World, and not Mammon or the Devil.
Then, and not till then, will Religion cease to be
an empty grimace, Duty an empty name. Human
worth will again be recognised and exalted ; human
baseness, cast down and execrated. Man will
again unite himself to man ; a religious loyalty will
spring up in our hearts ; and Society, like the human
body, with all its members in mutual relation and
subordination, will become a healthy, vital, indi
visible unity. But in his impatience with the pre
sent, Carlyle has become reactionary, and casts
longing glances at the past. He is so disgusted
with our present ' state of anarchy,' that, if he can
not have the natural despotism of genius and virtue,
he will put up with, and even welcome, a despotism
of force. He lays so much stress on order, that he
would sacrifice to it, conscience, aspiration, senti
ment, freedom, the healthy diversity of thought and
character. He would have the drill-sergeant in
every parish, and every household ; and would con
vert the world into a barracks. He would gag the
press, enslave the negro, and have mankind driven
like a flock of sheep. He prefers ignorance, with
the stupid docility of the peasant, to knowledge,

EMERSON.- 137
with its liability t6 ambition, rest,lessness,'>.ahd. in
subordination. ~ Let us now- turn to Emerson, -.ic
Like Carlyle-,-he -believes in God, and sees that
our highest freedom and blessedness lie in a cheer
ful submission to ' Hi's will. But taking his stand
on the Godlike in man, he will allow of no inter
preter of that- will, .but the individual reason and
conscience. ' If we listen, in all humility, to the
voice of truth within ourselves, we shall hear the
right word. There is no need that we should take
either our beliefs or our duties from any man. It
is true that there are differences of gifts among men.
It is true that the moral and intellectual faculties are
commensurate with each other. But no single in
dividual has the full complement of virtue, and,
therefore, of talent. Temperament and organisation
interfere at every turn. If a man's genius is com
manding, his active powers are apt to be torpid or
paralytic ; if he has promptness and energy, his
range of sight is apt to be contracted. So that,
although the unity of the moral and intellectual is
a true law, it is, like every law, rather a tendency
than a realised fact. It is so thwarted by organi
sation, that if we expect to find it in any particular
person, we are likely to be disappointed. Society
is not, therefore, as Carlyle imagines, a hierarchy,
where talent and virtue united, rise in an ascending
scale ; on the contrary, talent and virtue are rather
delegated to individuals in parts, so that it takes

138 EMERSON.
the whole society to give us the fulness and pro
portion we want Even the greatest men are but '
fragments. ' A man,' says Emerson, ' is like a bit of
Labrador spar, which has no lustre as you turn it in
your hand, until you come to a particular angle,
then it shows deep and beautiful colours. There is
no adaptation or universal applicability in men,
but each has his special talent, and the mastery of
-successful men consists in keeping themselves.
where and when that turn shall oftenest be, prac
tised.' The reason why we attribute to some men
a completeness and harmony of nature, is, because,
by a well-known trick of the imagination, we as
cribe universality and completeness, to whatever we
regard with love and admiration. Or, as Emerson
has it, ' on seeing the smallest arc we complete
the circle.' We meet with a man, for example,
distinguished for some special trait of brilliancy or
utility, which takes our fancy. We imagine that
the whole figure is of the same proportion as that
one member. But we shall discover our error, if
we place him in circumstances requiring a different
order of faculty. Then we shall see his limitations ;
and when we do, it is all over with him. For the
Infinite which is in every man, demands for its
satisfaction, objects and attributes that are eternal
and inexhaustible. There can be no doubt that
reverence for great men is one of the deepest in
stincts of our nature. It is, therefore, natural, just,

EMERSON. 139
and reasonable, that we should, in all humility, give
reverence where reverence is due. But the service
that even the greatest men can render us is but
temporary and prospective. If our minds are ex
pansive, we soon outgrow them. We drain them,
one after another, like cisterns. Unless we are to
be the slave of a puerile delusion, we can surrender
heart and soul to no man. It is true, also, that
living Human Ideals lead us and stimulate us more
than any other ; but like the toys of children, they
are to be cast aside when they are outgrown. The
only Ideal which we can worship with our whole
soul, and on which we can rest for ever, is that
great Power, which casts up men like pebbles from
the infinite deep — that Sea of Light, of whose un
explored splendour man is but an exhalation. If
then, every man, no matter how brilliant or pro
found, is but a fragment, a partialist, let us stand
on our own feet, look at the facts of life for our
selves, in all honesty and sincerity, and we shall see
the truth that concerns us, as well as another.
With Emerson, this virtue of Self-reliance in
cludes all the virtues, and he never loses an oppor
tunity of enforcing it. He regards it as the basis
of all character, as the essence of all heroism. The
great men whom we so much admire, differ from
ourselves, chiefly in this, that while we rely on
them, they rely on themselves. To the literary
man Self-reliance is indispensable. ' Meek young

140 EMERSON.
men,' says he, ' grow up in libraries, believing it to
be their duty to accept the views which Cicero,
which Locke, which Bacon, have given ; forgetting
that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon, were but young
men in libraries when they wrote these books.'
So little self-reliance is there in the masses of men,
that they are spoken of as ' the herd ; ' and their
circle of thought and action can be predicted as
easily as the return of morning and night. It is
this imbecility of the masses that ' invites the im
pudence of power,' and perpetuates slavery and
despotism. But Self-reliance, by breaking up the
torpid routine of thought, lets new light into the
darkened mind, and sets the world spinning on
the paths of progress. If, therefore, Hero-worship
has been the practical creed of the past, Self-
reliance is to be that of the future. But so closely
does every virtue lie to a corresponding vice, that
it is apt to fall into it. Self-reliance as easily de
generates into conceit and bombast, as Hero-wor
ship does into flunkeyism and meanness of spirit.
Still, by releasing men from their stupid idolatries,
and opening up to them the essential riches of
their own natures, it communicates hope, stimulates
aspiration, and gives new interest and value to life.
Emerson, accordingly, would put as little re
straint as possible on the individual will. He ad
mires the simplicity of Nature. The apple falls
when it is ripe. The planets fall in their orbits.

EMERSON. 141
The walking of man and of all animals is a falling
forward. Let us imitate this wise simplicity, and
in all our actions follow the laws of our nature,
without affectation or hypocrisy. Our spontaneous
acts are the most beautiful and virtuous. Each
man has a natural principle of selection, in his
books, his studies, his employments, his amuse
ments, his food. Let us not interfere with these
unconscious instincts. Let us encourage every
variety of talent and utility. Let each do his own
work, and let his talent be the call. Coercion
vitiates the moral nature. An iron uniformity
would crush the fairest" flowers of the mind, and
would rob society of its richest and most delicate
natures. He compares our ponderous State-
machinery to the Roman aqueducts, which were
laboriously constructed over hill and dale, but
which were superseded when we discovered the
simple law that water would always find its own
level. He sees, of course, that the form of govern
ment in any country is the reflex of the prevailing
culture ; and that, where men are ignorant, brutal,
and selfish, there must always be a government of
force. But, looking to the future, rather than to
the past, he would open up to men full and unim
peded liberty, in the sublime faith that every evil
as it arises will be checked by the natural reac
tions and compensations of their condition. He
has no fear of Liberty, but invites us to it, as to a

142 EMERSON.
breath of morning after a long and troubled night.
He sees that person and property will always have
their due influence, whatever be the form of govern
ment. And as sure as every atom has two poles,
so surely will any excess of force in one direction,
generate a countervailing force in the opposite.
Radicalism begets Conservatism ; Conservatism,
Radicalism. ' Wild liberty breeds iron conscience ;
the want of liberty, by strengthening law and de
corum, stupefies conscience.' Where positive laws
are few, custom supplies their place. Hence the
less government, the better ; the fewer laws, the
better. Let each man do" his own work, and his
influence will, in the long run, be proportioned to
the depth of his thought. His virtues will be mea
sured by his actions, as a tree by its fruit. What
we want is Character. That is the end of all edu
cation, of all institutions, of all government. When
that is formed, the State is no longer necessary.
The upright man needs no policeman. As yet,
however, we rely not on principle, but on men, on
money, on organisation, on party. Let us now try
the influence of Love. ' I think that the soul of
Reform — the conviction that not sensualism, not
slavery, not war, not imprisonment, not even
government are needed, but in lieu of them all,
reliance on the sentiment of man which will work
best the more it is trusted.'
The literary procedure of Carlyle and Emerson

EMERSON. 143
is marked by the same divergence which charac
terises their views on Society.
Carlyle's first concern was to extricate himself
from the perplexities and contradictions of life, and
to get, if possible, a sight of Deity at first hand.
Accordingly, in the Sartor Resartus, we find him
looking fixedly at phenomena until they become
transparent with their causes, and at these causes
until they fade and melt into Deity. We see
him stripping off, one by one, the successive ves
tures which conceal, and yet reveal, the Eternal.
And having beheld the Divine Essence face to face,
as it were, he deems it his noblest mission to return
to the world, and try to conform men to the Divine
nature. His choice of means for this end is di
rected by his insight into human life. He believes
that the majority of men are incapable by them
selves of unravelling the contradictions of Time ;
and of seeing God through the clouds and obscura
tions of sense. He sees that they are led by sen
suous symbols which appeal to the Imagination.
And as he is convinced that the clearest symbols
of God are the lives of Great Men, he would accord
ingly hold these up as exemplars for their imita
tion and guidance. Hence he has spent the greater
part of his life writing History and Biography.
And as he thinks that in Action alone can great
ness of mind attain its fulness and completion, he
prefers to select his heroes from men of action —

144 EMERSON.
statesmen, warriors, kings. But Biography, to
have its full influence, must be a record of fact,
not a mixture of fact and fiction. He has therefore
spared himself no trouble to obtain access to accu
rate and reliable information. He tells us of the
weary hours he has spent, searching among moun
tains of rubbish for a grain or two of solid reality.
When his materials are collected, they do not lie
around him in distracted, amorphous heaps ; but
immediately begin to organise themselves. He
shoots a ray of genius through them, and the dark
ness becomes light. He breathes on the dry bones
and they become alive. The most widely-sundered,
and apparently unrelated incidents are brought
together, and united, by subtle spiritual links, as
parts of an organic unity, to the deep laws of the
human heart. His biographies, in turn, illustrate
and enforce his cardinal principles of thought. In
his literary portraits, he points out with great truth
and penetration, that any limitation of moral sym
pathy is sternly compensated by a corresponding
limitation of intellectual power. But in his por
traits of men of action, he labours under greater
difficulties. The morality of some of his heroes,
judged by conventional standards, is extremely
questionable ; and yet the facts are stubborn, and
not to be evaded. He cannot, like the poet and
writer of fiction, conform his incidents to the har-'
mony of his picture. His only alternative, there-

EMERSON. 145
fore, is to seize firmly the spirit of the character,
and treat the obnoxious facts as superficial, casual,
or non-essential. He accordingly throws the con
ventional morality to the winds, and sticks boldly
to the essential and radical virtues of justice, vera
city, and sincerity. He passes over the delinquen
cies of his heroes, with a light and easy censure,
and sometimes, even, converts them into positive
virtues. The brutality of Friedrich Wilhelm, the
sensuality of Mirabeau, the corruption of Danton,
the cold and flippant scepticism of Frederick the
Great, instead of being condemned, are palliated.
The sensitive reader is surprised and shocked, and
the influence of these magnificent studies, so pro
found and full of genius, is, in consequence, some
what impaired.
His treatment of History is equally original.
He protested against the attempts of historians to
press history into a particular theory. He saw
that the times of Charlemagne and Luther were as
full of life and colour, as to-day, and, that the
motives of men then, were as mixed and incal
culable as now. He would, therefore, endeavour,
for his own part, to give as far as possible an
accurate account of the real events, and leave the
reader to draw his own theory. He knew that if
he were successful, his pictures would illustrate as
many different theories, as a living thing has sides
from which it may be regarded. In the history oi

V

146 EMERSON.
the French Revolution, accordingly, he lifts the
curtain that veils the past, and lets us see for our
selves what was going on at a particular section of
time. By a series of vivid pictures, he shows us
what men were saying and doing, and thereby
enables us to realise what they were thinking and
feeling. We see, on the eve of the Revolution, the
corruption of the Court ; the convicted impotence
and falsehood of the Government ; and the distress
and starvation of the people. When the crisis
arrives and the drama is unfolding, the successive
acts are as incalculable, and can be as little fore
seen, as the impulses of a mob. He accordingly
throws away all philosophical theories, all remote
causes, and connects the series of events with those
immediate impulses of the human heart that lead
directly to action — Hunger, ' Preternatural Sus
picion,' Enthusiasm of Liberty, Vanity, Frenzy, and
Revenge. Emerson, too, regards the Deity as the highest
and noblest object of human contemplation. When
he looks at Nature, and sees her everywhere bris
tling with the polarity that ranges the meanest
trifle on the line of the Divine thought, he would
wonder and worship for ever. Carlyle, as we have
seen, would lead us up' to God through the worship
of Great Men. But Emerson will allow no person,
however transcendent, to intercept the passage of
the Divine rays, and tinge their purity with sen-

EMERSON. 147
suous colours. He would have us mount with him
to Deity through ascending circles of thought.
Hence he writes Philosophy. It is true that in
his Representative Men, he discourses on persons ;
but they are chiefly eminent philosophers. He
hastens over the details of their personal history ;
but delights to dwell on the great thoughts in which
they lived, and by which they climbed up the
ladder of Being to the First Cause. When he in
dulges in incident, it is to illustrate by a pointed
anecdote the spirit of their thinking. Men are in
teresting to him, not as creatures of flesh and blood,
but in so far only as they are mouthpieces of Divine
wisdom. He is on his guard against a personal
influence. He sees how apt we are to fancy that
things done by men of ' position ' or reputation, are
better than the same things done by plain people.
But with him, the measure and worth of any action
is the spirit from which it proceeds, not who did
it. Nor is he to be caught by the mere bulk and
uproar of a transaction ; but insists on judging it
by the depth of thought from which it emanated.
For the greatest action may be the most simple
and private concern. He admires Buonaparte, not
because he dazzled the vulgar eye, but because he
finds his maxims have that universal application
which characterises the master. He can translate,
he says, all his tactics into all his own. Carlyle
would elevate Great Men into standing ideals for

148 EMERSON.
the world's worship, on account of the hold they
take on the heart and imagination, and the con
sequent elevation and aspiration they impart to
masses of men. Emerson, on the contrary, con
siders that the worship of great men degenerates
into superstition, that it introduces the worship of
personality, so that the most ordinary actions be
come sacred. He would, therefore, substitute for
it, a thought of the mind — an immortal Truth,
which, by breaking up these illusions of the heart
and imagination, would open up new modes of
thought, and compel the nations to march on the
road of progress. He would have such truths sink
into the mind, and ferment there, until they had
revolutionised the character and life. Hence in
dealing with persons, instead of biographical pic
tures, he gives us spiritual delineations. In repre
senting a man, Carlyle searches for the cardinal
impulse, and when he finds it, he makes it the
central point, around which the whole character is
organised. In Burns, it is sincerity ; in Johnson,
veracity ; in Voltaire, adroitness. Emerson, on the
contrary, composes his representation out of innu
merable fragments, each of which corresponds to
some side or aspect of the mind. These are so closely
and finely inlaid as to form a perfect mosaic ; the
selection of the whole being controlled by the most
profound and piercing insight.
Carlyle is so enamoured of truth that he dis-

EMERSON. 149
parages all attempts to draw ideal characters after
the just laws of the imagination. He admires
Shakspeare more for his historical pictures than
for his great constructive dramas. But it is ques
tionable, whether there is not as much illusion, or,
in other words, fiction, in the best biography as
there is in ' Hamlet ' or ' Lear.' At all events, the
point is worth raising for a moment. To begin
with, no man can be raised out of his natural sur
roundings and isolated, without the imagination
weaving around him mystic and fictitious attributes.
If he is virtuous, he appears more virtuous ; if
vicious, more vicious, by isolation. The very lan
guage, too, which describes a character so isolated
adds another layer of fiction. It is a coloured
medium, which stains every object that passes
through it. It carries with it associations which it
cannot shake off, and which adhere to the subject
of the narrative. It is much the same with Art
A man's portrait makes a deeper impression on us
when seen on the wall, than the man himself does
when seen in a crowd. The poor beggar girl in the
picture draws our sympathies and tears, but the
original from which the picture was taken, stands
shivering at the street-corner, cold and neglected.
We are all the fools of these tricks of the imagina
tion, and it is the office of literature to point them
out, instead of perpetuating them, as it was the office
of astronomy to dissipate the fictions associated

150 EMERSON.
with the heavenly bodies. One of our most dis
tinguished historians has affirmed, that the Science
of History consists, in separating, as far as possible,
the fiction from the truth in bygone transactions.
Accordingly, the legends of the saints, and the
ecclesiastical miracles of the early centuries are now
almost entirely discredited. We have yet to go a
step further, and strip off the fictions which still
adhere to persons and classes, and which so power
fully affect the true relations that should exist be
tween man and man. We have yet to open up to
men the sense of that original identity which bio
graphy, art, history, and fame, do so much to
weaken or obliterate.
The object of biography, as ' a work of art,' is to
exhibit a man's inner life, by a record of the expe
riences which befell him. Every man has an
original cast of mind, which modifies the circum
stances he comes in contact with, and which, in
turn, is modified by them. But no inventory of
the circumstances can furnish us with the key we
want. We may know the daily life and pursuits of
a friend. We may be able to form a fair idea of
the thoughts that are agitating him. We may
have shared, in confidence, his aspirations, hopes,
and perplexities. But the greatness, which makes
a man's genius or character worth recording, will
elude the most searching analysis. Who of Shak-
speare's companions could have told us how he

EMERSON. 151
came by his immense knowledge of life ? Who of
Buonaparte's comrades could have explained his
practical sagacity ? The truth is, thought and cha
racter, like a coral reef, are formed by the incessant
iteration of minute and trivial circumstances ; by
the imperceptible influence of those around us ; by
casual remarks in books, which excite new trains of
thought ; by the words or actions of obscure men,
who little thought they were rendering us an essen
tial service, and were conveying a truth that would
go far to remodel our lives. A record of these
would be as tedious and prolix as Pepys ; and would
be inadmissible in ' a work of art,' where perspective
is so essential. There can be no doubt that, in
actual life, there are wide degrees of greatness and
meanness. But the greatest man is great, only in
high and rare moments ; the rest of his life is the
sober grey of ordinary mortals. By selecting these
eminent experiences and making them the staple
of a biography, we may produce an ideal, but not
a true picture. The biographer, in order to heighten
the interest of his narrative, and make it readable,
is justified, like the dramatist, in omitting the mean
and prosy details, and in selecting and linking to
gether the bright and poetic circumstances. But if
he asks us to accept the record as the whole truth,
and holds it up before us as a Scripture to influence
and direct opinion, we must repudiate it.
Biographies are interesting, but they serve, after

152 EMERSON.
all, for amusement and curiosity, rather than in
struction. They teach no great or even new truth.
They illustrate the rewards of virtue, perseverance,
and the like ; or some wise saw, which is either so
trite, or so irrelevant, as to be without appreciable
influence on our own conduct. Each new day that
dawns on us brings with it new and unknown cir
cumstances, and requires new and untried methods
to meet them. What was said or done in other
days, and under other circumstances, by great men,
is of little service to us. Nothing will avail but in
sight into the conditions we work under, into the
connections of causes, and the course of events.
We want a new thought, not a new picture. I have
read scores of books for curiosity or pleasure, but
only the general truths that I have gleaned on the
way have been of use to me. The great masters of
thought enrich us with deep and wide principles,
which we can test on the open arena of the world,
and apply to the shifting circumstances of every
day. They plough the mind into furrows of
thought, break up the soil, and plant truths that
will bear fruit to all time.
Biographies are good as stimulants. It is, per
haps, the best service they render us. They fan
the emotions, and rouse us in despondency by the
traditions of heroism and virtue. But unless they
plant deep and solid truths, their effects are as
evanescent and transitory, as the billows which the

EMERSON. 153
wind drives over the surface of the waters. There
is no danger that knowledge should destroy our
reverence for great men, or prevent our doing our
duty to our fellows. On the contrary, what is most
wanted, especially at the present time, is an insight
that will clear up our contradictions and perplexi
ties, and enable us to see what is to be reverenced,
and what is to be done. When the weeds that
entangle and impede us are cut away, we may rest
in the sure faith that religion, reverence, and duty,
will spring up in human hearts, as naturally and
spontaneously as love.
Emerson participates in Carlyle's reaction against
those who saw in History only a reflection of their
own theories. But at the same time, he sees that
no history can be more than an approximation to
the actual reality. Preconceived opinions are in
terwoven with the narrative. The picture is coloured
and distorted by prejudice. The merest fragment
of what occurred is reported. Motives are mixed,
and cannot be separated. The important elements
are often so unobtrusive as to escape notice. The
dust and uproar hide the real connection of events,
and confound the judgment of the onlooker. The
successive ' estimates ' of different historians only
replace one illusion by another. Hence he will not
bury himself in dreary catacombs, among the dust
of the dead, searching for what, when found, is not
worth the trouble. He prefers to live in the sun-

154 EMERSON.
shine of the day that is passing over him, which is
as good as the days of Cromwell or Charles the
Fifth, and contains the same mingled elements —
the good and the evil, the greatness and meanness,
the happiness and misery, the hope and disappoint
ment. He would study well the lessons it teaches,
and thereby supersede the use of history. ' Be lord
of a day,' says he, ' by wisdom and virtue, and you
may put up your history books.' Our own life is
the only reliable historical record. In proportion
as that has been wide, deep, and varied, is .our
ability to interpret the ages that are past. A deep
insight into the life that was passing around him,
and a sympathy with every phase of it, enabled
Goethe to reproduce the antique world. Although
human nature is the same in all ages, certain ideas
or principles have more influence at one period than
at another. In one age, it is valour, or physical supe
riority : in another, it is asceticism, or chivalry, or
liberty. We can live over in ourselves these domi
nant ideas, as we do the common human nature.
We can realise the particular thoughts or feelings
which gave rise to these particular forms of society.
We can interpret the youth of the world from our
own youth, its past from our past. We can under
stand its Fetishism, its Polytheism, its Monotheism.
We have the private key to its Theological, its Meta
physical, its Positive stages. Each new experience
Qf our own throws light on what great masses of

EMERSON. 155
men have done. ' Every revolution,' says Emerson,
•'was first a thought in one man's mind, and when
the same thought shall occur to another man it is
the key to that era. Every reform was first a
private opinion, and when it shall be a private
•opinion again, it will solve the problem of the age.
The fact narrated must correspond to something in
me to be credible or intelligible.' We can under
stand the Puritans from certain passages in our
own experience. Why then spend our lives in en
deavouring to unearth the details of their history ?
If we have not had their experience, no catalogue
of their actions or opinions will enable us to under
stand it. Either way, therefore, it is a matter of
indifference. ' This life of ours is stuck round with
Egypt, Greece, Gaul, England, War, Colonisation,
Church, Court, and Commerce, as with so many
flowers and wild ornaments, grave and gay. I will
not make more account of them. I believe in
Eternity. I can find Greece, Asia, Italy, Spain,
and the Islands — the genius and creative principle
of each and all eras in my own mind.'
From what has been said, the reader will
already have anticipated the wide divergence be
tween Carlyle and Emerson, in their views of Art.
Carlyle would have the artist give us the literal
facts, as they alone form a sure basis for belief, and
therefore, for effective example. The Lives of Great
Men, being, in his opinion, the clearest and surest

156 EMERSON.
revelations of the Godlike, are accordingly the high
est works of Art. Emerson, on the contrary, would
have the artist give us the soul of the facts ;
creation, not imitation ; the spirit and splendour,
not the prose and details. But fixing his eyes on
the overflowing Cause that streams through Nature,
he makes little of any man's life, or of any piece of
human art. The genius that created ' Hamlet ' and
' Othello ' could go on producing the like until the
end of time. A picture more or less is of little
consequence. Instead of filling the world with
commentaries on these magnificent productions, let
us strive, each for himself, to get a little of that
insight from which ' Hamlet ' and ' Othello ' flowed
as easy and natural effects.

