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 Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 With Mrs. Bleckly's Kind Regards, 
 
 Bdlefield , A I trine h am . 
 Cbristmas, 1893,
 
 f- 
 
 ^r. // 
 
 ]/(,
 
 ESSAYS AND PAPERS: 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 HENRY BLECKLY. 
 
 WILLIAMS AND NORGATE, 
 
 14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON; and 
 20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET. EDINBURGH. 
 
 1893.
 
 LONDON' : 
 
 O. NORMAN AND SON, PRINTERS, HART STREET. 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
 "3474^14 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In this volume are collected several of the pamphlets and 
 other writings published by the late Henry Bleckly during 
 his lifetime. Much that he contributed to newspapers, 
 in the shape of letters or short articles on political and 
 social questions of special interest and importance when 
 they were written, has been excluded ; for he would 
 probably not have cared that they should outlive the 
 occasions and ephemeral controversies that prompted 
 them. The present purpose, moreover, is merely to place 
 on record such more carefully thought-out literary exer- 
 cises as may but serve to remind his friends that, while 
 Mr. Bleckly was pre-eminently a man of business, and 
 found his chief diversion from business pursuits in active 
 work as a Justice of the Peace, and latterly as chairman 
 of the Liverpool Quarter Sessions, he was also a diligent 
 reader of books and a profound student of philosophical 
 and other problems. 
 
 As some of these papers were written to be delivered as 
 lectures to friendly audiences, and as others were printed 
 as pamphlets at wide intervals of time, it is not strange 
 that there should here and there be repetitions of the 
 same thoughts and views, in almost identical language, 
 and in a few instances slight differences of opinion. All 
 such redundancies and discrepancies Mr. Bleckly would 
 doubtless have removed had he contemplated a re-issue 
 
 1C62228
 
 iv Preface. 
 
 of his writings, or a selection from them, in a compact 
 volume. As it is, no change could be made, and it is 
 thought that the honesty and earnestness of the writer 
 are only made the more apparent from the occasional 
 re-statement and re-shaping of arguments that he was 
 anxious to set forth as forcibly and clearly as he could. 
 
 Mr. Bleckly was born at Ipswich in