157

HERBERT SPENCER.
I PROPOSE in this essay to examine Mr. Herbert
Spencer's theory of the Universe. For this pur
pose I have selected his book on ' First Principles,'
as it contains the germs of that system of Philo
sophy, which in subsequent volumes he has de
veloped with such breadth and fulness of detail.
I do not intend following Mr. Spencer through the
mass of scientific facts which illustrate rather than
establish his principles, but prefer to fix the atten
tion of the reader on those cardinal points on which
his whole system turns, and hope by a careful
selection of quotations, so to light up the central
principle, that its scope and significance may be
clearly seen. It is perhaps unnecessary to say
.that the very keystone of his philosophy is his
doctrine of the ' Persistence of Force.' With this,
every minor doctrine is tuned into harmony, and
from it every subsidiary principle takes its cue and
emphasis. Every road leads to it, and its depen
dencies link it with the circumference and ex
tremities of his ' System of Philosophy.' But that

158 HERBERT SPENCER.
the reader may see in what way this central doc
trine is established, and also that my criticism may
be rendered more intelligible, I have deemed it
expedient, without further preliminary, to give a
brief, rapid sketch of the book itself.
Mr. Spencer opens by remarking, that as there
' is a soul of goodness in things evil,' so there is a
soul of truth in things erroneous. Beliefs that
have met with a wide acceptance among men have
generally a germ of truth in them ; and if these
beliefs are antagonistic, the common ground be
tween them, in all probability, contains that germ.
If we let discordant opinions cancel each other,
what remains, being that in which they all agree,
may be accepted as the truth. Now, of all antag
onisms of belief, the oldest, widest, deepest, and
most important is that between Science and Re
ligion. Is it not possible, then, that if we could
discover the truth that is common to both, it would
form the basis of a permanent reconciliation be
tween them ? With this object in view, he proceeds-
first to examine the essential conceptions involved
in the different orders of religious belief. By the
necessities of our mental constitution, we are bound
to ask ourselves the origin of this Universe into
which we are born. Only three possible answers
can be given, which correspond respectively to the
Atheistic, Pantheistic, and Theistic theories. It
roust either be self-existent, self-created, or created

HERBERT SPENCER. 159
by an external agency. But on examination
neither of these theories is thinkable or conceivable.
It cannot be self-existent, because that implies
existence without a beginning, which is inconceiv
able. It cannot have been self-created, because
that would involve that existence, having remained
for some time in one form, has passed into another
form without a cause, which is also inconceivable.
Nor can it have been the result of an external
agency, as it is impossible to conceive where the
matter out of which it is created could have come
from, and really implies the creation of matter out
of nothing. If we turn from the origin to the nature of the
Universe, we are met with like difficulties. From
the nature of our intelligence, we are bound to
assume a Cause for the effects produced on our
consciousness — the sensations of form, colour,
sound, the various attributes of bodies, &c. If we
assume a Cause, it commits us to a First Cause.
This First Cause cannot be finite, else there were
an Infinite uncaused outside of it. It cannot be
dependent, else that on which it depends would be
the First Cause. It is therefore both Infinite and
Absolute. And yet these three conceptions, the
Cause, Infinite, and Absolute, when viewed in con
junction as attributes of the same Being, are con
tradictory; for the Cause as such cannot be Absolute,
as it is related to its effect, nor can the Absolute as

160 HERBERT SPENCER.
such be a Cause. Besides, if it were a Cause, it
could not be Infinite, as it would be limited by its
effect. Thus all theories as to the nature and
origin of the Universe, are inconceivable and un
thinkable. But it is to be observed that while they
all disagree in their special interpretations, they all
agree that the Universe is a mystery ever pressing
for interpretation. And 'if Science and Religion
are to be reconciled, it must be on this deepest,
widest, and most certain of all facts— that the
Power which the Universe manifests to us is
utterly inscrutable.'
Mr. Spencer now turns to examine ultimate
Scientific ideas. All Science deals with the rela
tions in Time and Space, of Matter, Motion, and
Force. But what are Time and Space ? One hy
pothesis is, that they exist outside of us ; another
is, that they exist internally and are connected in
some way with our consciousness. If they exist
outside of us, they cannot be non-entities ; nor can
they be attributes, as there is nothing of which we
can conceive them to be attributes ; nor, like attri
butes, can we think of them disappearing, even if
everything else disappeared. They must be enti
ties then. But they cannot be entities, as they
have no attributes ; nor like entities can we assert
of them either limitation, or absence of limitation.
On the other hand, they cannot be connected with
our consciousness, for consciousness testifies to their

HERBERT SPENCER. 161
existence outside, not inside the mind. Space and
Time, then, are wholly incomprehensible. Next, as
to Matter. We cannot conceive it to be infinitely
divisible, for it would take infinite time to follow
out its divisions ; nor can we conceive a particle so
small as not to admit of further division. It cannot
be absolutely solid, else it would not be compres
sible. Nor can it consist of solid units not in con
tact, but acting on each other by attractive and
repulsive forces, as the same difficulties would
attend the constitution of the units. The hypo
thesis that it consists of centres of force without
dimensions, which attract and repel each other in,
such a way as to be kept at specific distances apart,
is also untenable, for it is impossible to conceive
force residing in points occupying no space what
ever. Matter, then, like Time and Space, is ab
solutely incomprehensible. Again, as to Motion.
We cannot get rid of the idea that there are points
in Space, with respect to which all motions are ab
solute, and yet, on the other hand, in unlimited
space, motion is inconceivable, because place itself
is inconceivable. The transfer of motion, too, how
is it effected ? The striking body has not com
municated to the body struck, a thing, nor has it
communicated an attribute. What then has it
communicated ? Force, too, is incomprehensible.
On lifting a chair, the force we exert is equal to the
weight of the chair, and we cannot conceive it as
M

162 HERBERT SPENCER.
equal without being like in kind, since equality is
conceivable only between things that are of the
same nature. And yet to imagine this, is to endow
the chair with consciousness, which is absurd.
Again, how are we to understand the connection
between Force and Matter ? Matter is known to
us only through its manifestation of Force ; our
ultimate test of Matter being the ability to resist.
And yet, on the other hand, resistance is equally
unthinkable apart from Matter — from something
extended. Again, it is impossible for either ex
tended or unextended ' centres of force ' to attract
and repel one another without the intermediation
of some sort of matter ; and even if we assume an
ethereal medium (which must have interspaces
between its particles), we are bound to think that
Matter acts on Matter through absolutely vacant
space — a conclusion which is absolutely unthink
able. The exercise of Force, then, is altogether
unintelligible. Mr. Spencer now turns to the internal world —
the world of consciousness — -and finds that the belief
in our own personality cannot be got rid of. But
the mental act in which self is known, implies, like
every other mental act, an object perceived and a
perceiving subject. If the object perceived is self,
what is the subject that perceives ? or if it is the
real self that thinks, what other self can be thought
of ? Thus the personality of which we are all con-

HERBERT SPENCER. 163
scious, cannot be really known at all. Ultimate
Scientific ideas, then, like ultimate religious ideas,
are in their substance and genesis quite incom
prehensible. This inability of knowing the real or Absolute
nature of things, leads Mr. Spencer to the con
clusion that all knowledge is of the Relative only.
This conclusion he finds confirmed on considering
the nature of our intelligence. An object to be
known must be classed as of this or that kind. A
bird, for example, is said to be known, when it can
be. referred to this or that order or species. A fact
to be understood must be included in a wider ge
neralisation. The falling of a stone, for example,
is said to be understood, when it is referred to the
Law of Gravitation. Obviously, then, the widest
class, or widest generalisation, not being included
in any other, cannot be known. Knowledge, too,
implies likeness as well as difference. To be known,
a thing must not only be distinguished from some
other thing, but must also be like something else.
But the First Cause, the Infinite, the Absolute,
cannot be like anything of which we have sensible
experience ; it cannot, therefore, be known. Again,
Life itself is merely the adjustment of inner actions
to meet certain outer actions ; as, for instance, the
adjustment of the muscles, which keep us erect, to
meet the attraction of gravitation, ever tending to
draw us down. Intelligence, too, even the highest,

164 HERBERT SPENCER.
is simply the adjustment of our ideas to meet the
complexities of the World around us— is only the
relation between our minds and the World, and
gives, therefore, no insight into the things between
which the relation exists.
All knowledge, then, being of the Relative only,
what shall we say of the Absolute — of that which
transcends knowledge ? Does it exist ? Is it a
Reality ? Mr. Spencer replies in the affirmative.
To say that we do not know the Absolute, is to
imply that the Absolute exists. We are conscious
of the Relative as existence under conditions and
limits ; the abstraction of these conditions and
limits still leaves something that filled up their
outlines, and this indefinite something constitutes
our consciousness of the Absolute.
Here, then, is the basis of that reconciliation between
Science and Religion which we set out to seek. Common
Sense asserts the existence of a Reality ; Objective
Science proves that that Reality cannot be what we think
it ; Subjective Science shows why we cannot think of it
as it is, and yet we are compelled to think of it as exist
ing ; and in this assertion of a Reality utterly inscrutable
in nature, Religion finds an assertion essentially coincid
ing with her own. We are obliged to regard every phe
nomenon as a manifestation of some Power by which we
are acted upon. Though Omnipresence is unthinkable,
yet as experience discloses no bounds to the diffusion of
phenomena, we are unable to think of limits to the
presence of this Power, while the criticisms of Science
teach us that this Power is incomprehensible. And this

HERBERT SPENCER. 165
consciousness of an incomprehensible Power, called
Omnipresent from inability to assign its limits, is just that
consciousness on which Religion dwells.
I may here remark, without anticipating the
argument, that this incomprehensible Power, or
Absolute Reality, which reconciles Religion and
Science, turns out to be the ' Persistence of Force'
Mr. Spencer now proceeds to the second divi
sion of his subject — the Knowable — and asks, fiirst,
what is Philosophy ? After showing that it com
prehends and consolidates the highest generalisa
tions of Science, he defines it to be completely
unified knowledge. But before taking a first step
in the rational interpretation of things, certain fun
damental intuitions, which are essential to the pro
cess of thinking, must be assumed as true ; leaving
the assumption of their truth to be justified by the
results, i.e., by ascertaining that all the conclusions
deducible from the assumption correspond to the
facts as directly observed. The first assumption
is that a likeness or difference exists when con
sciousness testifies to it. The second is the asser
tion of a likeness and difference transcending all
other, viz., that of self and not-self, or of subject
and object. But besides these divisions of the ma
nifestations of the Unknowable into self and not-
self, there are certain modes in which the mani
festations cohere, and are invariably presented to us.
These modes are Matter and Motion, as presented

166 HERBERT SPENCER.
to us in Space and Time. Of course we can deal
with Matter, Motion, Space, and Time as realities,
although they are only manifestations of the Un
known Reality. For the test of Reality is per
sistence in consciousness, and under the conditions
of our constitution, they are as persistent as the
Unknown Reality could be, were it present in
thought. Now, although Matter, Motion, Time,
and Space are apparently all necessary data of
intelligence, yet analysis shows that they are built
up of, or abstracted from, experiences of Forcer
through the resistance offered to our muscular
energies ; while Force itself is derived from nothing
else, as it can be interpreted in terms of nothing
else. But before Science and Philosophy can begin,
we must recognise further the truth of the Inde
structibility of Matter ; for if, instead of having to
deal with fixed quantities and weights, we had to
deal with quantities and weights which were apt
wholly or in part to be annihilated, there would be
introduced an incalculable element fatal to all po
sitive conclusions. So, too, with the Continuity of
Motion. These truths are shown to follow from
the very nature of thought. Thought consists in
the establishment of relations. There can be no re
lation established, and therefore no thought framed,
when one of the related terms is absent from con
sciousness. Hence it is impossible to think of
something becoming nothing. But, besides this,

HERBERT SPENCER. 167
the doctrines of the Indestructibility of Matter and
Continuity of Motion are supported by scientific
experiment. If we burn a candle slowly away, the
weight of the resulting carbonic acid and water is
found to be exactly equal to the weight of the
candle, plus the amount of oxygen which has com
bined with it. We test it by weight, i.e., by the
amount of gravitative force it exerts. We assume,
observe, that the attractive force of the earth does
not vary. This is an important assumption, and
leads Mr. Spencer to his doctrine of the ' Persistence
of Force,' — the fact that the quantity of Force in
the Universe is fixed. On what ground, he asks,
do we assert the Persistence of Force ? There can
only be two kinds of proof. One is from our own
sensation of it, but that does not persist. The
other is from the Indestructibility of Matter and
Continuity of Motion ; but we have just seen that
they are valid only on the assumption that Force
is persistent. We have to assume the Persistence
of Force to prove them ; we cannot, therefore,
assume them to prove the Persistence of Force.
Obviously, then, the Persistence of Force is a truth
of which no inductive proof is possible. It must
be taken for granted. Indeed, we might be certaic
that there must be some principle, which, as being
the basis of Science, cannot be established by
Science. This principle, which transcends demon
stration, is the Persistence of Force. Mr. Spencer

168 HERBERT SPENCER.
next asks, what the Force is, of which we assert
persistence ? His reply is most important, and I
must ask the reader to bear it in mind, as I shall
have to consider it more fully farther on. He says
it is that Unknown Caiise, of which the phenomena
of the World are but the manifestations ; is that
A bsolute Power in which Religion and Science are
reconciled. On this doctrine of the Persistence of Force, as
a groundwork, Mr. Spencer proceeds to build up
his Philosophy. of Evolution. The first corollary
which he draws from the Persistence of Force, is
the 'persistence of relations among forces! or what
is commonly known as the Uniformity of Law.
This truth is usually supposed to have been the
slow result of experience ; but Mr. Spencer points
out that it is really strictly deducible from the Per
sistence of Force. I shall not give his proof here,
as I shall have to quote it, in full, farther on. The
next deduction drawn from the Persistence of Force
is the doctrine of the Transformation and Equi
valence of Forces, i.e., that forces which seem to be
lost, are transformed into their equivalents of other
forces ; or that forces which make their appearance,
do so by the disappearance of pre-existent equiva
lent forces. This is illustrated by the motions of
the heavenly bodies, by the changes going on over ,
the, earth's surface, by organic and super-organic
actions. Mr. Spencer points out that the truth of

HERBERT SPENCER. 169
the doctrine does not depend on the evidence he
brings forward ; and adds that it must be true, as a
necessaiy corollary of the Persistence of Force. So,
too, with the Law that ' Force follows the line of
least resistance, or of greatest traction, or the re
sultant of the two,' which is illustrated with great
copiousness from the motions of planets round their
axes and around the sun, from atmospheric currents,
evaporation and condensation, organic growth,
' natural selection,' nervous discharges, and the
direction of trade ; and which he asserts to be a
necessary corollary from the Persistence of Force.
The next truth he enunciates is, that all motion
is rhythmical ; illustrated with equal abundance of
detail from the motion of double stars, periodicities
of planets and comets, day and night, magnetic
variations, rains and droughts, beating of the heart,
dancing, music, poetry, alternation of belief and
unbelief in religion, &c. ; and like the others a neces
sary deduction from the Persistence of Force.
Now, these truths — the Indestructibility of
Matter, Continuity of Motion, Transformation and
Equivalence of Forces, Force following the line of
least resistance, Rhythm of Motion — are co-exten
sive with all the sciences, and of the highest
generality. They are, therefore, of the character
required to build up a Philosophy. But they
express only the laws of the separate factors, not of
how they are combined to produce the World as we

170 HERBERT SPENCER.
know it. We want a law that will formulate the
changes actually passed through by all existence —
by the Universe as a whole, and by every part ; as
seen in the formation of the solar system out of
nebulous matter, in the growth of animals and
vegetables, from their germs through their suc
cessive stages, in the increase of Societies, and in
the progress of Languages, Sciences, and Arts.
That law Mr. Spencer finds to be the Law of
Evolution, and defines it as ' an integration of
Matter, and concomitant dissipation of Motion,
during which the matter passes from an indefinite,
incoherent homogeneity, to a definite, coherent hetero
geneity, and during which the retained Motion
undergoes a parallel transformation! This law
holds true of all existences whatever. But we
fall short of that unified knowledge which consti
tutes Philosophy, unless we know why it holds true
of all existences. We must deduce it from some
first principle. We saw that the Laws of ' the
Transformation and Equivalence of Forces,' ' Force
following the line of least resistance,' ' Rhythm of
Motion,' were deducible from the Persistence of
Force. If we can also deduce the Law of Evo
lution from the Persistence of Force, all knowledge
will be unified, and Philosophy will have reached
its goal. Mr. Spencer proceeds to show that it is
so deducible. But as Evolution goes on in every
part simultaneously with the Evolution of the

HERBERT SPENCER. 171
wholej the transformations are so complex, that it
is difficult to grasp the whole process at once. It
may be broken into its factors, however, and each
of these will be seen to be deducible from the
Persistence of Force. What are these factors ?
They are ' the Instability of the Homogeneous] or
the fact that any finite homogeneous aggregate
must lose its homogeneity through the unequal
exposure of its parts to surrounding forces ; the
' Multiplication of Effects] or the increase of the
complexity into which the homogeneous lapses
by the action and interaction of the parts on
one another, which produces the immense variety
of the World ; ' Segregation', or the clustering
of the like, and separation of the unlike parts
under the action of forces capable of moving
them — which produces the definiteness and in
dividuality of things ; ' Equilibration,' or the ba
lancing of all the forces, as they are successively
met by antagonistic forces, — which produces the
liarmony everywhere seen throughout Nature.
Mr. Spencer has illustrated each of these laws
(which follow from strictly mechanical principles),
with his usual wealth, by the facts of astronomy ;
by the formations on the earth's crust ; by the
structure of organisms ; by the nature of man and
phenomena of societies. He also asserts (and I
shall examine the grounds of his assertion pre
sently), that each of these laws is deducible from

1 72 HERBERT SPENCER.
the Persistence of Force. As these separate
changes are only different aspects of one trans
formation, Evolution in general, and in detail,
becomes a corollary of the Persistence of Force,
and Philosophy has reached its goal.
From this slight sketch it will be at once
apparent, that the pivot on which Mr. Spencer's
philosophy turns is his doctrine of the Persistence
of Force. It is this which gives unity to his
system. It is this which is the basis of Science, —
the Law of Evolution being a necessary corollary
from it. It is this which is the object of Religion,
being that Absolute Power of which the Universe
is only a manifestation. It is this, therefore, which
is the common ground of reconciliation between
Religion and Science.
Now, I shall endeavour in the following pages
to show, firstly, that the Persistence of Force is not
the basis of Science ; and that the Law of Evolution
is not a corollary from it ; secondly, that it is not
the Absolute Power of which the Universe is a
manifestation ; and that it is not the object of
religious worship.
Let us then determine, from Mr. Spencer's own
account, whether the Law of Evolution follows of
necessity as a corollary from the Persistence of
Force. The factors which we have seen go to
make up the Law of Evolution are, when con
sidered separately, the ' Uniformity of Law', the

HERBERT SPENCER. 173
' Equivalence and Transformation of Forces] ' Force
following the line of least resistance, or of greatest
traction, or tJieir resultant ; ' and the ' Rhythm of
Motion ; ' when considered in their combined action,
are the ' Instability of the Homogeneous] the ' Multi
plication of Effects] 'Segregation] and 'Equilibra
tion! I shall examine each of these separately.
To illustrate the Uniformity of Law, Mr Spencer
says (§ 64) :
Let two equal bullets be projected with equal force ;
then, in equal times, equal distances must be travelled
by them. The assertion that one of them will describe
an assigned space sooner than the other, though their
initial momenta were alike, and they have been equally
resisted (for if they are unequally resisted the antecedents
differ), is an assertion that equal quantities of force have
not done equal amounts of work, and this cannot be
thought without thinking that some force has disappeared
into nothing, or arisen out of nothing.'
Evidently here the Uniformity of Law follows
from the fact that the quantity of Force in the
Universe is fixed. With regard to the Transfor
mation and Equivalence of Forces, he says (§ 73) :
Each manifestation of Force can be interpreted only
as the effect of some antecedent force ; no matter
whether it be an inorganic action, an animal movement,
a thought or a feeling. Either this must be conceded,
or else it must be asserted that our successive states of
consciousness are self-created. Either mental energies
as well as bodily ones are quantitatively correlated to

174 HERBERT SPENCER.
certain energies expended in their production, and to
certain other energies which they initiate, or else nothing
must become something, and something must become
nothing. The alternatives are to deny the Persistence of
Force, or to admit that every physical and psychical
change is generated by certain antecedent forces, and
that from given amounts of such forces, neither more
nor less of such physical and psychical changes can
result. Clearly, the ' Transformation and Equivalence of
Forces ' follows from that fixed quantity of Force
which constituted the Universe a moment ago, and
the transformations of which constitute the Uni
verse of the present moment.
Again, in regard to the direction of Motion, Mr.
Spencer says (§ 75) : —
From universally coexistent forces of attraction and re
pulsion there result certain laws of direction of all motion.
Where attractive forces alone are concerned, or rather are
alone appreciable, movement takes place in the direction
of their resultant, which may in a sense be called the
line of greatest traction. Where repulsive forces alone
are concerned, or rather are alone appreciable, movement
takes places along their resultant, which is usually known
as the line of least resistance. And where both attractive
and repulsive forces are concerned, or are appreciable,
movement takes place along the resultant of all the
tractions and resistances. For (§81) to assert the con
trary is to assert that a force can be expended without
effect — without generating an equivalent force ; and by
so implying that force can cease to exist, this involves a
denial of the Persistence of Force.

HERBERT SPENCER. 175
Again (§ 74) he says :
Matter cannot be conceived except as manifesting
forces of attraction and repulsion.
Here, too, it is evident that the Law that ' Force
follows the line of least resistance ' is a corollary,
not from the Persistence of Force, but from a fixed
quantity of Force made up of coexistent forces of
attraction and repulsion. And as Force which is
made up of coexistent forces of attraction and
repulsion is Matter, therefore the law really is a
corollary from a fixed quantity of Matter. Take
again the Rhythm of Motion. Mr. Spencer says
(§88): It needs but to contemplate this action and reaction
(of a tuning-fork pulled on one side by the finger) to see
that it is, like every action and reaction, a consequent of
the Persistence of Force. The force exerted by the
finger in bending the prong cannot disappear. Under
what form, then, does it exist ? It exists under the form
of that cohesive tension which it has generated among
the particles. This cohesive tension cannot cease with
out an equivalent result. What is its equivalent result ?
The momentum generated in the prong while being car
ried back to its position of rest. This momentum, too —
what becomes of it ? It must either continue as momen
tum, or produce some correlative force of equal amount.
It cannot continue as momentum, since change of place
is resisted by the cohesion of the parts, and thus it gra
dually disappears by being transformed into tension
among these parts. This is retransformed into the
equivalent momentum, and so on continually.

176 HERBERT SPENCER.
But in the same section he says : —
Given the coexistence everywhere of antagonistic
forces — a postulate which, as we have1 seen, is necessitated
by the form of our experience— and Rhythm is an in
evitable corollary from the Persistence of Forces.
It is Clear from these quotations that the Rhythm.
of Motion is a corollary, not from the Persistence
of Force, but from coexistent antagonistic forces,.
fixed in their quantity ; or, in other words, from a
fixed quantity of Matter.
We come now to the factors which in their
combined action constitute the Law of Evolution,,
and which are made up of the laws we have just
considered. The first is the ' Instability of the
Homogeneous.' Mr. Spencer says (§ 155) : —
One stable homogeneity is hypothetically possible.
If centres of force absolutely uniform in their powers
were diffused with absolute uniformity through unlimited
space, they would remain in equilibrium. But aVi finite
forms of the homogeneous — all forms of it which we can
know or conceive — must inevitably lapse into heterogeneity..
In three several ways^-does the Persistence of Force
necessitate this. Setting external agencies aside, each
unit of a homogeneous whole must be differently affected
from any of the rest by the aggregate action of the rest.
upon it. The resultant force exercised by the aggregate
on each unit being in no two cases alike both in amount
and direction, and usually not in either, any incident force,
even if uniform in amount and direction, cannot produce
like effects on the units. And the various positions of the
parts in relation to any incident force preventing them

HERBERT SPENCER. 177
from receiving it in uniform amounts and directions, a fur
ther difference in the effects wrought on them is inevitably
produced. It is to be noticed here that the ' Instability of
the Homogeneous,' and consequently the Law of
Evolution, can only follow from a finite or fixed
quantity of Force. And as this Force is made up
of antagonistic forces of attraction and repulsion,
it really follows from a fixed quantity of Matter.
The ' Multiplication of Effects,' which is merely
the complexity arising from the action and inter
action of the parts into which the homogeneous-
lapses, evidently follows from the same principle as
the ' Instability of the Homogeneous,' and will not
require further specification here. The same may
be said, too, of ' Segregation,' which, in its most
abstract form, Mr. Spencer says amounts to this
(§ 169) :
That in the action and reaction of force and matter,
an unlikeness in either of the factors necessitates an un-
likeness in the effects ; and that, in the absence of un
likeness in either of the factors, the effects must be alike,
otherwise the differentiated force produces no effect,
and force is not persistent.
It is scarcely necessary to remark that here, too,
the Law of ' Segregation ' follows not from the Per
sistence of Force, but simply from a fixed quantity
of force or Matter. In regard to ' Equilibration "
Mr. Spencer says (§ 176) :—
N

178 HERBERT SPENCER.
' We have seen that phenomena are interpretable only
as the results of universally-coexistent forces of attraction
and repulsion.' But 'the forces of attraction and repul
sion being universally coexistent, it follows that all motion
is motion under resistance. . . . The denser or rarer
medium which occupies the places from moment to
moment passed through by such moving body having to
be expelled from them, as much motion is abstracted
from the moving body as is given to the medium in ex
pelling' it from these places. This being the condition
under which all motion occurs, two corollaries result.
The first is that the deductions perpetually made by the
communication of motion to the resisting medium cannot
but bring the motion of the body to an end in a longer or
shorter time. The second is that the motion of the body
cannot cease until these deductions destroy it. In
other words, movement must continue till equilibration
takes place, and equilibration must eventually take place.
Both these are manifest deductions from the Persistence
of Force. To say that the whole or part of a body's
motion can disappear save by transfer to something which
resists its motion, is to say that the whole or part can
disappear without effect ; which is to deny the Persist
ence of Force.'
Taking these quotations together, ' Equilibration '
follows clearly from a fixed quantity of Force made
up of universally coexistent/^*^ of attraction and
repulsion ; and not from the Persistence of Force.
Thus the law of Evolution, on analysis, is found
to be deducible, not from the Persistence of Force,
'but from a fixed quantity of force, made up of co
existent forces of attraction and repulsion. Had

HERBERT SPENCER. 179
Mr. Spencer so deduced it, he would have proceeded
on strictly scientific principles. But his system
would have lost, that magnificence and harmony
which he triumphantly asks us to contemplate
from a distance where details are lost to view.
Those who may have supposed that by ' the Per
sistence of Force ' Mr. Spencer only meant that
fixed quantity of Force made up of antagonistic
forces of attraction and repulsion, will be surprised
when they learn what the force' is of which he
asserts the Persistence. I shall quote in full. He
says (§ 60) : —
But now what is the force of which we predicate
persistence? It is not the force we are immediately
-conscious of in our muscular efforts, for this does not
persist. As soon as an outstretched limb is relaxed the
sense of tension disappears. True, we assert that in the
stone thrown, or in the weight lifted, is exhibited the
effect of this muscular tension, and that the force which
has ceased to be present in our consciousness exists else
where. But it does not exist elsewhere under any form
cognisable by us. It was proved (§18) that though, on
raising an object from the ground, we are obliged to think
of its downward pull as equal and opposite to our up
ward pull ; and though it is impossible to represent
these pulls as equal without representing them as like in
kind, yet, since their likeness in kind would imply in the
•object a sensation of muscular tension, which cannot be
ascribed to it, we are compelled to admit that force as it
exists out of our consciousness is not force as we know
it. Hence the force of which we assert persistence is

180 HERBERT SPENCER.
that Absolute Force of which we are indefinitely con
scious as the necessary correlate of the Force we know.
Thus, by the Persistence of Force, we really mean the
Persistence of some Power which transcends our know
ledge and conception. The manifestations as occurring
either in ourselves or outside of us do not persist, but
that which persists is the Unknown Cause of these mani
festations. In other words, asserting the Persistence of
Force is but another mode of asserting an Uncondi--
tioned Reality, without beginning or end. Thus, quite:
unexpectedly, we come down once more to that ultimate
truth in which, as we saw, Religion and Science coalesce.
On examining the data underlying a rational theory of
phenomena, we find them all at last resolvable into that
datum without which consciousness was shown to be
impossible — the continued existence of an Unknowable,
as the necessary correlate of the Knowable. Once com
menced, the analysis of the truths taken for granted in
scientific inquiries inevitably brings us down to this
deepest truth, in which Common Sense and Philosophy
are reconciled.We see here that by the Persistence of Force
Mr. Spencer means that Absolute Force of which
the forces of the Universe are but the manifesta
tions, arid which is the object of Religious worship,
as well as the basis of Science. It is evident,
therefore, that he does not mean by it that fixed
quantity of Force, made up of coexistent forces of
attraction and repulsion, from which, by an ex
amination of the above quotations, we have seen
Evolution to be really deducible. For it is quite

HERBERT SPENCER. 181
absurd to suppose that a fixed quantity of force in
antagonistic forms, or of Matter, constitutes that
Absolute Reality which is the object of Religious
worship. This leads me to the proof of my next
point, viz., that the Persistence of Force is not
Absolute, but Relative ; and is not the basis of
Religion, or that in which Science and Religion
are reconciled. That it is not Absolute will be
seen on all hands. To begin with, Mr. Spencer
expressly asserts (§ 176) that
the universally coexistent forces of attraction and repul
sion are the comple??ientary aspects of the Absolutely
Persistent force.
But in § 74 he says :
These universally co-existent forces of attraction and
repulsion must not be taken as realities, but as our
symbols of the Reality. They are the forms under which
the workings of the Unknowable are cognisable by us —
modes of the Unconditioned as presented under the
conditions of our consciousness. But while knowing
that the ideas thus generated are not absolutely true, we
may surrender ourselves to them as relatively true.
Obviously, then, if these antagonistic forces of
attraction and repulsion are only Relative realities,
and if, at the same time, they are the comple
mentary aspects of the force that is persistent,
it follows that the Persistence of Force is a
Relative, not an Absolute Reality. That the
Persistence of Force is a Relative, and not an
Absolute Reality, becomes evident on considering

1 82 HERBERT SPENCER.
Mr. Spencer's own account of the Theory of Evo
lution. This hypothesis proceeds on the assumption
that Matter, existing originally in a diffuse homo
geneous condition, passes through specific phases
and transformations, called Evolution, ending in.
dissolution. This dissolution by the forces it sets
free, produces a return to the original homogeneous
condition, which passes through the same phases
and transformations, and ends as before ; the same
process going on continually. These changes
occur because the force is fixed in quantity, and is
made up of antagonistic forces, which determine
the direction of the motion. It is clear, then, that
at any given point in the process, the transforma
tions are the necessary results of the preceding
conditions, or antecedents. Otherwise some force
would be lost, and with Mr. Spencer this is to deny
the Persistence of Force. The force, then, which
persists is that original quantity of Force which
remains always the same. The forces that con
stitute the Universe yesterday, are the causes of
the forces that constitute the Universe to-day.
But the Universe of to-day is Relative, therefore
the Universe of yesterday is Relative. And, there
fore, the Persistence of Force is Relative, and not
Absolute. And here we may see that in Mr.
Spencer's theory, and, indeed, in all scientific
theories of the Universe, there is and can be no'
room for an Absolute Cause at all. If one cause

HERBERT SPENCER. 183
is sufficient to account for a fact, it is absurd to
assume a second. All scientific causes are merely
antecedents. Mr. Spencer himself admits this.
He says that ' the most conspicuous antecedents
are causes, and the accompanying ones conditions.'
If then we ask the cause of that original homo
geneous condition of Matter which all theories of
Evolution assume as the commencement of things,
and are told, as we are by Mr. Spencer, that it is
the effect of forces let loose in the dissolution of
the preceding evolutionary cycle, where shall we
find, or, indeed, where is the room for, an Absolute
Cause at all ? That there is no room for it in Mr.
Spencer's theory will be apparent on examining
his attempt to find a place for it. He says (§ 26) :
We are conscious of the Relative as existence under
conditions and limits ; it is impossible that these condi
tions and limits can be thought of apart from something
to which they give the form ; the abstraction of these
conditions and limits is by the hypothesis the abstraction
of them only ; consequently there must be a residuary
consciousness of something which filled up their outlines ;
and this indefinite something constitutes our conscious
ness of the Non-Relative, or Absolute.
Now, Time, Space, Matter, Motion, and Force
constitute the Relative, and are known, as Mr.
Spencer has elsewhere shown, through muscular
sensation. If sensation is abolished, instead of being
conscious of the Absolute, we are really conscious of

1 84 HERBERT SPENCER.
nothing at all. If we abolish our eyesight, for ex
ample, which is the condition of our knowledge of
the stars, we should so far be unconscious of their
existence. To the senses there is and can be no
general existence apart from the aggregate of
special existences. And to abolish these special ex
istences by taking away the limits and conditions
under which they are known, instead of leaving us
the Absolute, leaves us nothing at all. For the
Absolute is that which lies behind Time, Space,
Matter; Motion, and Force, and is the Cause of
these phenomena. It is separated from them by the
whole distance between the Creator and created.
It is got, not by abolishing the limits and conditions
of the Relative, but immediately from the intuition
of Cause in the Mind. Without this intuition we
should be, like the lower animals, unconscious of
its existence. In the meantime it is important to consider
Mr. Spencer's reasons for supposing that the Per
sistence of Force is the Absolute Cause of things.
The first is given in the extract I have quoted,
where he contends that we cannot think of the
force existing in a chair as equal and opposite to
the force expended in lifting it, without its being
like in nature. This would be to endow the chair
with consciousness — with a sensation of muscular
tension that cannot be ascribed to it. We are
compelled, therefore, to admit that force as it

HERBERT SPENCER. 185
exists out of our consciousness, is not force as we
know it. Hence the force of which we assert
Persistence is the Absolute Force. Now, the fal
lacy in this is obvious. For the force is not in the
consciousness, but in the muscles. It is merely
known through consciousness. Consciousness itself
is known to us as existence only, and, although
connected with force, is not known as Force. If
the force in the muscles, then, is Relative, so must
be the force in the chair. The muscular force is
Relative, because it is a correlated force, and all
correlated forces are Relative, the conversion of
food into muscle equally with the conversion of
light into heat. Besides, both muscles and chair
have been evolved out of that original homo
geneous condition of matter, and as it is Relative,
so must they be. Nor is Mr. Spencer more suc
cessful when he turns to investigate the nature of
our consciousness of the Persistence of Force, with
the view of strengthening his argument for its
being the Absolute Cause of things. He says
<§6i): The Unknown Power, of which neither beginning nor
end can be conceived, is present to us as that unshaped
material of consciousness which is shaped afresh in every
thought. Now, all forms of consciousness have physical
forces as their physical sides. These forces are corre
lated, and like all correlated forces must be Relative.

1 86 HERBERT SPENCER.
The Unknown Power, then, which is present to us
must be Relative, unless it be maintained that the
unshaped material of consciousness has no physical
counterpart. But to assert this is to admit a form
of consciousness independent of nervous action.
As Mr. Spencer cannot do this without abdicating
everything distinctive of his philosophy, we can
only conclude that the Persistence of Force or-
Unknown Power is Relative. He says also (§ 61) -.
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.
We have seen above, that, with Scientific Thinkers,
the cause of all changes lies in the antecedents
of these changes. The cause of the changes going
on in consciousness must lie in antecedent states of
consciousness. Will Mr. Spencer assert that these
states are indestructible ? If he objects that there
is a continuous thread of consciousness, which is
never broken, as far as we can know, I reply that
this cannot be urged by one whose whole philo
sophy is framed on the assumption that there can
be no form of consciousness which is not merely
the expression of nervous changes ; and to assert
that nervous changes are indestructible is, of course,
absurd. In fact, all Force, persistent or other,
must be Relative. Were it Absolute, it could not be
known as force. Mr. Spencer has himself shown

HERBERT SPENCER. 187
that the idea of force arises by successive ex
periences out of the resistances offered to our
muscular sensation. But to be known through
sensation is precisely what distinguishes the Relative
from the Absolute. Whatever can be touched, seen,.
or in any way apprehended by the senses, is Relative.
Mr. Spencer may attribute absoluteness to unknown
existence, not to unknown force.
I shall now proceed to consider Mr. Spencer's
next main doctrine, viz., that the Persistence of
Force is the object of Religion, as well as the
basis of Science, and is that in which they are re
conciled. The promise Mr. Spencer holds out
to earnest minds, of reconciling Religion and
Science, has heightened the interest which his
writings have inspired. The world is full of un
belief. A shallow scepticism has become fashion
able, and is openly paraded. Science sits in
high places, prescribing for the souls as well as
the bodies of men. The present generation has
drunk deeply, and a general unrest has settled on
the most active spirits. The human mind, freighted
with Materialism, has lost its poise. The tyranny
of physical law has enchained and subjugated the
soul. The cry for relief comes up ever and anon
from some robust, unconquered mind, and, heard
above the general wail, is the expression of the
general need. For man requires a religious belief,
to restore that equilibrium to the mind which

1 88 HERBERT SPENCER.
scientific modes of thought have temporarily dis
turbed. It is therefore natural that anyone coming
with truths, that will reconcile the aspirations of
the heart with the teachings of experience, should
be eagerly welcomed. And yet it is chiefly .to this
attempt to reconcile, by scientific methods, Religion
and Science, that I trace Mr. Spencer's errors. His
system of thought has been weakened by secret
contradictions, and is found, when closely scru
tinised, to be, at bottom, the old atheism that we
know so well. For what common ground can
there be between Religion and Science ? They
can only be reconciled by being kept apart. They
lie on different planes, and are referred to different
categories in the hierarchy of the mind. Science
deals with the relative, Religion with the absolute.
Science converses with the forces of Nature and
elicits their hidden connections and interdepen-
dencies ; Religion, with that which lies behind
these forces, and to which they all consentingly
refer. In Science, everything is linked with what
precedes and what follows. This thing refers to
that, that to the next — an inextricable web, causes
being only the most conspicuous antecedents. Re
ligion presses beyond this moving procession of
lustrous, everchanging phenomena, which has come
down to us from unknown time, and goes on to
unknown time, seeks a reason for the whole, and
finds its home in the First Cause of all. They

HERBERT SPENCER. 189.
cannot be reconciled by Science. Science reduces
the complex phenomena of the World into terms of
Matter, Motion, and Force, and he would indeed
be a skilful thaumaturgist who could get out- of
it more than Matter, Motion, and Force. Mr..
Spencer's attempt to get out of it an object of
worship, is, as I have said, the root of all his errors.
That Science and Religion should harmonise, it
was necessary that the Persistence of Force should
be absolute. But I have already shown it to be
relative. And having made the Persistence of
Force the basis of Science, it was necessary for the
unity and harmony of his system that it should be
made also the object of Religion. To accomplish
this feat was not easy, but Mr. Spencer's attempt
has at least the merit of ingenuity. His plan is to
represent two opposite and utterly distinct things
under one term — the Persistence of Force. He
attaches one meaning to it when he uses it as the
basis of scientific truths, quite another when he
uses it as the object of Religion. It is a curious
fact that Mr. Spencer seems to have been quite
conscious of this double position. For it is notice
able, that when he uses it as the groundwork of
Science, he writes it in small letters ; when he uses
it to represent the Absolute, the First Cause, he
writes it in capital letters. The importance of this
seemingly trifling circumstance will be seen, if we
reverse the process, and write the Persistence of

190 HERBERT SPENCER.
Force with capital letters when it is the basis of
Science, and with small letters when it is the ob
ject of Religion. To try and worship the merely
natural forces would be equalled in absurdity only
by attempting to deduce scientific truths from the
First Cause alone. That Mr. Spencer uses the
Persistence of Force in the two incompatible senses
I have indicated, will now be shown. On examin
ing his account of the Law of Evolution, and how
it followed from the Persistence of Force, we saw
that the Persistence of Force could only mean the
sum-total of the forces of Nature, which (although
undergoing endless metamorphoses) remain always
the same in quantity. But when he makes it the ob
ject of Religion, he represents it as the Cause of these
forces. Here are the quotations. In § 49 he says : —
' We have an indefinite consciousness of an Absolute
Reality transcending relations [Persistence of Force],
which is produced by the absolute persistence in us of
something which survives all changes of relation. We
have also a definite consciousness of relative reality [Time,
Space, Matter, Motion, and Force] which unceasingly
persists in us under one or other of its forms, and under
each form so long as the conditions of presentation are
fulfilled.' Again, in the same section, he says : ' Reality
under the forms of our consciousness [Time, Space,
Matter, Motion, and Force] is but a conditioned effect of
the Absolute Reality [Persistence of Force].'
He says again (§ 50) : ' Force, as we know it, can
be regarded only as a certain conditioned effect of the

HERBERT SPENCER. 191
Unconditioned Cause [Persistence of Force] — as the
relative reality indicating to us an Absolute Reality by
/which it is immediately produced.'
Again (§51), he enumerates the postulates which
must be assumed before Philosophy can begin, as
'an Unknown Cause [Persistence of Force] of the
known effects called phenomena, likenesses and differ
ences among these known effects, and a segregation of
the effects into Subject and Object.'
It is obvious, from the above quotations, that
he uses the Persistence of Force as the Cause of
the forces of Nature. Having, in one half of the
book, used the Persistence of Force as simply the
sum-total of the forces of Nature, in the other half
he uses it as the Cause of these forces — that which
lies behind them. I have not space at my disposal
to point out all the contradictions which this double
use of the Persistence of Force has led to. I shall
mention here only one instance, and shall use it to
prove that the Persistence of Force is not the ob
ject of Religion. In one of the quotations just
given, Mr. Spencer says that both the Mind and the
World are manifestations or effects of the unknown
Cause. But in § 25 he says :
Life, in all its manifestations, including Intelligence
in its highest forms, consists in the continuous adjust
ment of internal relations to external relations.
Whatever is in the mind must, then, be related to
something in the world. The religious sentiment is
in the mind. It must therefore have its object in the

192 HERBERT SPENCER
world. But the World is only the effect or manifes
tation of the Unknown Cause. The object of Reli
gion cannot therefore be the Unknown Cause, or
Persistence of Force. If Mr. Spencer objects that
the Unknown Cause comes up into the World, and
also into the Mind, two alternatives are open to him.
Either the Unknown Cause, like everything else. in
the mind, has its physical side in nervous changes,
or there is a form of mind not connected with ner
vous action. The first alternative is absurd ; the
second cannot be admitted by him except by re
nouncing, as I have said before, everything distinc
tive of his philosophy. The Persistence of Force,
then, cannot be the object of Religion. It has been
pointed out that it is only the Relative ; whereas
religion demands the A bsolute. It is merely the
aggregate of the forces of Nature, or Matter \.
whereas Religion has for its object that which lies-
behind Nature. Indeed, no more significant symp
tom of the inherent weakness of Mr. Spencer's
philosophy can be adduced than his assertion that,
from the Persistence of Force, the flowing meta
morphoses of Nature must follow as its corollary \,
that from, the Absolute, the Relative could be de
duced. Who will presume to span the gulf that
separates the Relative from the Absolute ? That
Mr. Spencer should attempt to stretch a bridge
between the Creator and created, and assure you
that you may walk across in safety ; that he should

HERBERT SPENCER. 193
pretend to have linked the known with the un
known, or to have shown how Being passes into
Appearance, must be, to reflective minds, sufficient
evidence of those subtle fallacies, which analysis
has disclosed at the root of his philosophy.
And now, having stripped Mr. Spencer's theory
of the contradictions which have obscured it, it be
comes necessary to ask what is its real nature ?
We have found that the Law of Evolution, to
which, according to his theory, all the changes in
the Universe conform, is really deducible from a
fixed quantity of force under the form of coexistent
forces of attraction and repulsion, i.e., from a fixed
quantity of Matter. We have found that the Per
sistence of Force is merely the sum total of the
forces of Nature, and being Relative cannot be the
object on which religion dwells. We have found,
too, that as the causes of all changes lie in the
antecedents of these changes, there can be no room
for a First Cause at all. In other words, Mr.
Spencer's theory is, that the Universe consists of a
fixed quantity of Matter, which has existed from all
eternity, which is indestructible, and which, through
the antagonistic forces that compose it, itself neces
sitates the changes passed through and still going
on. This is the old atheistic theory which has
been more or less prevalent since the days of Epi
curus. It is simply that of self-existent Matter,
and is open to Mr. Spencer's own criticism that it
o

194 HERBERT SPENCER.
is impossible to think or conceive a self-existent
Universe, or Universe without a beginning.
Having shown the nature of Mr. Spencer's
theory, we will now consider its validity. We have
to determine whether a fixed quantity of Force,
under the form of coexistent forces of attraction
and repulsion, does, by the strict mechanical ne
cessity which these forces are under of following the
line of least resistance, thereby necessitate the
variety, harmony, and beauty of the Universe or
not If it does, there is no room for a First Cause
at all. If it does not, it remains with us to show
where the mechanical theory is incompetent, and
to point out why a First Cause is a necessity of
thought. Belief in a First Cause can no longer
rest on the old foundations of authority or tradi
tion. We must give a reason for our faith or con
sent to resign it. And it is with this alternative in
my mind, that I shall, in the few remaining pages
of this essay, venture to lay before the reader some
considerations that have strengthened my conviction
that underneath the visible phenomena of the World
lies the Divine Cause.
But before entering on this part of my subject
it is important that I should notice certain errors in
philosophizing which run through nearly all meta
physical and theological controversies, and to which
a large part of the confusion at present existing in
these matters, is due.

HERBERT SPENCER. 195
To commence with : — There are certain contra
dictions supposed to be inherent in the human un
derstanding, and which have been adduced to
exemplify its limitations. Such are : that we can
not conceive Space without end, or an end to Space ;
that we can neither conceive Matter to be infinitely
divisible, nor yet can we conceive a particle so small
as not to admit of further division. Now, there is
no reason why these contradictions should exist,
nor does Nature anywhere else support such an
anomaly. It seems probable, therefore, that these
contradictions have arisen from some error in the
process of philosophizing, which has escaped notice.
At all events, a good deal may be urged for the
belief that one of these contradictions is true, little
as we may be able to imagine it. It is to be
observed, in the first place, that the senses (the
avenues through which knowledge of the ex
ternal world comes to us) are strictly limited to the
environment. They are adapted to the finite, and
can give us knowledge of the finite only. It is
unphilosophical to give them an extension beyond
their original sphere. The eye, the ear, taste, and
touch, are each adapted to furnish information of a
special kind, and no other. It is true that in look
ing at solid objects we imagine we see the solidity,
which we only infer. This is merely because two
different senses have consolidated their separate
impressions ; and is quite legitimate. Our muscu-

196 HERBERT SPENCER.
lar sensations, from which we get the idea of Mat
ter by the resistance it offers, and consequently of
Space, when the resistance is absent, are strictly
limited to the environment, to the finite. It is
unphilosophical, then, to assume that space is un
limited. The supposition has arisen, doubtless,
from the fact that we have no knowledge of its
definite limits. On the earth no line can be drawn
beyond which it is not, nor in the heavens can we
fix the boundary. And as it occupies an immensity
beyond the reach of the senses, stretching away
into regions where the telescope cannot follow it,
there has grown up the conception that it is with
out end. ' What we can see, yet cannot see over,
is as good as Infinite' But we have positive
grounds for believing that it is finite. I am deeply
indebted to Mr. Spencer for having first pointed out
that a fixed quantity of Force in the Universe is a
datum of consciousness, and is assumed in every
step we take, either in action or speculation* All
proof that facts correspond to ideas, takes for
granted a fixed quantity of Force; for, as he has
shown, if gravitation were to vary from moment to
moment, we should be certain of nothing. Every
inference would be vitiated, and all verification
would be impossible. The limitations of Force are
the limitations of the Matter and Motion ; and the
limitations of the Matter and Motion are the limita
tions of Space. For Space is only coextensive with

HERBERT SPENCER. 197
Matter, physicists being obliged to fill the inter
spaces between planet and star with an ethereal
medium, which is Matter in a very attenuated form.
Matter and Space being finite, there is no reason
for supposing the First Cause to be Infinite. It
is enough for us — poor, wandering light-gleams cast
up on this latest wave of time — to be permitted
to behold, and for a moment to enjoy, this in
comparable panorama of Nature, and, lifting our
eyes above, to know it has a commensurate Cause
and humbly worship there ; but to affirm its infini
tude, in the strict sense of that term, is to intro
duce into philosophy, contradiction ; into theology,
the seeds of atheism.
Akin to this importation into Philosophy, (by
the imagination,) of the Infinite, is the projection of
the Relative into the domain of the Absolute.
Consider, for instance, what is called the relation of
Cause and Effect. This relation merely expresses
the order existing among the antecedents or con
sequents of any natural circumstance or event.
It is a purely Relative relation, if I may use the
term, limited entirely to changes in the environ
ment, but has been pushed illegitimately into the
plane of the Absolute ; and shallow sceptics in
dulge their subtlety by asking you what is the
cause of the First Cause ? This is unphilosophical,
and has arisen, no doubt, from the habit of tracing
back cause to cause among natural phenomena ;

198 HERBERT SPENCER.
quite legitimate in its own sphere, but which can
not be carried across the gulf that divides the
Relative from the Absolute. For by no tracing
back of antecedent to antecedent, were it to eter
nity, could you arrive at the Absolute, which arises
from the intuition of cause in the mind — a different
matter from any mere antecedents. It is the one
Real Cause, and is the Unity to which all things
are referred.
Another error that is prevalent in philosophical
and theological writings, is the lifting a question
aloof from its natural basis, and discussing it apart
from its natural relations. Why, for instance, in
sist on knowing whether Matter is infinitely divi
sible or not, when it is known to us as finitely
divisible ; or absolutely solid, when it is known as
relatively solid ? Why ask whether Space and
Time are entities, nonentities, or attributes ; and
laboriously endeavour to prove that they can be
neither, when there is no reason that they should
be either ? We know perfectly well what the
terms represent to us. We know what is meant by
a mathematical line, do we not, although length
without breadth is impossible ? ' Again, why di
vorce , the Absolute from its necessary connexion
with the Relative, and treat it as a separate exist-
1 Why deny, as some do, the existence of Mind, because it is
not an ' entity,' i.e. because it is not Matter?

HERBERT SPENCER. 199
ence, as Mansel has done in the following extract,
which Mr. Spencer endorses ? —
But these three conceptions, the Cause, the Absolute,
the Infinite, all equally indispensable, do they not imply
contradictions to each other when viewed in conjunction
as attributes of one and the same Being ? A cause cannot
as such be Absolute, the Absolute cannot as such be a
Cause. The Cause as such exists only in relation to its
effect; on the other hand the conception of the Absolute
implies a possible existence out of all relation. We
attempt to escape from the apparent contradiction by
introducing the idea of succession in Time. The Ab
solute exists first by itself, and afterwards becomes a
cause. But here we are checked by the third conception,
that of the Infinite. How can the Infinite become that
which it was not from the first ? If causation is a pos
sible mode of being, that which exists without causing is
not Infinite, that which becomes a cause has passed
beyond its former limits, &c. &c.
Now, why should ' the Cause exist only in re
lation to its effect,' and yet the Absolute 'be a
possible existence out of all relation ' ? Am not
I, who think of the Absolute, related to it ? With
out the Relative there could be no Absolute. The
existence of one involves that of the other. The
first contradiction, in the extract just quoted, would
not exist were the word Absolute used in its ordi
nary sense. An absolute monarch is one who is
independent of his subjects, not one out of all rela
tion to them. When applied to the First Cause,

200 HERBERT SPENCER.
it merely means that he is independent of us, and
that in Him ' we live, move, and have our being.'
The second contradiction would be avoided if,
instead of using the term Infinite, we used the
phrase, ' of no known limits,' for the reasons which
I have given above. The like criticism may be
made on the following extract from the same
author. He says :
How can Infinite Power be able to do all things and
yet Infinite Goodness be unable to do evil ? How can
Infinite Justice exact the utmost penalty for every sin
and yet Infinite Mercy pardon the sinner? How can
Infinite Wisdom know all that is to come, and yet In
finite Freedom be at liberty to do or forbear ? How is
the existence of Evil compatible with that of an In
finitely perfect Being, for if he wills it he is not infinitely
good, and if he wills it not, his will is thwarted and his
sphere of action limited.
This is one of the old stock-arguments of the
atheists, brought down on us by the use of the
word Infinite. As I have shown, its use cannot be
justified, and if we cut it out, the contradictions
fall away of themselves. Besides, it is always un
philosophical to weave fantastic attributes for the
First Cause, and then to try and press the facts of
Nature into harmony with them. It is enough — is
it not ? — that our conception of the Divine Cause
should be commensurate with the grandeur and
glory of the Universe.

HERBERT SPENCER. 201
And now to return to the theory under consider
ation, viz., that it is a mechanical necessity, that a
fixed quantity of Force, made up of antagonistic
forces of attraction and repulsion, should pass
through successive stages and transformations, and
produce the beauty and harmony of the universe
of Mind and Matter, without the necessity for a
Divine Cause. In endeavouring to show the in
adequacy of this theory, I shall limit myself to the
arguments that are adapted to meet this particular
form of Atheism. I know that the World may be
viewed from many standpoints, and that, however
viewed, it will show beautiful colours. Turned be
fore the inward eye, Nature shows like a diamond,
whose glowing facets chase one another with emu
lous lustre. We need not lack faith, for, like a
loaded die, she will always turn up a Divine face.
She is so alive with Deity that, sink a shaft where
we will, we may draw the living waters from that
spring, whose source is hidden. She has innume
rable sides, is as good as she is beautiful, and beau
tiful as she is wise. No system of thought can
formulate her. All things refer to each, and each
to all — a seamless web with no loose ends. At
best she can but be poorly transcribed, never under
stood. She has upheld and still upholds uncounted
theories, and all our philosophies are but beggars of
her bounty.
A wider induction often reverses the first im-

202 HERBERT SPENCER.
pressions of the senses and the intellect. The
earth appears stationary, and the sun to revolve.
Seen from a boat, the shore seems to be moving.
Colour, to all appearance, is a property of bodies.
These are illusions of the senses. There are also
illusions of the intellect. Among these the most
important is the belief that Mind is the product of
Matter. This has been a commonplace of scientific
materialists, since we have observed the intimate,
even exact, correspondence between mental mani
festations and physical states. We have discovered
that the brain is the organ of the mind ; that if its
nervous substance is pressed upon, the manifesta
tions of mind and sensibility cease ; that if the
pressure is removed the manifestations return. We
have discovered that variations in the physical con
ditions are accompanied by corresponding varia
tions in the mental ; and that in proportion to the
size and complexity of the nervous centres is the
strength and complexity of the mental power.
Now, this correspondence between Matter and
Mind fulfils the conditions of a scientific cause.
Any variation in the physical antecedents is fol
lowed by a corresponding variation in the mental
manifestations. This uniformity, like all other
uniformities, is called a Law of Nature. Hence it
has been assumed that, if we can account for the
material World, we have thereby accounted for the
phenomena of Mind. Mr. Spencer's theory of Evo-

HERBERT SPENCER. 203
lution everywhere proceeds on this assumption.
Now, plausible as this may appear, farther conside
ration will, I think, show that, instead of Matter
being the cause of Mind, Mind is really the cause
of Matter. For the problem is to account not only
for the physical world, but for me — the thinking,
sentient being who contemplates it.
On looking at the appearances of the World, we
see them so, because our senses are constituted so.
Were our senses different, the appearances of the
world would be different. Were the eye differently
constructed, colours would be different. Were it as-
large as the lens of a telescope, the moon were
here, and near objects would be invisible. Were it
like the lens of a microscope, common objects
could not be surveyed at once, and the atmosphere
would be opaque with germs. Were we devoid»of
muscular or tactual sensation, the world would be
a beautiful fairy vision. Were we devoid of all our
senses, it would be only a dream. We get hints of
the same truth, in other ways. Time appears shorter
to the old than to the young. In certain nervous
derangements, the body seems to cover an acre of
ground. De Quincey said that, when under the
influence of opium, ' Space swelled, and was am
plified to an extent of unutterable infinitude,' and
an hour seemed protracted to an eternity.
As our senses make the material world for us ;
so our sentiments and emotions make our social

204 HERBERT SPENCER.
and moral world. It is difficult to give an adequate
statement of this truth, on account of its compli
cated nature, and at present I shall limit myself to
merely indicating the direction in which it is to be
looked for. We get hints of it, in the influence of
abnormal states of mind on our relations with the
world. The benignant, cheerful face which life
presents to the sanguine, shows sinister and gloomy
to the man of bilious temperament. Wine rounds
off the stubborn angularity of the real world, and
flushes it couleur de rose. Under the influence of
insanity, slaves have imagined themselves emperors,
and were this affliction more common, it would be
at once seen, how entirely we ourselves create the
world we enjoy or bemoan. These hints are re
peated and enforced in our daily experience. It is
notorious that the lover decks the brow of his
mistress with the flowers of his own fancy. The
divinity is not so much in the church or the creed
as in the possibilities of the soul. Our ideals, too,
are but the scintillations of our imagination, taking
their form and colouring from our temperament,
associations, sympathies, and education. We feel
painfully this truth when we remember the ideals
we have outgrown, and have seen one by one
departing. Who can conjure us back the generous
enthusiasm of boyhood, when men and things gave
off beautiful, prismatic radiations, and were not
yet seen in the white light of a more prosaic time ?

HERBERT SPENCER. 205
Why have these early delights lost their fascination ?
The attributes that first attracted us, as far as we
can tell, remain the same, but we alas ! have
changed. The beautiful, iridescent, soap-bubbles
that we blew, have long since burst, and yet we
have but transferred to new objects the old accus
tomed dreams. On the other hand, great ideas
walk before us embodied, yet remain invisible,
awaiting a happier time. The perception of the
truth that we make our own ideals, is the first step
in the emancipation of the mind from the thraldom
of individuals, for we are apt ever after to distrust
our idols.
As the constitution of the senses makes the
material world, and the constitution of the senti
ments, the social and moral world ; so, the con
stitution of the intellect makes the Laws of Nature,
and, among them, the particular law under con
sideration, viz. the dependence of mental manifes
tations on physical states. According to the
Evolution-hypothesis, all the Laws of Nature are
corollaries of the great Law of Evolution. They
are minor uniformities included in that all-em
bracing uniformity. The Law of Evolution, itself,
is a corollary from a fixed quantity of force which
is made up of antagonistic forces of attraction and
repulsion. Now, if we can show that these two
facts — the fixed quantity of force, and the antag
onistic forms— depend for their existence on the

2o6 HERBERT SPENCER.
constitution of our minds, it will necessarily follow
that all the Laws of Nature, and, among them,
this particular law of the dependence of mental
manifestations on physical states, depend on the
constitution of our minds. That they do so depend,
may be drawn from Mr. Spencer's own admissions.
He says (§ 74) :
probably the conception of antagonistic forces is origin
ally derived from the antagonism of our flexor and ex
tensor muscles, —
i.e. from muscular sensation— the lowest form of
mind. How purely it results from the constitution of
our minds, appears from the fact that, otherwise, it is
altogether inconceivable. Mr. Spencer says (§ 74) :
We cannot truly represent one ultimate unit of matter
as drawing another while resisting it. Nevertheless this
belief is one we are compelled to entertain.
The Law of Evolution may be a corollary from
a fixed quantity of force in antagonistic forms,
but the antagonistic forms themselves can be a
corollary from nothing. For there is no reason
why force should be presented to us under these
forms, except that we are constituted to see it so.
The fact again that the quantity of Force in
the Universe is fixed, depends absolutely on the
constitution of the mind. As Mr. Spencer has
shown, it is a datum of consciousness which cannot
he proved at all. It is assumed in every argument,

HERBERT SPENCER. 207
every proof, and every inference. It is a pure
intuition of the mind. Thus we see that the
appearances of the material world, the forms of the
social and moral world, and the very Laws of
Nature themselves, all depend upon the constitu
tion of our minds. Mind asserts herself, and trails
Matter and the Laws of Matter captive at her heels.
And therefore the problem of the world reduces
itself, not to an explanation of material things, but
to an explanation of the Human Mind itself. It may
be urged that, as the constitution of the human
mind is fixed by the same necessity which deter
mines the evolution of matter, it is therefore un
philosophical to raise the question as to what the
world would be, were we differently constituted.
I admit, of course, that if the Law of Evolution
were true, it would necessarily follow that the
nervous structures, like all other forms of matter,
would follow the laws of force in general. But I
deny that the being, the thinking, sentient existence,
— which is the other side of these forces — would
follow. And this 'is precisely the point at issue.
Does it necessarily follow from a fixed quantity of
force made up of antagonistic forces, that, at a
certain point in the physical transformations of the
Universe, what is known as a molecular motion
will give rise to a ' shock in consciousness ? ' Does
it necessarily follow that when ' the integration of
matter and concomitant dissipation of motion '

208 HERBERT SPENCER.
have reached a certain stage of complexity, the
feeling of pleasure, or of self-preservation, or of
pride, or of hate, shall arise ? And might not the
same physical conditions be accompanied by dif
ferent mental attributes altogether, as far as the
Law of Evolution is concerned ? Is it a necessary
deduction from the Law of Evolution, that the
next further development, in the brain of an ape
shall give rise to the new feelings of respect, honour,
reverence, beauty, conscientiousness ? Is there any
necessary reason in the theory of Evolution why
the appetites and passions should be ranked as low
feelings, and the sentiments and finer feelings as
high ones ? There is and can be no possible
relationship whatever between the character of the
molecular motion, and the character of the feelings-
answering to it. In fact, the human mind cannot
be accounted for at all. Only the Maker of man
can at all understand it. The materialists, how
ever, nothing daunted, have attempted to explain
the feelings of the mind, as well as the transform
ations of matter. I shall take Mr. Spencer's account
of them. It will be seen that he reduces the more
complex of them to modes of pleasure and painr
differently represented. Thus, the love of property
, consists of representations of the different kinds of
pleasure to be derived from its possession. Courage
arises out of the pleasure we derive from the sym
pathy and approbation of others. Fear springs

HERBERT SPENCER. 209
from representations of pain to be suffered. Pride
is evolved from the gratifications that attend con
tinual successes ; humility from the pain attending
perpetual failures. The religious sentiment is
prompted largely by representations of divine
approval, joined with the happiness to be secured
by that approval. Justice 'consists of represent
ations of those emotions which others feel, when
actually or prospectively allowed or forbidden the
activities by which pleasure is to be gained, or
pain escaped.' Having derived the feelings of the
mind from modes of pleasure and pain, we now
expect Mr. Spencer to show us how Pleasure and
Pain are necessitated by the Law of Evolution. He
has nowhere made the attempt. We naturally ask,
why we should have these feelings ? No answer is
returned, but we are put off with a mere general
isation of the conditions that call them into exercise.
In his chapter on ' Pleasures and Pains,' in the
first volume of his ' Principles of Psychology,' he
says, ' generally speaking, pleasures are the con
comitants of medium activities,' and concludes,
that they guide an animal to its benefit, while, on
the other hand, pains attend actions injurious to
the animal. This as little explains the feelings of
pleasure and pain themselves, as the conditions of
a good appetite explain the feeling of hunger, or
the attractions of personal appearance or character
explain the feeling of love. The human mind being
P

210 HERBERT SPENCER.
an inexplicable mystery, the facts of the mind
remain for our consideration ; and from these facts,
all that we can know of ourselves, and our relation
to the Universe, must be deduced. This knowledge,
which lies quite beyond the domain of Science,
may be reduced to three heads. First, Final Cause,
and the hierarchy of means and ends ; secondly,
true causes, as distinguished from scientific occa
sions ; and lastly, the existence and attributes of a
Supreme Cause.
Science, as we have seen above, has no room
for a First Cause. She must, therefore, necessarily
reject all belief in Final Cause. Nothing seems to
annoy Mr. Spencer more than what he calls a
' teleological interpretation.' To say that the eye
exists for sight, the ear for hearing, or the legs for
locomotion, is to incur his undisguised contempt.
He has arrived at the belief that these things re
sult from the ' survival of the fittest,' and have
been embodied in the race by hereditary trans
mission — as happy adaptations, behind which there
is no Mind. Now, although everything in Nature
subserves not one, but many purposes, still a light
general survey of the whole discloses certain broad
intentions — a hierarchy of means and ends, each
end being, in its turn, only a means to a higher.
Thus, minerals exist for the support of vegetables ;
vegetables for the support of animals ; and all for
the use, delight, and instruction of man. Hunger

HERBERT SPENCER. 21 1
and thirst, the lower appetites, envy, fear, pride,
aggressiveness, are means to self-preservation and
the continuance of life ; the continuance of life, to
ascension of mind and increase of understanding ;
increase of understanding, to perception of moral
law ; perception of moral law, to spirituality and
religion. But besides final causes (which require some
experience to handle, and which must be pressed
very gently to get their fragrance), the facts of the
mind furnish us with the real causes of things, as
distinguished from scientific occasions. Mr. Spencer
somewhere describes the results which follow the
fact that one member of a homogeneous tribe dis
plays an unusual facility for the making of weapons.
This simple circumstance is represented by him as
the cause of the division of labour which follows
throughout the whole tribe. It is in reality only
the occasion ; the cause being the inherent capa
bility in each individual of becoming a specialised
worker — being, in short, the power and adaptability
of the mind. We must look to the facts of the
mind, and not to scientific principles, for the causes
of human action. How are we to explain eating,
but from hunger ; fear, but from love of life ; con
tempt of danger, but from elevation of mind ; ex
citement, but from sympathy ; prayer, but from
religion. And, lastly, the facts of the mind are the final

212 HERBERT SPENCER.
appeal on the question we are considering, viz.,
the existence and attributes of a Supreme Cause.
Of course, the existence of a Supreme Cause, like
the existence of mind in our fellow-man, is purely
a matter of inference. It cannot be seen, or in
any way be made apparent to the senses. It can
not be reached by Science, which deals entirely
with these same sense-impressions. It cannot be
deduced primarily from the world around us, for,
as I have shown, the world follows the mind like a
shadow, or reflects it like a mirror. If inferred at
all, it must be from the constitution of the mind.
Let us consider it. The mind is made up of an
intuition of Causation, and a scale of Sensations,
running from the lowest muscular and tactual sen
sations up through the special senses, appetites,
and passions, to the highest and finest feelings and
sentiments. The intuition of Causation demands
a Supreme Cause for the impressions and sensa
tions we derive from the Universe around us. This
inference cannot be escaped without the dissolution
of our intelligence itself. Belief in a Supreme
Cause falls as easily and naturally on the open
human mind as sleep. It is the last result of
philosophy to bring us round to faith in the simple
intuitions of the mind. After wandering through
startling, highly-coloured systems, whose novelty
and ingenuity amuse and detain us for an hour,
we come home to this at last. The weight to be

HERBERT SPENCER. 213
attached to this simple intuition, in its bearings on
the question of a Supreme Cause, is significantly
illustrated by the attitude Mr. Spencer has taken
in regard to it. His scientific method excludes all
conception of a First Cause. It rejects also the
intuitions as a philosophical instrument, professing
to interpret all phenomena in terms of Matter,
Motion, and Force. And yet he feels bound to
assert a Supreme Cause for the impressions left on
our senses by the visible Universe. This he can
do only by breaking through his own method, and
taking down, from the higher region of the mind,
the intuition of Causation, and using it as a philo
sophical instrument. Indeed, he goes so far as to
say that it is one of the postulates which must be
assumed before Philosophy can commence, and
without which it is impossible.
As the intuition of Causation demands a Su
preme Cause, so the scale of Sensations demands
that the attributes of this Cause shall be commen
surate with the dignity of the human mind. The
materialists, who believe that we are products of
the great impersonal laws which ply their ever
lasting labours on all sides of us, object to our
investing the Supreme Being with human attributes.
They say it is a degrading of the Creator to the
level of the creature. Those of them who, like Mr.
Spencer, are unable to escape the belief in a
Supreme Cause, still prefer to consider that Cause

214 HERBERT SPENCER.
as an Unknown Force, without attributes, or with
attributes of which we can have no conception.
My reply to this objection lies in the proof I have
given above, that these impersonal Laws of Nature-
follow the mind, exist through the mind, and are
what they are, by the mind. The materialists put
the cart before the horse. The Laws of Nature do'
not create the mind of Man, but the mind of Man is
created to perceive, among other things, the Laws of
Nature. We must first recognise the God, whose
throne is upheld by the pillars of Justice, Goodness,
and Truth, and then we can with equal reverence re
cognise His instruments on earth — the ' impersonal *
Laws of Nature. It may be said that to endow the
Deity with attributes commensurate with the human
mind, is to endow Him with human appetites and
passions. A little consideration will show that this
is not necessarily the case. There is in Nature
and the Human Mind a Public Element which
works for universal, and not particular, ends. It is
quite distinct from the lower attributes, which
minister to the selfish interests of the individuals.
It has different aspects. One of these is Beauty,
which is present everywhere, and is an expression
of the Soul that is at the centre of things. But
there are other sides. A glance over the animal
and vegetable world reveals the existence of a
Power which works for the general good. This is
seen in the proportion which is everywhere kept

HERBERT SPENCER. 215
between animal and vegetable life, thus preserving
the proper composition of the atmosphere. It is
seen in the proportion kept among the different
races of animals, by the balance between the powers
of aggression and defence. In Man, the appetites
and passions which minister to his private ends, are
balanced by the unselfish sentiments of Justice, '
Goodness, and Truth, which minister to the general
welfare. The existence of a spirit working every
where for Beauty, Love, Justice, and Truth, gives
us the hint of the attributes of the Supreme Cause.

216 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE

CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CONSTITU
TION OF THE WORLD.
I WISH, in this essay, to offer some considerations on
the constitution of the World. But before doing
so, I should like to clear the way by briefly point
ing out what I believe to be the leading miscon
ceptions of those thinkers who have attempted a
theory of the Universe on scientific principles. I
feel this to be necessary for several reasons. The
leaders of this school are men of high intellectual
endowments. They are active propagandists, and
are all acknowledged masters in their own depart
ments. They are welded into one compact power
by the general agreement of their principles, and
have at present more followers, perhaps, than any
other school of thought. Personally, I am very
much interested in every scientific discovery. I
believe we owe our material prosperity as much to
the labours of the scientist, as to the efforts of the
legislator, and the application of scientific principles
to the arts, promises to be as fruitful of benefit in
the future, as it has been in the past. Besides, I
am myself engaged in a profession, which is a

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 217
constant training in the appreciation of scientific
facts and in the weighing of scientific evidence,
and which is most deeply indebted to scientific
research. My only objection is to the application
of scientific methods of thought to the solution of
the Problem of Life. I shall therefore confine
myself exclusively to the mode of interpretation
that lies at the root of all scientific philosophy.
Perhaps, for my present purposes, I may be
allowed to divide the human mind, roughly, into
Outer Senses, Inner Senses, and the Understand
ing. The Outer Senses are those of touch, taste,
sight, smell, and hearing ; the Inner Senses are the
higher feelings of the mind — Beauty, Love, Re
verence, Duty, Sublimity, and the like ; the Under
standing is the faculty that arranges the material
supplied by or through these respective media.
Now, scientific thinkers interpret the phenomena
of the World from the Outer Senses alone. This
is their first fundamental error. In the scale of
creation, Man is the highest ; and in Man, the Inner
Senses. Many of the lower animals have as acute
Outer Senses as man, and the higher among them
have a considerable amount of Understanding.
But, just as before the Outer Senses were developed
(and many sentient creatures are wanting in these,
having only the lowest form of tactual sensation),
there could be no perception of form, colour, &c. ;
so, until the higher Inner Senses are developed,

218 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
there can be no apprehension of the higher qualities
of Nature. It is clearly, then, as absurd to interpret
fsom the outer senses, which are a mid-point in the
scale of mind, as it would be to interpret from the
point of view of a monkey, which is a mid-point in
the scale of intelligent creatures. I conclude, there
fore, that the highest and deepest knowledge pos
sible for us, will be that furnished by the highest
faculties of the highest human intelligence. I have
said that scientific thinkers base their interpretation
on the material furnished through the Outer Senses
alone. For instance, what is the Law of Gravitation,
but a deduction drawn from the observation that all
bodies tend to approximate ? The law that ' force
follows the line of least resistance,' too, what is it
but a deduction drawn from the observation of the
constant action of bodies on one another ? Again,
are not all the laws of physics — heat, chemistry,
electricity— and of botany, physiology, &c, founded
on data furnished exclusively by the outer senses
of sight, taste, smell, or touch ? The microscope,
scalpel, and retort, what are they but aids to the
Outer Senses merely ?
The Evolution-hypothesis is the latest and most
complete attempt to account for the phenomena of
the Universe on Scientific inductions. It under
takes to account for both physical and mental
phenomena, by Physical Laws alone. Having
observed the constant connection between the

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 219.
manifestations of mind and the physical conditions.
of the brain, and concluding that mental phe
nomena have a physical side, it assumes that, if it
can account for the latter, it has explained the
former. But the fallacy of this is apparent. For
when I ask myself what is the nature of the force
that causes bodies to approximate, I cannot tell,
nor can I at all comprehend the character of the
force that follows the line of least resistance. But
the Spiritual forces within me, which are the other
sides, so to speak, of these Physical forces, I directly
know. So that the Evolution-hypothesis under
takes to account for what I know by what I do not
know, which is clearly absurd. Doubtless, there is
a difference between the physical side of what we
know as a feeling of hate, and one of love ; between
a feeling of disgust, and one of sublimity or beauty.
Science may ultimately point out this difference,
but no scalpel will ever show the difference in the
nature of the feelings themselves — the fact that the
one set is of a low, the other of a high, character.
This difference in ranking is made known to us by
the fixed Scale of Feelings in the mind, but could
not possibly be discovered by any observations
made by the Outer Senses. It is perceived entirely
by the Inner Senses— a region of mind which
scientific thinkers have stigmatised as mystical,
which they have excluded as a philosophical in
strument, but on which they are compelled to draw

220 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
at every step. The attempt, then, to interpret the
phenomena of life from the outer senses, is the first
fundamental error in scientific and materialistic
philosophies. I shall proceed now to the second.
All philosophy is founded on a belief in the
correspondence between the Mind and the World.
Unless the qualities of Nature had their correlatives
in the human mind, there could be no interpretation.
That this correspondence exists, is seen in the
power we can exert over the physical elements.
We can decompose, rearrange, and recombine them,
proving that the laws within us answer to those
^without us. It is seen in the control we can exer
cise over the lower animals ; in our power to charm
or tame them after the laws of their nature. It is
seen in the identical expression of character through
out the whole animal kingdom. We see among
men eagle faces, lion faces, fox faces, monkey faces,
and the character corresponds. It is seen in Lan
guage and the use of metaphors. It is seen in the
power we exert over our fellows, and the identity
of thought, sentiment, and impulse, on which we rely
in our appeals to them. This correspondence
begins low down in our physical, and. ascends to
the subtlest intuitions of our spiritual nature. Ears
are found in air, eyes in light. For every male
there is a female. The Senses are adapted to forms,
colours, and sounds ; the Understanding, to the
order among the forces of Nature ; Beauty, to their

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 221
harmony and infinite variety. Compassion and
Justice have their sphere in the welfare of our
fellows ; Reverence, in our superiors ; and Worship,
in God. This correspondence of the Mind to the World
is admitted by scientific thinkers, but their theory
of it, though simple, is inadequate. They assert
that the forces of the environment of any organism
coming in contact with that organism, initiate
changes in it ; that these changes are adapted
to the changes among the forces of the environ
ment ; and that in the higher organisms they
constitute the Mind. Now, were the human mind
simply an organised system of changes, their ex
planation might suffice. But it is more than
this. And here is precisely the weak point in the
Theoiy of Evolution. For this power of adapt
ation is not the whole, or even the most important
part of the mind. There are, besides, the In
tuitions and Feelings, of which the power of adapt
ation is merely the instrument. These intuitions
and feelings axe fixed and unchanging, are there by
the will of God, and cannot be explained at all.
Scientific thinkers assume them without attempting
to account for them. They assume, for instance,
the feeling of hunger in an animal, and then show
you how its organisation is adapted to catch its
prey. They assume the love of life prompting it
to escape from its enemies, and then show, you the

222 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
adaptation by which this is effected. They assume
the feelings of pleasure and pain, and then show
you the conditions of the nervous system necessary
to induce or maintain them. They assume the
feelings of honour and shame, and then show you
that the actions prompted by them differ according
to the circumstances and necessities of tribes and
nations. They assume the feeling of beauty, and
then show you the conditions and associations
under which it arises. They assume the existence
of a fixed Scale in the mind ; rank selfishness and
sensuality low — justice, love, beauty, and reverence
high ; but give no reason for doing so. So that,
from the lowest animal up to man, the feelings of
hunger, love of life, fear, honour and shame, plea
sure and pain, beauty, the Scale in the mind, &c,
are assumed, but not accounted for, by the Evolution-
hypothesis. This is the second fundamental weak
ness in the theory.
The correspondence between the Mind and the
World, then, cannot be accounted for from the
World. Our alternative is to account for the World
from the Mind. But before proceeding further, I
wish to show in detail that we can get an insight
into the World only by looking at the fixed in
tuitions and feelings of the mind, and not at the
outer circumstances which call them forth, and
which are inconstant, contradictory, and dependent
on situation and condition.

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 223
Opinions as to what is Right and Wrong have
varied in every country, and in every age. The
Spartans were encouraged to steal ; the Chinese, to
¦deceive. Among the Tartars under Zenghis Khan,
it was not considered wrong to break one's word or
seize another's goods, to do a person an injury, or
commit murder ; but it was a sin, and even a
capital crime, to lean against a whip, to strike a
horse with its bridle, or break one bone against
another. Murder is considered an act of heroism
among the Polynesians. Macaulay says that,
among the Highlanders of the seventeenth century,
robbery was held to be a calling, not only innocent,
but honourable. In Formosa, it was believed that
the debauchery of children was agreeable to the
gods ; while there was a sort of hell for those who
had dressed in calico and not in silk, who had pre
sumed to look for oysters, or had undertaken any
business without consulting the songs of birds.
Among the ancient Massage tae, as in the ideal
republic of Plato, women were held in common ;
and Plutarch relates that Cato lent his wife to
Hortensius. In China, filial piety is the highest
virtue ; while amongst the ancient inhabitants of
India, the sick were killed, and those rendered
infirm by age were sacrificed and eaten by their
kinsmen. The same truth is seen where the diversity of
opinion as to the morality of actions has been the

224 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
result of National Interest. Socrates, when asked
how he could distinguish those things which were
wrong from those things which were right, could
not tell, but referred his interrogator to the decisions
of the laws of his cbuntry. At Rome, the un
married were under legal penalties. In Persia, next
to personal courage, the highest honour was to have
a numerous offspring. De Tocqueville says, ' Envy
is the vice of democracies ; ' and consequently, in
America, pride is a disparagement to a man •
whereas, in the old feudal countries of Europe, it is
almost a virtue. Among the barbarians, who over
ran Europe, and established themselves on the
ruins of the Roman Empire, the sole appeal in
every dispute was to physical force. Hence the
trials by combat, and the ordeals of hot iron and
boiling water. Right and wrong became a matter
of strength of arm or thickness of skin.
The same truth is exemplified by the way in
which Morality is affected by Religion. In ancient
Egypt, whoever killed an ibis or vulture was put
to death. The marriage of sisters was consecrated-
in honour of Isis. The Assyrians and Persians-
married their mothers ; the former out of respect
for Semiramis, the latter as deemed more honour
able by Zoroaster. The material characteristics of
a country affect religious beliefs. Montesquieu
says that metempsychosis is adapted to the climate
of the Indies, as they can breed few cattle there.

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 225
A religious law prevents their killing and eating
their cattle, as the flesh is insipid, but the milk and
butter nutritious. The soil of Athens was barren,
and it was a religious maxim with the Athenians
that those who offered small presents to the gods
honoured them more, than those who sacrificed an
ox. Montezuma insisted that his religion was best
for Mexico, and that of the Spaniards for their own
country. Farther, the same truth appears, if, leaving
special instances, we take a general survey of the
religions of the world. The gods of the savages
are the reflections of the ideas and circumstances of
the tribe. They are usually brutal and revengeful,
and the same means are taken to appease their
wrath as that of offended chiefs. The physical
and mental powers of the Greeks were personified
in all their free and graceful harmony in their
mythology. The rough sincerity of the Norsemen
appears in every legend. As character and culture
ascend, Religion alters. The Elohim of the Jews
at first represented the powers of Nature. When
these powers were afterwards seen to be moral,
Jehovah supplanted Elohim, who was then trans
formed into something resembling our modern
Devil. We see, too, that the Social and Political insti
tutions of nations (and therefore their notions of
Morality and Honour) have been the fruit of their
0

226 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
dominant Idea. The laws of Lycurgus were al!
framed for military supremacy. They necessitated
poverty and temperance, trained the youth to en
durance and cunning, to obedience and contempt
of death. The Jewish laws all pointed to religion ;
the Chinese aimed at public tranquillity. The in
stitutions of the barbarians were the expression of
the idea they brought with them — personal liberty.
Military service was voluntary and personal, while
at Rome it was fixed and impersonal — to the State.
Hence Tacitus seemed surprised that the chiefs of
the German tribes should receive, from their com-
panions-in-arms, services that would be rendered to
the Roman Emperor only by freedmen or slaves.
The truth I am striving to illustrate (that we
must look at the fixed feelings and intuitions of
the mind, and not at the other circumstances in
which they are clothed) is seen in the influence
exerted over our opinions by Custom. The religion
of pagan Rome, for example, whence its acceptance
by the millions ? Largely, the chance that a band
of brigands happened to bring with them a handful
of rites from Etruria ; these pigments, thrown in at
the fountain head, were carried down through the
succeeding generations, tincturing the stream. In
deed, the preponderating element in all traditional
masses of opinion, is Custom, and not Insight.
This is seen in literature and art. Schools of music
and art have their periods of regnancy and culmi-

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 227
nation, and for the time being are the standards of
taste. In medicine, bleeding and calomel were the
universal practice of physicians, for generations, but
in our time they have almost completely gone out.
We have almost deified Shakespeare, but our an
cestors, consistently with their habits of thought,
considered Addison and Pope his superiors.
Class distinctions and Social organizations
modify our opinions. The influence of a powerful
and all-reaching organization on opinion is nowhere
better seen than in the doctrine of Papal Infalli
bility. We clothe the aristocracy with attributes
and radiances, which are not found in the indi
viduals composing it. The world has always attri
buted to rulers and statesmen greater intellect and
refinement than can be strictly accorded to them.
The same is true, too, of the clergy. Military men
come to the front in time of war, and an idea gathers
around them, which falls away in times of peace.
Having seen, then, that our opinions as to the
nature of actions vary from age to age, according
to Utility, Religion, Custom, Culture, &c, and leav
ing the natural compensations to be considered
farther on, I wish here especially to insist, that this
variety is only in the form, not in the essence ; in
the outer Facts, not in the inner Tendencies ; in
the beads, and not in the wires on which they are
strung, which are everywhere and in all ages the
same. The feeling of Worship is always the same,
q 2

228 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
whether its object be the fetish of the savage, the
sun among the Persians, the bull Apis of the Egyp
tians, or the Jehovah of the Jews. The feeling of
Right and Wrong is always the same, and con
science has the same reaction, whether it be for
leaning against a whip among the Tartars, killing
a cat among the Egyptians, picking up sticks on
the Sabbath among the Jews, or murder among our
selves. The feeling of Admiration is always the
same, whether it be for physical prowess, personal
beauty, practical wisdom, or intellectual refinement.
The feeling of Hope is always the same, whether
its object be the happy hunting-grounds of the In
dians, the Valhalla of the Norsemen, where the
brave drink mead out of cups made from the skulls
of those they have killed in battle, or the paradise
of Mahomet, with its feasting and dark-eyed
houris. And so on, upwards and downwards,
throughout the whole gamut of intuitions and
feelings. We are now in a position to get a clearer view
of the Constitution of the World, as we have only
to deal with the simple intuitions and feelings
of the mind, and not with the variety of forms in
which these elements clothe themselves from age
to age, and which we have seen to be uncertain,
contradictory, and dependent on circumstance and
condition. The World is constituted of a series of Balances,

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 229
on an ascending scale, ranging from the lowest
ground-plane of Physics up to the finest intuitions
of the Human Mind. This is the secret mechanism
that maintains harmony among the heavenly bodies
and moral order among mankind. Life is so satu
rated with this principle, that it may be found in
the finest particles. The health and harmony of
the whole consist in the maintenance of this balance
at every point. Any loss of poise would be chaos
or insanity. Let me illustrate more in detail the
universality of this principle.
Every sun, every planet, every satellite, is kept
in its place by the antagonism of the centripetal
and centrifugal motions ; and by the balance of
these forces the universe is sustained. In physics
the law that ' action and reaction are equal and
opposite,' runs through every mass and atom. It
is seen in the ebb and flow of the sea, the alterna
tion of day and night, sleep and wake, systole and
diastole of the heart, inspiration and expiration.
Every cell of every vegetable and every animal
has its period of motion and rest, action and inac
tion, supply and expenditure.
The nervous system is constructed on the same
principle. Its simplest definite form consists of
nerve centres or corpuscles, and nerve fibres ; the
latter transmitting impressions, the former redis
tributing or absorbing them ; these two balance'
one another. This simple type of structure is re-

230 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
peated in the higher and highest organizations,
forming in these a chain, in which the highest centre
— the brain — is linked with and has organized
relations with all below it. The whole is a balance,
and every part. Organic life, too, is maintained by
the balance of the forces supplied by the blood, and
those expended in performing the vital functions.
Mr. Spencer, looking at the mind abstractedly as
made up of states of consciousness, justly says,
'All mental action whatever is definable as the
continuous differentiation and integration of states
of consciousness.' ' These are the two antagonistic
processes by which consciousness subsists — the
centrifugal and centripetal actions by which its
balance is maintained. That there may be the
material for thought, consciousness must every
moment have its state differentiated. And for the
new state hence resulting to become a thought, it
must be integrated with before-experienced states.
This perpetual alternation is the condition of all
thought, from the very lowest to the very highest.
It is distinctly typified in that oscillation between
two states constituting the simplest conceivable
form of consciousness, and it is illustrated in the
most complex thinkings of the most cultivated
men.' If we look at the conditions necessary to health
of mind, we shall see the same principle illustrated.
The variety of the world is endless and perplexing.

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 231
It would become unhealthy and oppressive, did we
not gather up its details into masses, and, by rest
ing on broad principles, relieve the nervous tension
attendant on minute incessant observation. The
child, the slave of its eyes and ears, without general
ideas as a compensating rest, is soon exhausted
and falls asleep. To go through a picture gallery
is too great a strain on the uncultivated eye. The
mind wanders up and down along the diversity of
colour and form, and finds no rest. The result is
a headache. But the critic bringing with him fixed
principles of judgment, around which the details
arrange themselves, disposes with ease of the em
barrassing variety. The cultivated physician has
no difficulty in charging his memory with the most
complicated symptoms, and can carry the particu
lars of many cases without confusion. The novice,
with native powers of memory equally strong,
would find this almost impossible. The secret of
imparting knowledge consists in nicely balancing
the two poles of thought. Rules and exercises,
principles and illustrations, general ideas and de
tailed facts, should be so rapidly alternated as to
•admit of no preponderance of either. Mental dis
ease, too, shows the necessity of a balance. For
what is insanity, but unceasing motion of mind with
out rest, or fixity without healthy change ?
The agitation of states discloses the same fact.
Political ideas (as in France at the time of the

232 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
Revolution) sometimes make men so frenzied with
excitement, that they surge up into huge unwieldy
masses, incapable of control. The excitement
caused by war is commonly attended with tempo
rary loss of head. The same effect attends reli
gious excitements and panics. But a reaction soon.
sets in, and when the change of circumstances holds
the mirror up to these extravagances, their exag
geration becomes apparent, and the swing in the
opposite direction restores the equilibrium. It
has been often said that an age of political licence
is generally followed by a despotism. In all this,
we see that mere size is of no account. The law
holds good for masses, because each atom is poised.
If we look at the processes of Science, we shall.
see the same principle illustrated. On the circum
ference of things is an infinite variety of forms.
Men of science starting from different points, and
removing the outermost stratum of details, find it
resting on, and springing from, a more uniform
structure, The diversity of animal and vegetable
forms are found to spring from a few species ; the
variety of physical forms, from a few forces ; and
of chemical compounds, from a few elements.
Penetrating farther and farther, they come to a belt
where the deeper laws of each science merge into
and overlap one another. On piercing this, the
centre is reached, a unity of force, of which all the
superincumbent forms are manifestations. At each

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 233-,
point of the process, particulars rest on and are
balanced by generalizations, and generalizations
at last rest on Unity.
Society is led and dazzled by Imagination ;
but the antidote is proximity and insight. We go-
in flocks to this or that shrine, but once behind the
veil, we see the illusion, and cannot again be
tempted. At Rome, the scarlet indulgences of the
Papacy were witnessed by the pilgrims who were
constantly passing and repassing. By stripping off"
the halo that surrounded the pontiff, this hastened
the Reformation. Every sect has its hero, every
household its idolatry. Freshness of association,
by breaking up these groups and letting in the
light, reveals the blemishes and limitations.
Ascending still higher to the sphere of the
Intuitions, we find the same polarity. The feelings
of the mind split themselves into two antithetical
halves, the action and interaction of which con
stitute our higher life. The one set minister to
our private interests and personal welfare ; the
other to public interests and the welfare of the
whole. The one set are material, and part of
organisation ; the other spiritual, and part of God
The World is constituted so that each separate
being shall maintain its own individuality, and at
the same time be subservient to the harmony of
the whole. Our personality, being of such prime
importance, has a whole battalion of feelings,

234 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
jealously guarding it — Selfishness, Love of Life,
Combativeness, Pride, Envy, Vanity, and Fear.
These are not spiritual ; but are merely the mental
instruments of self-preservation. They are known
through the mind, but are not properly parts of it.
But their union and natural strength tending to
give them a preponderance, a balance was needed.
It is provided in the spiritual part of our nature, —
the instrument of God by which the harmony of
His moral creation is sustained. It has different
sides, and takes different forms — Religion, Justice,
Conscience, Honour, Compassion, Shame. These
antagonize and balance private inclination or
interest, point to point. In the world, the failings
and errors of our fellows are met by our Com
passion ; their helplessness and oppression, by Love
and Pity. In ourselves, any temptation to breaches
of decorum is counteracted by Shame ; to infraction
of the arbitrary laws which every organized society
establishes for the welfare of the whole, by Honour ;
to violation of the deep relations of man to man,
by Conscience and Justice ; to contempt of the
laws of God, by Religion. Speaking of these feel
ings as a whole, we may call them the Moral
Sentiment. In itself, it is quite unaccountable and
independent of circumstances, but, as I have shown
above, clothes itself from the wardrobe of utility,
religion, custom, &c. The plastic power of this
sentiment secures progress by adapting itself to the

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 235
new wants of new ages and conditions. It follows
insight and belief, which it translates into action.
All moral and religious codes have been better or
worse transcripts of the beliefs held as to the
nature of the Universe at the time of their promul
gation. To follow in action the laws of the Uni
verse, — that is Morality. This sentiment is superior
to the individual, as the Creator is superior to the
thing created. If I do what I believe to be a
wrong, I become less— less in manhood, less in
influence, and less in power. If I choose the right
and generous deed, in spite of personal inconveni
ence, I feel a throb and enlargement of heart and
will. If I take my stand on a truth, I partake of
its power, have the Universe under my feet as
support, and am superior to Fate. It is this senti
ment in us that checks ambition, when it becomes
leagued with unworthy means, restrains the im-
periousness of the passions, and counteracts the
centralising tendencies of selfishness. It is seen in
men's devotion to a principle at the expense of
their personal happiness ; in the power of love,
and the sacrifices it prompts. Its preponderance
in history has given the world its heroes. In pro
portion to men's earnestness and depth of thought,
have they risen above personal and selfish con
siderations, and Politics, Religion, Art, Science,
Philosophy, and Philanthropy, have all had their
martyrs.

236 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
Again the same balance is seen in Action.
Every natural power is evil, until the law of its
appearance, action, and conditions — in short, until
its cause is known. Steam is dangerous, but know
its law, and its unregulated power may be converted
into an instrument of good. The lightning-rod
conducts the obnoxious fluid harmlessly to the
ground, and, diluted by art, its healthy currents are
made to circulate through the body. On board
our ships, we mock the threatening waves, and
carry fire in our safety lamps through the midst of
explosive gases. And, indeed, all the arts (which
are merely applied science) shield us from the sharp
edges of the elements which they balance and an
tagonise. Looking over periods of time, observe, too, how
the present is the balance and equivalent of the
whole past, as the stamped coin is of the mountains
of ore from which it was extracted. The good of
the present is the expressed result of all that has
gone before. Liturgies are the picked prayers of
the ages, language the picked words, law the picked
processes, machinery the picked methods, and go
vernment the picked policies.
In the masses that constitute society, the same
law is seen in the balance of Custom and Inno
vation. We love novelty, but hate change. Society
is a horde of theorists, each of whom is rabid with
his scheme of social, moral, or political regeneration,

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 237
but in which each has an antidote against the con
tagious madness of his neighbour in Custom, — or
the holding fast to the old. Society is a tree that
puts forth its new cells, leaves, and buds, only as
fast as the old have attained sufficient rigidity for
their support. This balance of the old and new is
seen in every cell, in every fibre, in every leaf, in
every organ of every animal and vegetable. It
makes its appearance in politics in the parties of
Conservatism and Reform, — in those who stand on
the old and those who embrace the new. It has
become a political axiom that orderly progress is
best secured by the healthy play and interaction of
these two principles, which are not capricious or
accidental, but have their roots in fundamental
tendencies of the human mind.
As the Moral Sentiment is the balance power
in the Mind, so Might is the balance power in the
World. We have many enemies. Besides the
passions and unregulated desires within us, there is
the obstinacy of natural powers and the pressure of
aggressive enemies without us. The power, be it
physical, moral, or intellectual, that can most effect
ually counterbalance these, we call Might ; and in
action, it is the practical measure of Right. The
animal that can give most protection to the herd,
becomes the leader, and has the right to dominate.
Among savages, the chief being best able to pro
mote the interests of the tribe, and protect it from

238 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
surrounding enemies, has the right to impose his
will on the rest. Among civilised nations the same
thing holds. The English colonists have won their
right to rule wherever they have appeared, by
being the greatest power to organise and ameli
orate. The Romans, fallen into luxury and effemi
nacy, with every social tie relaxed, and the nation
ready to fall to pieces from internal decay, yielded
the right to rule to the rude but genuine valour of
the barbarians who overran the empire. The Turk,
having lost his Might, has lost his Right to rule in
Europe. The relation between Mights and Right?
is interesting, but as it is not immediately con
nected with my present purpose, I shall throw my
thoughts on it into a very small compass. Firstly,
I find that Political-morality lags behind Consti
tutional-morality ; and Constitutional-morality, be
hind Social-morality. Nations appeal to arms,
classes to constitutional weapons, and citizens to-
laws. The first is an appeal to Force, the second
to Self-interest, the last to Reason. The morality
of the first sanctions diplomacy or finesse ; of the
second, selfishness ; and of the last, social distinction.
What would be dishonourable in the citizen, would
be prudent in the partisan, and almost a virtue in
the diplomatist. Secondly, nations, classes, and
individuals appeal to Force in proportion to the
disparity of their Mights ; to arbitration, or Law,
in proportion to their equality. The history of

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 239-
nations is a long commentary on this text. The
principle, however, is modifiable by civilisation,
which increases the tendency to appeal to arbitra
tion. In the constitutional changes of this country,
there was no appeal to Reason until the relative
Mights were settled. In the struggles for Magna
Charta, power of the Commons, Catholic emanci
pation, Reform Bill, Free Trade, the appeal was to-
open force, or to the sword, thinly disguised under
constitutional forms. At the present, any infraction
of these rights is quietly decided by law. Thirdly,
no merely abstract right should be granted to any
class in the community, until they have attained
the might, i.e., the moral and intellectual power
fitting them to exercise it. This is especially true
in old countries.' where, even under the most des
potic forms, a working balance among the different
parts of the State somehow succeeds in getting
itself established. The reactionary excesses of the
French Republicans at the time of the Revolution,
were the best refutation of their principles. Uni
versal suffrage, established on merely theoretical
grounds, is impolitic. The fallacy lies in applying
the principles of Social-morality to class interests
— a capital error. In any complication Class-
morality will be applied, not the Social-morality
which the theorists expect. The appeal will not be
to Reason, but to Interest. To believe that where
power exists, it will not in time be exercised, is

-34o CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
simplicity. There have been many extensions of
popular privilege since the days of Elizabeth, but
the prerogatives of the Crown have departed. Who
does not see that the one is the inevitable conse
quence of the other ? And lastly, I conclude that
in the world, and among the relations of men, there
is no such thing as Abstract Right, but only in
God and the Human Soul ; and that the only
practical measure of Right is Might, or the power
of using means to ends. But to return.
As Might plays the active part in the balancing
of external conditions, so the power of Adaptation
plays the passive part. The balance that is every
where kept between animals and their habitats and
supply of food, between all organisms and their
environment, is secured by this power. Mr. Dar
win's book on the ' Origin of Species,' and indeed the
whole philosophy of Evolution is simply a detailed
illustration of this fact. I have shown above that
the radical Tendencies of all creatures are fixed
and unaccountable. Their organisations, however,
are changeable and modifiable by surrounding con
ditions. In man, speaking broadly, the Intuitions
are the fixed Tendencies, the Understanding is the
adapting power.
We have seen, then, that the World is con
stituted of a series of balances, on an ascending
scale. In physics, we found that action and reaction
were equal, that there was an equilibrium in ebb

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 241
and flow, centripetal and centrifugal motions, in
the compensating alternations of day and night,
sleep and wake. We found that ' all mental action
consisted of differentiations and integrations of
states of consciousness,' that the balance between
these two opposite states is necessary to health,
insanity being nothing but fixedness of thought
without change, or incessant change without rest.
We have seen, too, that the perturbations of the
passions in nations or individuals, were balanced
by natural reactions ; ' swarmeries ' of opinion, by
insight ; and local idolatries, by change of associa
tion. In the domain of Science we saw that the
immense variety of scientific facts was balanced by
the laws that underlie them, — individual facts, by
generalisations, and the widest generalisations, by
unity. Rising still higher into the region of the
Intuitions, we found that the moral sentiment was
the balance to selfishness ; the public nature in us to
our private interests ; benevolence to helplessness,
and hope to fear. And further, in looking at the
conversion of truth into action, we saw the same
provision made. We found that the dangerous
nature of the elements was counteracted by science
and art ; that Custom balanced Innovation ; the
Conservation of the Good, perpetual Change ; Con
servatism, Reform ; might, the resistance of circum
stances ; and the power of adaptation, the changes
of the environment. R

242 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
Such being the Constitution of the World, I
wish now to point out the Unity of Plan running
through the whole, so that begin where you will,
you find the same principle at work. Take, for
instance, our progress in culture. We observe a
few facts, and throw them into a general principle
of belief. On this, we stand and act, while acquir
ing further experience. We then enlarge our first
principle to balance the increase of facts, throw the
whole into a general principle again, and so on,
throughout the whole of our education, which is
only a repetition of the same process carried up
wards to higher and higher planes. The progress
of society is the same. Certain ideas are in the
air and dominate an age, balancing its acquired
experience. These determine the form of govern
ment, and on these it stands and works. Succeeding
generations, with wider knowledge and increased
power, finding themselves cramped by the institu-.
tions of other days, either slowly stretch or violently
rupture the bands, and throw out institutions more
in accord with present needs. This process repeats
itself, through the successive stages of Despotism,
Monarchy, and Democracy. In religion, too, the
same process is seen in the progress from Fetishism
and Man-worship, up to the most refined forms of
transcendental Theism.
Again, if we take a general survey of the World,
we shall see that this Unity of plan is not fanciful

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 243
or theoretical, but is worked into the very texture
of things. Take, for instance, the balance that is
everywhere kept between public and private in
terests. No leaf is suffered to overshadow the
plant, but in form and proportion is chastened into
harmony with the whole. Goethe said that pro
vision was made that no tree should grow into the
sky. Vegetable and animal life are so balanced, as
to keep the proportion of gases in the atmosphere
constant. An animal is furnished with powers of
aggression and self-defence, but subserves the har
mony of the whole by being the prey of another.
In man, the nature of this public element is found
to be Moral. The Moral Sentiment in us compels
us to respect the general good, while pushing our
individuality and self-interest to the farthest point.
We have seen, then, that the world is an ascend
ing scale of balances, with Physical forces at the
bottom, Moral at the top ; a ladder with its foot on
Earth, its summit in Heaven. We have seen, too,
the unity of plan running through the whole sys
tem of things to the remotest fibre ; so that the
most insignificant object, even a grain of sand or
blade of grass, is a microcosm, or mirror of the
Universe. And now we have to determine whether the
Cause of all this is Physical or Moral, i.e., whether
the Physical forces at the bottom are the same that
appear (under other names) at the top ; or whether

244 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
the Moral Power, that is consciously present at the
top, is the Soul and animating principle of the
whole. A little reflection will show it is the latter.
One secret of the world is, that although the evi
dence of Power is everywhere manifest, the charac
ter of that Power only appears in the highest or
ganizations. Let me illustrate this. There is a
gradation of rank in the vegetable and animal king
doms, ascent on ascent of organization and powers.
But nowhere, except in the human mind, is this
Scale present as a conscious intuition. The unceas
ing struggle of Nature to pass into higher forms
(as it has done in the past), and to attain a purer
expression, becomes in . Man a conscious impulse.
The same is true of Beauty. The order of the
world is maintained by a system of balances. The
perfection and harmonious play of these balances
is beauty. It is this harmony that constitutes the
beauty of leaf and flower, plant and tree, animal
and man, of feature and character, of music, danc
ing, poetry, and art. I doubt not it was in this
sense that Goethe said, ' The Beautiful includes
in it the Good.' But although beauty is every
where present in Nature, in the Human Mind alone
is it a conscious intuition. Again, the adaptation
of means to ends, known to us as intelligence, is
seen everywhere. Nature constructs an eye on the
same principle as we construct a telescope. We
discover independently the laws of mechanism, and

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 24;
use them for our own purposes, and afterwards find
that we have been following the Divine Methods.
So, too, the Identity that underlies a variety of
forms, in Man becomes a conscious perception. The
same feeling may be expressed in many unlike
ways — in word or deed, in expression of eye, into
nation of voice, or gesture of body. Through the
countless unlike actions of every day, we detect the
same character. The genius of a nation is ex
pressed alike in its history, its drama, its art, its
literature. This Identity appears in Nature under
the most opposite external appearances. The wing
of a bird answers to the fore-limb of a mammal ; the
cannon-bone of a horse, to the middle metacarpal
of the human hand ; and the bones in the skull of
a fish, to those in the skull of a man. Endless
changes of structure, like the variations of a- well-
known air, are wrought on a simple type. The
affinities, too, that are felt in the mind, pervade
matter also, and appear in the attraction and re
pulsion of atoms, in the chemical affinities, in mag
netism, and in sex. The identity of the individual
mind behind all the illusions by which it is fasci
nated and detained, in its progress from youth to
age, gives the Idealist a hint of Absolute Reality,
and of the illusoriness of the external world.
Again, the Will. We are placed here on earth
in the midst of thick-streaming influences. We are
surrounded by physical and moral laws which hem

246 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
us in on all sides. These laws are incessant in
their action — are immutable and inexorable. But
their existence becomes apparent only when objects
are brought within their range. Were there no
bodies to fall, gravitation would not have been dis
covered. The laws of chemical combination would
never have been known, could the elements not
have been brought into proximity. Had men not
been brought into mutual relationship, the moral
law would have remained hidden. Now, we are
conscious of the Will as that free power, by which
we can either bring ourselves and the objects sur
rounding us into polarity with these laws, or remove
ourselves from their range. We dip the waterwheel
into the stream, to turn the machinery of our mills.
We put water into a heated boiler, to get its force
for locomotion. We put ourselves under the law
of Conscience, and have God himself for our sup
port. We withdraw from the Divine currents, and
become shrunk and desiccated. This Will, then,
which in us is a conscious power, is seen throughout
Nature in the beautiful adaptation by which every
thing is placed where it is wanted ; and is as plainly
at work behind ' natural selection ' as behind our
simplest choice.
And now we may see why the Cause of the
Universe is moral. Because, although it is con
sciously present only in the mind of Man, it appears
everywhere in Nature in objects that have no Moral

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 247
Sense. It is the public element, which we saw not
only in the Moral Sentiment in man, but in the
provision that is made to keep every leaf, every
plant, every tree, and every animal in strict
subordination to the welfare of the Whole.
The necessity for a balance is so imminent, that
provision is made for it everywhere. The mind is
self-balancing, and throws out a weight wherever
it is needed. Our desires stretch out to infinitude,
but in this finite world full gratification is impos
sible. We contract our wishes, and so re-establish
a working balance. The squalid ' houses of arrest'
in Paris, in the Reign of Terror, were crowded
with prisoners awaiting their fate. Under such
circumstances, we might have expected the anxiety
and tension of mind to have been extreme. But,
by an inherent necessity, a reaction quickly fol
lowed, and they threw out surroundings that would
balance their painful situation. They fell into
order, took their respective ranks, started music
and games, flirtations and jealousies, and with
ghastly mimicry ' acted the guillotine.' The litera
ture of Europe from the fifth to the tenth century
is a fine illustration of the same necessity. It con
sisted in little but legends of the saints and mar
tyrs. In real life, physical force was the sole appeal
in all disputes. There were no general principles
of right, no high moral principles abroad, no power
in moral force to shield from outrage. Chivalry

248 ' CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
had not yet appeared, slavery was everywhere
prevalent, and in the world, the higher intuitions of
the mind and the finer sensibilities of the heart
were painfully denied their arena. And yet see
how the mind was necessitated to throw out a
balance. To have cut off the higher elements of
our nature for want of a sphere of activity, would
have been to dissipate the mind itself, and would
have been as impossible as to find a positive with
out a negative pole to a battery. These legends
were adapted to the particular strokes of Fate to
which, men were exposed. They turned on the
cruelties of slavery and the blessings of liberty ; on
the power of moral rather than of physical force ;
on purity of feeling ; on affection and sympathy,
kindness and sensibility.
The same necessity gives rise to the whole em
pire of illusions. The boy requires surroundings
that will give his nature a firmer poise than his
schoolbooks can afford. He throws them out in
his amusements and games, which have all the
force of reality with him, and with which he is
thoroughly in earnest ; while the girl takes naturally
to dolls. Later, as his mind develops, he requires
a more delicate and elevated thought on which fo
rest, and he surrounds his early love with the
flower of his fancies. This is a beautiful and
glorious unfolding, and communicates an infinite
elasticity to the whole nature. In adult life we

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 249
require a hero to satisfy our longing for harmony,
and as an offset to the prosy monotony of the
world. If we cannot find a real, we make an arti
ficial one, and agree that he shall represent and
embody our thought. The jury is packed, and we
give him every allowance. For a time his autho
rity is final. Agreement with his opinion, and ap
proximation to his practice, become the measure of
truth and beauty, in thought and action ; while
dissidence is the measure of deformity. Late or
never we find his limitations, and learn that our
ideal exists in God alone.
The same necessity is the origin of all religion,
poetry, and art. The tardy world comes late to its
maturity, but in the meantime we anticipate the
dilatory fact, by constructing for ourselves an ideal
world. Religion is the auxiliary on which we rely
to counteract the powers of Necessity, and as we
have seen, its character is the reflection of our
culture. ' Poetry,' says Carlyle, ' is the attempt man
makes to render his life harmonious.' Beauty is
everywhere present in the World, but has not as.
yet freed itself from the impurities of organisation.
It is diffused through matter, like a delicate aroma,
and requires fine sensibilities fot its detection. The
poet traces the finer lines that escape the common
eye. As the diffused electricity of the atmosphere
can be collected by art, and condensed into Leyden

250 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE
jars ; so, in the poem which the true poet gives us,
we have the condensed beauty of the World. In
music, too, there is something that cannot be found
in life. Jean Paul Richter says of it, ' Away !
away ! thou speakest to me of such things as in all
this endless life I have not found, and shall not
find.' The necessity of a balance makes the fasci
nation of art, and is shown in all degrees of pro
ficiency, from the rudest scrawlings of the child to
the beautiful idealisations of Raphael and Angelo.
And now, in concluding, I have to point out
that, besides the successive planes of equilibrated
thought, there is also, in the World and in the
Human Mind, the Divine. This is the deep back
ground, the mysterious incomprehensible Life that
envelops us all ; the Spirit, from which emanate
the countless myriads of creatures that bloom their
little lives and fade away ; out of which we have
emerged for a moment, and into which we vanish ;
a thing of wonder, unspeakable, awful. Over its
unfathomable depths, the endless procession of life
glides like ripples over the deep sea. It is the
¦endless generator of things, the source of this per
petual becoming. It is the Public Nature of the
World, and is seen less in individual objects, than
in the landscape ; in individual actions, than in
moral order ; in special talents, than in genius. As
it is in the World, so it is in the Human Mind. It
is this, which we feel to be the real balance power

CONSTITUTION OF THE WORLD. 251
in the constitution. It is this that gives Truth its
power, Virtue its courage, Love its sacrifice, but is
itself no special point of truth, virtue, and love. It
is this to which all men appeal for justice from
oppression. It is this that shines through all the
fetishes, images, or deities, under which, in different
ages and stages of culture, men have sought to
embody the Divine Idea. It is this to which all
men draw nigh to worship. It is this which is the
infinite horizon of truth, which we for ever approach
and which for ever recedes. It is this which inspires
virtue, but before which each particular virtue fades,
and which lures us on to higher efforts. It is this
which inspires success, and then condemns it in the
light of more glorious attempts. We cannot define
it or comprehend it, but ' it exists, and will exist'
To this Being we have given the name of God.

252

GOD OR FORCE?
IN the minds of many cultivated people, at the
present time, there is a growing belief in the efficacy
of Science to solve the deepest problems of life.
There is an increasing tendency towards scientific
teaching in our schools and colleges ; and books are
written to show, that of all kinds of education, it is
of the most value, morally and intellectually.
Students leave the lecture-room imbued with its
principles, and its methods are believed to be of
universal application to the affairs of life. Ever
and anon, the world is apprised of some new dis
covery, which threatens the existence of consecrated
dogma or traditional belief. Its facts have accu
mulated from year to year, and its present large
body of systematised knowledge, has seemed to its
leaders sufficient to justify some attempt at a
theory of the Universe. Mr. Herbert Spencer has
undertaken the task, and has worked it out elab
orately in his Philosophy of Evolution. This
philosophy rests entirely on scientific inductions,
and, proceeding from generalisation to generalisa
tion, ever widening and deepening, at last brings us

GOD OR FORCE? 253
down to an Unknown Force as the Cause of all
things. An Unknown Force our God ! and, in an
age, too, when all our old beliefs have fallen into
decrepitude. The effect of this last result of
scientific thought on the present age, may be easily
foreseen. Not a few will have already felt its
blighting influence on their lives and character.
Many who have the heart and capacity to worship,
will attempt in vain to kneel before this cold ab
straction, and, in despair, will fly back to their
early creed. The more narrow, intense, and egoistic
minds will become its undisguised propagandists,
and boldly avow their atheism. Some will plod on
in sluggish discontent, or plunge into excesses ;
while the excitements of wealth and ambition will
afford to others a passing solacement. But to a
few life would be unendurable without belief in a
God. These will press on, through thickening
doubts, to the very midnight of unbelief, lonely
and hopeless, surely, but still onward, till they
either fall weary by the way, or cheered by glimpses
of the approaching dawn, gather new courage and
come out into the freshness of morning and the
glorious sun once more.
The present writer has had his own difficulty,
in lifting himself out of this fog of unbelief, into a
clearer atmosphere. He remembers well the long
misery he endured, after his first patient study of
Mr. Spencer's writings. Here was a theory of the

254 GOD OR FORCE t
Universe, founded on an enormous mass of scientific
facts, of all degrees of certainty, clearly wrought out,
logically consistent, and cohering well in all its
parts, with evidences of candour, patient investiga*
tion, and great range and subtlety of thought,
visible on every page. No desire to blink diffi
culties or suppress obnoxious facts anywhere ap
peared, and over the whole rested a certain
philosophical calmness, which, by inspiring con
fidence, tended to conviction ; certainly the deepest
and most subtle system of Materialism of modern
times. The study of these writings produced a
belief in the general conclusion there wrought out
— an Unknown Force at the bottom of all things,
which you clearly perceived was no God, although
you were invited to satisfy your religious feelings
at that altar. With nothing to fill up the heart,
the result was naturally a weariness of life, which
(in the absence of the usual objects of ambition,
which were felt to be illusions that could not
satisfy any deep spiritual longing), was now with
out an aim. The routine actions of every day, not
being quickened by life from above, or irradiated
by Duty (which had now become an empty name),
oppressed the spirit still more, and the sickened
heart turned from them with loathing. It seemed
as if there were to be no end to this state of mind.
I applied for assistance to one of our greatest
living thinkers, as I had inferred from his writings

GOD OR FORCE? 255.
that he had undergone a similar experience. He
gave me generous assurances of his sympathy, told
me not to despair, and that time would do every
thing for me With lightened heart, I struggled on,
and the many inconsistencies which, superficially
seen, life presents, and which lend ready support to
atheism, were gradually lessened by more patient
study. This encouraged me to persevere until I
should arrive at such a harmonious view of the
World, as would satisfy my deepest feelings. The
remaining difficulties, one by one, gradually dis
appeared ; and I now feel that no Materialism can
again shake the firm belief I have in a God who
made and still directs this Universe. The present
essay has been written with the desire of separating,
as far as possible, the larger threads, from the web
of thoughts and feelings that have influenced me in
this belief, for the consideration of those who can
find no rest for their souls in Materialism, but who
have, as yet, found no escape from its arguments
and conclusions. I shall aim only at presenting
the leading thoughts ; for all deep beliefs contain
elements so fine and evanescent, although none the
less influential, that it is impossible to reproduce
them all. The attempt will be facilitated, perhaps,
by a brief consideration of some of the leading
causes in philosophy and life, which have pre
vented a harmonious view of the World. These
may be arranged under four heads : —

256 GOD OR FORCE?
i. The neglect of the Scale in the Mind.
2. The attempt to account for the World from
without, instead of from within.
3. The confusion in the choice of the instru
ments by which Truth is apprehended.
4. The looking at the World with too micro
scopic an eye.
The Scale in the Mind. — This is the deepest
fact in the human consciousness, standing at the
back of all our thoughts, feelings, and impulses,
and giving them their relative dignities. It will
be best described, perhaps, by indicating the part
it plays in our intelligence, which is built up and
organised around it, like crystals. The havoc that
would be made of all our ideas, if it were cut out
of the mind, attests its importance. Properly
speaking, it is not a faculty, but is rather the
measure of the faculties, giving them their relative
subordinations. By it Justice, Goodness, Truth,
and Beauty are marked high, while the physical
sensations, appetites, and passions are marked low.
All persons and institutions take their ranking
from it, and the hierarchy in the world and in
society is but a better or worse reflection of this
hierarchy in the mind ; and without it would fall
into chaos. It is, perhaps, the most important
distinction, too, between Man and the lower crea
tion. Animals have no scale. With them, nothing
is either high or low, noble or base. They follow

GOD OR FORCE? 257
all their instincts indifferently, without compunc
tion and without choice. The Scale is the same in
all men, and has preserved its immutability through
all ages. The Feejean, it is true, considers murder
a high and noble act, while we consider it a base
and execrable one. But it is not the Scale that
has varied. It is merely a difference of opinion
as to what actions are to be ranked high and what
low, such as we find in a greater or less degree in
every age and nation. By the Scale, too, we get the
idea of quality as distinguished from quantity.
Hence a spark of high virtue outweighs mountains
of utility. The materialists attempt to show that
unselfishness springs from selfishness, that rever
ence and conscience spring from fear, and that
beauty springs from an aggregate of low, pleasur
able associations. But these respective attributes,
as they range themselves along the Scale, are seen
to be as different in their essential natures as a
beautiful flower is different from the unsightly root
out of which it grows. It is the Scale alone that
puts the immense interval between force of Mind
and force of Gravitation ; and, without it, God and
Force were one. It for ever repudiates the boasted
victory of Science over Religion, by announcing
that the essential truths of each lie on different
planes. By it we are forced to believe that the
First Cause of things is not only more powerful,
but also higher than ourselves. By it we are made
S

258 GOD OR FORCE?
to feel that Pleasure is only a means, but that ele
vation in the scale of Being is the end of human
existence. It has been remarked by Carlyle that
there is nothing so interesting to Man as Man, as
is proved by the large element of personality that
enters into nearly all conversation. I might add
that in conversation respecting persons, there is
nothing so interesting as this ranking of men and
their procedure, as good, bad, indifferent, and the
like. The greater number of adjectives, perhaps,
In every language reflect in one form or another
the Scale in the mind. They express different
shades of quality and attribute, in positive, com
parative, and superlative degrees.
From the above considerations it is evident that
the Scale plays so important a part in the Mind,
that any philosophy which ignores or neglects it is
doomed. Its neglect was the root-error in many
of the ancient philosophies. The Epicureans, for
example, made Pleasure the end of life. Under the
one term they mixed and confounded the pleasures
of virtue and the pleasures of sense, and gave the
preference to bulk rather than to quality — to the
sand and gravel rather than to the precious stones.
If the pleasure that Socrates felt in rubbing his leg
after his fetters were removed was greater than the
sublime blessedness he felt in dying for virtue, it
was to be preferred and followed. They thus ig
nored the Scale entirely, and in doing so failed to

GOD OR FORCE? 259
see that between the higher and lower pleasures
there can be no comparison made, as there is be
tween them no community of nature or attribute.
The Stoics, in their reaction against the Epicureans,
fell into the same error under another form. They
made Virtue the only good, and everything else
indifferent, neither good nor evil. In doing so they
lost sight of the graduation ; for, although Virtue is
the highest good, many other things are good also,
if in a less degree. Modern Scientific Materialism
Is convicted of inadequacy for the like reason. It
professes to account for the phenomena of life,
mental as well as physical, by physical laws alone,
i.e., by the knowledge which is derived through the
outer senses. But to the senses there is no Scale.
To the senses there can be no difference in dignity
between the motions of the matter which forms a
crystal, and the motions of the nervous fluid which
forms a thought. To the senses, there can be no
difference in nature between the motions of the
brain which correspond to a feeling of magnanimity
and self-sacrifice, and the motions which cor
respond to a feeling of self-love and selfishness.
The Materialist, therefore, cannot assume the Scale.
If he does assume it, it is only by abdicating his
own standpoint, and working out his theories by
the help of an intuition which he professes to dis
card. If he does not assume it, he is committed to
endless absurdities. For without it he cannot show

260 GOD OR FORCE?
that man is superior to the vegetable ; that self-
sacrifice is higher than selfishness ; duty, than dis
honesty ; reverence, than fear. Mr. Spencer, the
most wary and far-sighted of the Materialists, when
he is consistent with himself, ignores the Scale, and
we shall now see what it reduces him to. He
gravely asks us to consider whether, after all, there
is much to choose between the force of mind and
the force of heat. Mind, he is willing to admit,
can do some things which heat cannot. For
example, it can invent a sun-glass, and bring the
rays of the sun to a focus. But heat, in other
respects, has the advantage over mind, inasmuch
as it can melt the diamond which is placed within
that focus. This comes of ignoring the Scale.
But when the absurdities to which his philosophy
reduces him begin to thicken around him, he is
forced illegitimately to assume the Scale. He then
tells us that life is high in proportion to the com
plexity and extent of an animal's relations. For
this reason a man is higher than a beaver, a beaver
than a polyp. But, unless the Scale is assumed,
why should the more complex organisation be
higher than the simple ? Why not the simple be
higher than the complex ? If he reply that the
more complex can fulfil a greater number of ends
than the simple, we have still to ask why that
should constitute it a higher thing ; and, again, no
answer can be given, except by assuming the Scale.

GOD OR FORCE? 261
Indeed, except by assuming the Scale, it would be
impossible to show the superiority of mind over
the clod of matter on which we tread.
Again, as Materialism cannot assume the Scale,
neither can it account for it. It may point out the
relation that exists between the nervous structure
of the brain and our thoughts and feelings. It
may argue that difference in structure necessitates
difference in function. But although, in this way,
it may account for differences in our feelings, it is
impossible to account for this fixed ranking of
them. It cannot be accounted for on any Ex
perience or Evolution-hypothesis. The intuitive
thinkers who accept the whole human conscious
ness as their standpoint, can, of course, consistently
assume the Scale. But nowhere, as far as I am
aware, have they brought it into the foreground,
and used it as a philosophical weapon.
I now proceed to the second great cause of one
sided and inharmonious thinking, viz., the attempt
to account for the World from without, i.e., from
the outer senses, instead of from within, i.e., from
the inner consciousness.
The Scientific Materialists, as I have said, at
tempt to account for the World by physical laws
lalone — that is to say, by the laws generalised from
observations made by the outer senses. I shall
now endeavour to show the hopelessness of their
undertaking. To commence with, there are certain

262 GOD OR FORCE?
regions of knowledge which are quite inaccessible
to the senses, and therefore to Science. Take,
first, our knowledge of human character. I see,
for example, certain manifestations of the feeling
which is known to us as anger. These manifest
ations consist of tones, looks, and gestures, all of
which are unlike to the senses. They have nothing
in common, and cannot therefore be generalised, or
reduced to a single principle. But by referring;
them to a feeling which I have within myself, I at
once understand them. In like manner, a man's
love or ambition, his virtue or vice, his genius or
aspirations, are quite beyond the reach of the-
senses, and can be known only from within. But
this interpreting element of feeling which is within
us, is precisely what Science cannot assume, as it is
pledged to interpret from the senses alone. The
utmost that Science can possibly do is to show
how the structure and action of the brain, of which
thought and feeling are the outcome, follow from
physical laws. But what relation is there between
the structure and action of the brain, and the nature
of the thought and feeling ? There is none what
ever. A few cells and fibres more, make all the
difference, in the eyes of Science, between a monkey
and a civilised European. A few cells morel
What a revelation there may be in these few cells !
What a dominating thought they may give the
world ! There is clearly no relation whatever

GOD OR FORCE? 263
between these cells and the nature of the thought
they carry.
The highest works of genius, too, depend on
knowledge which comes from within. Is not
Shakspeare's acknowledged intellectual superiority
due principally to his intense power of realisation,
or of being, for the moment, the character he is
describing ? Does not his fine tracing of passion,
in all its fluctuations, depend on his realising the
situation from within ? In music, poetry, and
painting, the great master gives us this inner truth,
and impresses on his works the harmony of his own
inner nature. Science follows slowly in his foot
steps, and merely arranges and gives laws to what
he has invented. In this way have been formed
the laws of composition, laws of colouring, and the
like. History, again, must be interpreted from
within. For what can we know of its heroes and
heroic deeds, unless we can grasp the spirit by
which they were inspired, by the spirit within our
selves. Political sagacity, too, depends on the
statesman's power of realising the complex feel
ings, prejudices, and interests of the different classes
in a nation, with the view of determining the effect
that any piece of legislation may have upon them.
The highest and most important part of human
knowledge is thus derived from our inner nature,
and is entirely inaccessible to Science. But the
materialists repudiate the inner feelings altogether

264 GOD OR FORCE?
as an instrument of knowledge. Mr. Spencer
thinks that they disturb the intellectual balance,
and accordingly discards them. Let me therefore
indicate, still farther, the important part they play
in our intelligence. We have already seen that
love only can detect love, anger detect anger, sen
timent detect sentiment. We have seen, too, that
insight is the power of realising the same feeling in
ourselves, as is in the object which we wish to
understand. But, besides this, the feelings help the
memory. A strain of music, for example, will
often recall a train of long-forgotten circumstances,
by arousing the feelings with which they were
associated. Unity of feeling makes the poem.
Impression or feeling is one of the finest ingredients
in sagacity. The physician's impressions, after long
practice, give him a finer apprehension of disease
than the catalogue of symptoms in the books.
The knowledge we get from experience is a mix
ture of vivid and faint impressions, or feelings.
The vivid ones remain as clear and sharply-defined
opinions. The faint ones lie in an unformulated
state in the background of the mind, and go to
make up our intuitions. For this reason our first
impressions of men are often the best. All intuitive
sagacity springs from this background of indefinite
impression. And, lastly, the feelings are the hints
we have given us of Final Cause. Otherwise, why
have the feelings at all ? Why not go through

GOD OR FORCE? 265
our necessary actions automatically, like the heart,
liver, stomach, and other organs of the body ?
The difference in the nature of our different feel
ings indicates where the emphasis of thought and
action is to be laid. In the lower appetites, pas
sions, and propensities, for example, the feeling is
short, intense, and low in character, indicating to
us that, although most indispensable, they are not to
be dwelt upon. The nobler sentiments and aspira
tions of our nature are, on the contrary, equable,
long-continued, and high in character, indicating
that they are to be pursued as permanent ends.
And thus we see again that Pleasure is only a means,
but that elevation of Character is the end of life.
That the Materialists should reject the inner
feelings as instruments of knowledge, need not sur
prise us when we consider the mechanical method
by which they arrive at truth in general. Mr.
Spencer has the honour of the discovery, and after
using it himself, he confidently recommends it to
us, as the key to every philosophical difficulty.
His plan, in short, is ' to compare all opinions of
the same genus ; to set aside as more or less dis
crediting each other those various special and con
crete elements in which such opinions disagree ; to
observe what remains after the discordant con
stituents are eliminated ; and to find for this re
maining constituent that abstract expression which
holds true throughout its divergent modifications.'

266 GOD OR FORCE?
That is to say, you are to take the opinion of
everyone you meet, on any given point, rub these
opinions together, until the last trace of divergence
is worn away, and the common element that re
mains is the truth. Now I had always thought
that the highest intellect would reveal the highest
truth, and that between the opinion of Plato and a
cowherd, or of Shakspeare and one of his own
clowns, there was about as much in common as
between the opinion of a man and an ape. This
jumbling of all opinions can give us only the
tritest and lowest truth ; and, indeed, it remains
with Mr. Spencer to show why the ape's opinion
should not be included also, now that the wall
which formerly separated man from the brute has
been cunningly removed by Scientific Thinkers.
We have seen, then, that Scientific thinkers, by
taking their stand on the Senses, are excluded from
the highest and most important part of human
knowledge. Taking their stand on a part of the
mind, only a part of the phenomena of the World
is open to their method of research. It is absurd ,
therefore, for them to hope to account for the
World by physical laws ; for no manipulation of a
part can account for the whole.
The impossibility of accounting for the World
by any scientific hypothesis will be further mani
fested, if we give the facts a different arrangement.
The World consists of an endless diversity of

GOD 6>/? FORCE? 267
objects, — rocks, earth, crystals, plants, animals,
and Man. These objects are made up of forces of
every description, which, for convenience, we may
include under the terms physical and spiritual.
The order in which these forces are manifested to
us is known as the physical and spiritual laws of
the World. The physical are discovered by the
outer senses. The spiritual lie beyond the reach of
the outer senses, and are known only to the inner
consciousness. For example, the tendency that
all bodies have to fall to the ground, is manifested
to the sense of sight, and is a physical Law. The
tendency that all men have to increase their power
and influence, is only known to the inner senses, if
I may use the term, and is a spiritual Law. We
have equal certainty of the existence of these laws.
They are alike uniform in their action, and can be
predicted with equal confidence. Exceptions to
either are equally the results of other laws contra
vening them. But, although we have equal know
ledge of physical and spiritual laws, we have not
equal knowledge of physical and spiritual forces. I
can know the laws of heat and electricity, which the
physicist announces from behind his batteries and
retorts ; but what do I know of the forces called
heat and electricity ? I cannot know them, because
I cannot realise them in myself. But the spiritual
forces I do know, for I can realise them in myself.
Justice, Beauty, Goodness, Aspiration, I directly

268 GOD OR FORCE?
know from my own consciousness. Consider, too,
the biologist. Armed with scalpel and microscope,
he lays bare the inmost structure of animals, and
announces the hidden resemblances that exist under
the diversity of external appearances. The little
bird that sings so sweetly to me, he gives a name
to, and refers it to this or that species or class. He
calls this a knowledge of the bird ; but, at bottom,
what do I really know of the bird, but as much
only of its little joy or grief as I can interpret from
within myself. Looked at with the eye of Science,
therefore, the World can be neither known nor
understood, and is nothing more than a dead
catalogue of unknown and unmeaning forces, lying
around us, without end, aim, or unity. But looked
at with the inner or spiritual eye, these forces are
seen to combine, and to work for ends which we
can ourselves realise and understand. They are
seen to work for Beauty, Goodness, Justice, and
Truth. Then Nature becomes alive with thoughts,
which are also thoughts of our own minds ; she is
no longer foreign and unrelated, but draws us to
her by a poetic sympathy. I shall endeavour,
farther on, to show how the forces of the World
work together for these great ends.
In the meantime, I proceed to the third great
cause of inharmonious thinking, viz., the confusion
in the choice of the instruments by which the dif
ferent orders of truth are to be apprehended.

GOD OR FORCE? 269
Although the faculties of the mind, like the
organs of the body, are mutually interdependent,
and form an organic unity, like the organs of the
body, too, they have each their own special and ap
propriate functions. The senses, for example, apprize
us of the vicinity of objects that are to be sought
or avoided — that are beneficial or injurious to us.
The generalising faculty of the mind shows us the
order and connexion of these objects, and shapes
and adjusts them to our necessities and use. The
inner spiritual senses find their sphere in the world
of beauty, beneficence, and omnipresent Power
around us, and pay homage to these in worship,
art, and self-renunciation. The special senses
cease their function when they have supplied us
with the raw material of knowledge ; the general
ising faculty, when it has given order to this ma
terial ; to the inner spiritual senses alone, is the
Soul, that works through and behind all things, dis
closed. We have many hints given us that these
different instruments of knowledge are limited in
their range, and soon discover that any mistake in
their application is punished by confusion of
thought. The eyes are adapted only to a limited
range of vision ; the touch to a limited degree of
fineness. When the mind (basing its judgments
on experience) passes the finite, it becomes self-
contradictory, and can neither conceive of space
without end, nor of an end to space. The beauty

270 GOD OR FORCE?
that is apparent to the naked eye vanishes under
the microscope, and the landscape pleases only
when seen from a distance, where ugly details are
lost to view.
Now, one of the most fruitful sources of error
and confusion has been the presenting of spiritual
truth in such a form as to subject it to the tests of
ordinary experience. It has been the bane of
Religion, and one of the prime causes of atheism.
Religion is the belief which is engendered in the
soul of Man by the contemplation of the phe
nomena of the World. It refers not to visible
Nature, but to that which lies behind visible Nature ;
not to the moving phenomena of Time, but to
their ever-present Cause. The knowledge of this
ever-present Cause, like the knowledge of a man's
mind or character, lies quite beyond the reach of
the outer senses, and can be apprehended only by
our inner spiritual nature. It is a formless belief
in a formless Reality. It has nothing in common
with the knowledge derived from experience. In
thinking of a generalisation of Science, for
example, we have always present to the mind the
image of one or more of the facts or experiments
from which it is deduced. But in thinking of the
invisible Cause that lies behind Nature, we can
have no such image. It is clear, therefore, that
spiritual and religious beliefs cannot be tested in
the same way, or brought before the same tribunal,

GOD OR FORCE? 271
as beliefs founded on visible and sensible expe
riences. But . we . are so constituted that we can
only express our beliefs by symbols that are palp
able to one or other of the senses. To commu
nicate our thoughts to others, we embody them in
language. If they are poetic thoughts, they are
embodied in the language of metaphor, or in the
language of painting and sculpture. If they are
spiritual thoughts, they are embodied in creeds,
formulas, rituals, images, and the like. But as the
same thought may be expressed in a hundred
unlike forms, as the same poetic feeling may clothe
Itself in a hundred different metaphors, as the same
trait of mind or character may be embodied in a
hundred different deeds, so the same spiritual con
ceptions may be represented by a hundred differ
ent symbols. It is true that one mode of ex»
pressing a thought may, by its pertinency, be more
felicitous than another. It is equally true that
one spiritual symbol, by its harmony with our
knowledge and culture, and its power of calling up
the religious sentiment, may be more appropriate
than another. In so far as this is the case, it has,
of course, a greater relative value. But the best
symbol is, after all, only a symbol, and must not
be confounded with the conception which it exists
to represent. We never lose sight of this distinc
tion in works of art. We do not ask the artist to
give us literal truth in his picture of the landscape.

272 GOD OR FORCE?
We are satisfied if, by the skilful disposition and
combination of colour and form, he gives us the
spirit of the scene. We do not ask the dramatist
to give us literal truth in his dialogue. It is enough
if he can make his fictitious characters so speak
and act as to lay bare the secret springs and mo
tives of the human heart. But we imagine that
creeds and other spiritual symbols are, in them
selves, fixed, unalterable, and essential truths. We
have accordingly exacted as implicit a belief in
them as in the spiritual truths which they symbolise.
We have embodied our conception of God in a
concrete form, and have exacted belief in that form.
We have wrapped our spiritual conceptions in
creeds, more or less sensuous and personal in
character, and have exacted belief in those creeds.
In thus binding essence and form into one concrete
whole, we have brought it, like other concrete
realities, to the tribunal of experience, and have
subjected it to the criticisms of Science. This fatal
error has been sternly compensated, as all error is.
Science boasts of having hunted the Deity from
covert to covert, pulling down His retreats, thin
ning His adherents, until it is now believed He is
a phantasy, and sceptics ask sneeringly, Where is
your God ? Creeds which were once fresh and
young, when pressed, in their withered old age, on
the lusty intellect of the nineteenth century, excite
only aversion and disgust, and are ignominiously

GOD OR FORCE? 273
spurned. And thus Religion itself is insulted and
degraded. There is scarcely a single high truth of
the intuition which we have not dragged down
and arraigned before the bar of experience. All
attempts to obtain a favourable verdict from this
tribunal have been ineffectual. The subtleties of
the Schoolmen were barren of fruit. They dis
covered nothing, and established nothing, but ran
round in an eternal circle. The endless iteration
only weakened truth, and wore off its edge. The*
belief in the Immortality of the Soul, with all high
thinkers, rests rather on a broad intuition than on
a catalogue of reasons. But when the theologians
got it on their anvil, they drew it out into a score
of logical threads, which were snipped by the
scissors of the materialists as fast as they were
formed. The Trinity, too, when regarded spiri
tually as the expression of the relation existing
between the Divine Cause and the sides of the
human spirit, is a high and noble truth. But the
doctrine of the Trinity, which originated in the de
sire to adapt this truth to the vulgar mind, and
which was enforced by arguments drawn from the
flame of a candle, was broken, when it had hard
ened into an article of faith by the same hammers
which had forged it. Such have been, and ever
will be, the consequences of bringing down the
high truths of our spiritual nature to the vulgar
T

274 GOD OR FORCE?
platform of the senses, to be wrangled over by an
insolent and contemptuous logic. The cause of
this degradation of Religion lies in the imbecility of
the masses of men, and their inability to distin
guish between form and essence. Kings, for example,
in the eyes of men of insight, exist merely as the
representatives of law, order, and justice. But
what do the masses know or care about the repre
sentative character of kings ? They believe, on
the contrary, that they are there on their own
account, and by their own right, that they are of
different flesh and blood, and are as much an ordi
nance of Nature as the sun and moon. In like
manner, creeds have to the wise only a represen
tative or symbolical value. But to the vulgar, they
are part of the eternal decrees. Religious teachers,
unable to lift this dead weight of stupidity and
superstition, have sunk down to it and become part
of it. In so doing, they have brought on them
selves the criticisms of Science, and have been
accessory to that scepticism which they so much
deplore. The secret of harmonious insight lies in know
ing, as Bacon says, when to contract the sight and
when to dilate it. To discover the physical and
organic laws of Nature, the naked senses alone do
not suffice. We have to arm them with instru
ments, which, like the microscope, increase their
power and delicacy. But we must drop these in-

GOD OR FORCE? 375
struments when we come to investigate the broad
relations that exist between one object and another,
or between the different parts of the same object.
The function of the biceps muscle, for example, is
as clearly to flex the forearm, as the function of
the eye is to enable us to see. But it is evident
that if we were to decompose the muscle into the
innumerable cells and fibres which go to form it,
and apply the microscope to each of them in turn,
we never could understand its function at all. In
the same way, to see the harmony of the World as
a whole, we must take the higher faculties as our
point of interpretation. While, in Science, we take
our stand on the outer senses, and use the micro
scope as an instrument of research, in World-
insight we take our stand on the spiritual powers,
and use the outer senses as instruments of research.
Science, by itself, can never see the harmony or
unity of the World. Its generalisations are based
On a likeness which is palpable to the senses. But
the World is made up of phenomena between many
of which there is no such likeness ; as, for example,
between a strain of music, a beautiful flower, and a
poem. It is only when we take our stand on the
higher faculties, that the subtle spiritual affinities,
which unite these unlike phenomena, become ap
parent. The perception of these affinities gave
Bacon that breadth and vastness of understanding
for which he is so justly renowned. For analogy,

276 GOD OR FORCE?
which is the weakest and least significant of logical
or scientific relations, is the most powerful of
spiritual ones. There is variety at the circumfer
ence of the World, unity at the centre. To the
outer senses all things are more or less unlike, less-
so to the generalising faculty, which shows laws
running through them, until to the inner spiritual
senses there is unity or sameness of impression..
The truth is, insight into the World is got in much
the same way as insight into the mind and cha
racter of Man. For how could I understand a
man's mind or character except by the reaction his
words and deeds have on my own mind ? Or,
indeed, how could I know that he had what we
call a mind at all, except in the same way ? His
conscious soul cannot be seen, or in any way be
made palpable to my senses, and yet it can be so
manifested to me as to compel my belief in it. The
belief in God comes in the same way, by the
reaction of Nature on the mind. As the physical
man is the mask that hides and yet reveals his
spirit, so does Nature hide, yet reveal, God. The
impression that Nature makes on the mind has the
highest reaction on the Scale within us. What
more could a visible, palpable God have ? Scep
ticism can begin only when God is embodied in a
material and sensuous form, and degraded. Other
wise there is no room for Atheism.
The fourth cause (and last that I shall mention

GOD OR FORCE? 377
-here) of inharmonious views of the World, is the
looking at it with too microscopic an eye.
The doctrine of Divine Providence has been
denied. Nature is seen to treat her children
roughly, paying little regard to individuals. Dis
ease and death are no respecters of persons. The
laws of Nature, to which God is supposed to have
committed the care of the Universe, are inexorable.
But Providence is the connecting of the individual
with the will of God. Some of the links in the
chain appear to be wanting, and the individual is
believed to be isolated from God. The links are
not wanting, but are unseen. They cannot be
traced to the individual, but become apparent when
we look over large areas. The exquisite adaptation
¦of every organism to its environment, is Providence.
Even the mechanism by which I swallow my food,
without being choked by it, is Providence. The
minute arteries which supply every cell, in every
organ of the body, cannot be seen. They are
there, notwithstanding, as is evidenced by the con
tinued vitality of the parts which they supply. If
the oversight of the whole world is providential, it
:must be so of the parts also. If the world is ad
vancing to any goal, it must be by the co-operation
of the individuals in it. The men of this genera
tion carry forward the ark of God to the point
where it is taken up by the men of the next. Must
not each of us, then, have his appointed lot ? The

27S GOD OR FORCE?
parent, losing his child by early death, asks, doubf>-
ingly, if there can be a Providence, else why this
early bereavement. He does not perceive that one
object of Nature's profusion is to provide against
the ravages of Necessity. The oak produces thou
sands of acorns, the tree thousands of blossoms,
for one that reaches maturity ; animals breed in
proportion to the dangers to which they are ex<-
posed ; but there is always enough for the purposes
of continuance and progression. Again, it is. asked,
how account for Evil. I see no evil in the ground*-
plan of Nature. As they exist in the Eternal Mind,
the threads of this web of physical, organic, and
spiritual forces, which constitute the World, are all
good ; but when Time commences, and the web is
-being woven, their friction and interaction (which
we call Necessity) produce Evil, and in moral
natures, like Man, their opposition, unless chastened
into harmony, produces Sin. But just as cold,
which seems to the senses to be a positive quality,
is really a negative, being the absence of heat, so
evil is positive to our moral nature, but to the
intellect has no existence. And yet this Necessity
which is felt by the individual as evil, works out
good for the world, and is one of the main sources
of progress. Having noticed a few of the leading causes that
have led to error and confusion in thinking, I shall
how endeavour to show that the forces of the World

GOD OR FORCE?

279

work together for Character — or, in other words,
for Justice, Beauty, Goodness, and Truth.
The World, as we have seen, is made up of
physical, organic, and spiritual forces, and the pro-
blem of Philosophy is to find their connection and
purport. Science deals with the physical and
organic merely. These make up the structure of
bodies. But structure is meaningless until function
is interpreted. For example, digestion and assimi
lation are the functions of the stomach ; thought
and character are the functions of the brain. It is
evident that no scientific knowledge of the struc
tures of these respective organs can enable us to
understand the connexion and subordination of
their functions. But by the knowledge derived
from our own inner consciousness, we see at once
their mutual relations. We see that digestion and
assimilation exist as means for the support of
bodily life, and that the support of bodily life is
only a means to the higher ends of thought and
character. Then, the end and purport of the struc
tures themselves become manifest ; and, therefore,
of the physical and organic forces of which they
are composed. Take, again, the flower. To the
eye of Science, it is only an aggregate of physical
and organic forces ; but, to the inward eye, these
forces are seen to be only the means for the pro
duction of that beauty in which they culminate.
In the same way, the great World-forces that lie

28o GOD OR FORCE?
around us are, to Science, only a meaningless
aggregate, without end, aim, or unity of purpose.
Mr. Spencer sees no difference between gravit
ation, heat, and mind. To him, they are merely
so many forces, differing in their manifestations,
but equal in dignity, and power; alike independent
and unrelated ; existing on their own account,
without hierarchy or subordination. How then do
we find their meaning ? Man is the epitome of
the World. All its forces are gathered into his
mind and body, and there receive their interpre
tation. The mechanical forces appear in the struc
ture of the heart, and the circulation of the blood ;
the chemical forces in the disintegration of the
food by the forces of the stomach, and its com
bustion in the body ; the organic forces in the
secreting organs, and in the waste and repair of
tissues ; the spiritual forces in the mind. The fact
that the functions performed by the physical and
organic forces are unconscious and unobtrusive,
proves that they are only subordinate instruments,
and that Science, which deals with them, is only
an instrument of investigation, not a standpoint for
interpretation. The heart, lungs, and stomach, in
their healthy state, give us no intimation of their
existence ; their action is attended by neither plea
sure nor pain ; proving that they are the necessary,
but subordinate instruments of higher ends. In the
lower animals, Self-preservation and Reproduction

GOD OR FORCE? 281
occupy the largest portion of conscious existence,
and are accordingly the highest functions. In Man,
they occupy but a comparatively small portion, and
leave room for the play and expansion of intellect
and character. Seeing, then, that the physical and
organic forces are only means and instruments, we
may, in endeavouring to show the ends to which the
Tendencies of the World are working, practically
leave them out of account, and consider only those
tendencies which have emerged into consciousness.
The Tendencies to Self-preservation and Re
production are the most immediate and pressing.
They are ministered to, not only by the special senses,
physical powers, and lower appetites, but by pride,
envy, vanity, combativeness, and fear. They furnish
the warp into which Time has to weave his most
variegated colours. There must be this continuous
web of existence, for the Eternal to work out His
designs. The Tendency to Ascension runs through all
highly-organised beings. Everything looks up
wards. With animals Might is the test of Right.
Physical Power is their highest distinction. The
strongest have the best chance to survive and
propagate, and to them the females are most
strongly attracted. Women love the heroic, strong,
and wise ; and Beauty, in the last analysis, is only
Nature's representative of these high qualities, and
always refers to spiritual attributes. This ten-

282 GOD OR FORCE?
dency of the race to ascend on the ground of
sexual preferences is secured to the individual by
his mental constitution. We are all led by Imagi
nation, which invests its object with a kind of in
finitude, and leads us on to emulation. The dullest
are led by it. It is neither the gold itself, nor the
mere satisfaction of his physical wants, that dazzles
the miser's eye, but the undefined region of delight
that is opened up to his imagination. This leading
of the Imagination appears early in life. The boy
sees all the world in his games and youthful con
tests, and works for the prize at the village school
as if it were a kingdom. The enamoured youth
sees the best of everything in his maiden. The
man falls into Hero-worship. Our admiration is
the thing we ourselves would wish to be, and to
which we endeavour to elevate ourselves. What a
man in his heart admires most, gives the clue to
his character. His talents all minister to it, and
around it all his thoughts and feelings revolve.
Ideals are only another phase of this ascending
tendency. They are made up of the complex web
of experience and imagination, and are the stars
by which we direct our course through life. They
lie, like glittering points, on all sides of the horizon,
and towards them the busy world of men are seen
making their way. The part played by Individual-
isation in the upward movement is no less impor
tant. On the circumference of the World is the

GOD OR FORCE? 283
immense diversity of things, where the game seems
to be, how to ring the greatest number of changes
on a few fixed principles. These separate exist
ences reflect on each other their own special
beauties, and multiply to infinity the objects of
aspiration. The love of personality plays an im
portant part in our education. We digest our
code of morals from it, and endeavour to embody
in ourselves the special virtues which we admire
in others. Hence the charm and stimulus of
biography, history, and novels, compared with
which all mere scholastic teaching, which does not
sink into the character, is trivial and superficial.
But these ideals, when attained, do not fill up
the heart. The boy outgrows his sports ; the youth,
his maiden; the man, his idolatries. Wealth does
not satisfy ; place and power, when attained, lose
the vagueness and brilliancy which dazzled us and
drew us on, and shrink into littleness. The sen
sualist's path leads to disgust. Special attainments
and points of virtue, too, fail to satisfy, and we
learn at last that there is no rest but in God. Thus
these illusions instruct while they deceive. But
unless the mind is quick and apprehensive, we do-
not run to the end of this chain of deceptions, and
so stop short of the goal. As long as our minds.
rest on any of these proximate objects of pursuit,
we cannot dedicate ourselves to God, for two op
posite infinites cannot possess the mind at once.

284 GOD OR FORCE?
There is another factor in Ascension which is
too important to be passed over without notice,
viz., the antagonism of the higher and lower forces
of Nature and Mind. For example, the obstinacy
of earth, wood, iron, develop invention and mecha
nical skill ; the necessities of life and the com
plexity of our surroundings call out all our re
sources ; and the control of the passions, so neces
sary to social order, exercises and strengthens
virtue. The foregoing tendencies exist only in the mind,
and if they rested there progress would cease.
How, then, is the world benefited ? Observe,
first, as a connecting link, the Tendency to Unity.
Give a man time, and his mind will become a
unity, and everything he does will be significant.
His actions will become one with his feelings, and
his feelings one with his thought. This tendency
to unity makes possible the realisation of our ideals.
Without it, life would want definiteness of aim. It
concentrates the powers of the mind for united
effort, and counteracts that love of variety, which,
if persistently indulged in, confuses thought, re
laxes the character, and dissipates organised effort.
To reach it is the unceasing endeavour of the
mind. Connected with this Tendency to Unity is the
Tendency to Embodiment. The World itself is
the embodiment of Spirit ; language, facial and

GOD OR FORCE? 285
bodily expression, are the embodiments of thought
and feeling, of which Literature and Art are the
more permanent forms. Character is the embodi
ment within ourselves of Thought, slowly built up
and consolidated. Action, too, is the embodiment
of Thought. In the pursuit of ideals, we pave every
step with work, with action, and thus the world is
benefited, although the individual may be sacri
ficed. This Tendency to Embodiment is further
assisted by the Tendency to Belief. Without this
tendency, action would be weak and nerveless, not
strong and direct. The belief we have in the
beneficence of Nature is very beautiful. We give
ourselves calmly up to sleep, and rest without sus
picion, expecting to awaken to renewed life. We
trust ourselves to the elements, to our food, its safe
passage into the stomach and subsequent changes
in the blood, and ^conversion into strength and
beauty. We trust to the continued beating of our
hearts, and the continuance of life from moment to
moment ; to our continued sanity, although the
chaos of madness lies always", near us. We trust
to the rotation of seasons, crops, and verdure, al
though the earth's .surface is only a beautiful skin,
beneath whichfboils a cauldron of confused ele
ments. We trust that a man's character is truly
represented by"" his sensible motions, although his
soul cannot be seen ; and to the immutability of

286 GOD. OR FORCE?
God and His laws, although He himself is hidden
from us.
The Tendency to Co-operation redoubles the
force both of Belief and Action, and still further
assists in keeping the visible world following in the
track of the ideal. We all need sympathy. The
high thought would die out of us, did it not meet
with recognition from our fellow-man. Society,
accordingly, is the arena where our talents find room
to expand. The bond of union is always a com
mon sentiment or idea. Friendships are founded
on identity of feeling. Associations of men have
always some dominant thought, around which they
unite. Institutions are the visible expressions of
those thoughts. Church and Government cor
respond to the two most comprehensive divisions
of human interest — the welfare of the soul and the
welfare of the body. Society, by providing for the
lawful exercise of all our impulses, diminishes the
temptations to crime. If the passions are strong,
you may marry ; if the desire for property is strong,
you may work, not steal. Government takes re
taliation out of our hands, and leaves no room for
private revenge ; and by affording protection to all,
gives the higher faculties of our nature a chance to
expand. But how are the accomplished results of human
thought and effort secured against Time and
Change ? By the Tendency to the Conservation of

GOD OR FORCE? 287
the Good. Time swallows all things but the Good,
which steadily works on, and accumulates from age
to age. Custom is one element in this tendency.
The world is the slave of custom. To the aspiring
youth, Truth itself seems powerless against it. On
our entrance into life we are dressed in certain cus
tomary modes of thought, feeling, and behaviour,
and many of us wear the same livery all our lives.
We take our creeds from our fathers, and our
morals as well as fashions from Society, and applaud
or condemn as it dictates. These things are in the
air we breathe, and this atmospheric education in
fluences our conduct more than any other. Con
formity to custom meets with the world's applause,
and in every drawing-room appears in the form of
stock-sentiment. But custom subserves a good
purpose. It is the break on the wheel of change.
It follows thought, although at a great distance,
and keeps institutions alive until the good that was
once in them has departed and entered into other
forms. Observe, again, how the best modes of alleviat
ing physical labour are transmitted from age to
age. Manual labour is superseded by machinery,
and inferior machines are laid aside only when
better come into use. The accumulation of scientific
facts, the increase both in the number and the
delicacy of scientific instruments, enlarge our know
ledge of the physical laws. This knowledge reacts,

288 GOD OR FORCE?
in turn, on the arts, and produces still further im
provements. These results are the slow accumula
tions of the ages which they have survived. In
like manner there is a tendency to preserve all
good books and all good works of art. Homer
and Raphael still live to instruct the youth of the
present day. History preserves the memorable
experiences of the world, and leaves its daily
trivialities to be forgotten. And thus the essence
of the past is distilled into the present.
But there are false as well as true Ideals. These
false ideals get embodied, and have sometimes
dominated whole ages, producing endless con
fusion ; and the question is, what prevents the
world's retrograding ?
Consider, first, the Tendency to jfustice. In
tellect is the power of discerning the Tendencies
of the World in their natural subordinations. The
observance of these laws is enforced by Justice.
All civil, moral, and social codes, are but better or
worse reflections of this dominating tendency.
Nature has at heart the coronation of Virtue, and
takes a short cut to her end by making Might the
test of Right. This is the tune the nations have
marched to, and throughout all its variations
(which we call history) the original air is heard.
The individual, too, if he sinks his nobility of cha
racter, loses influence, becomes less in the scale of
being, and must submit to superior domination.

GOD OR FORCE? 289
Again, the Tendency to Adaptation puts a
cushion between us and the rough corners of things
that have been jostled from their places. It enables
us to float, when otherwise we should sink. We
gradually adapt ourselves to new climates, new
countries, new manners, new morals, and new modes
of thought ; and die when age makes us too rigid
for new and wider conceptions. Then there is the
Tendency to Compassion, which breaks the force of
Fate to which we are all exposed, and cheers the
heart for new endeavours. The sympathy of our
fellow-men redoubles the strength of all our active
powers, invigorates the will, and gives fresh courage
to despair. The foregoing tendencies all unite to keep the
world following in the track of the great men who
march in the van. And we have seen that these
men, after passing through all proximate illusions,
find their ideal in God, and their final rest in
reliance on Him alone. This is the consummation
of manhood. When attained, it expresses itself in
Heroism, Worship, and Art, which are ends in
themselves, and which correspond to the different
sides of our nature, its tendency to Action, Con
templation, and Beauty.
All things in Nature struggle towards Beauty ;
and deformity, like evil, is the result of Necessity,
and does not lie in the essence of things. The
artist strives to restore this ideal beauty on canvas
U

290 GOD OR FORCE?
or stone, and its pursuit is a source of pure en
joyment, when cultivated in a religious spirit.
Worship should be the flower of Culture, the
harmonious outcome of all our feelings, chastened
and refined, and not a daub. It should be- in the
grain, not a mere veneering, and is the expression
of inward peace.
The history of the world abounds in examples
of Heroism. These great souls, scattered through
distant ages and nations, and quickened before their
time, are the high-water marks of humanity, and
announce what, one day, will be universal. They
reached the point where the human melts into the
divine.

THE END.

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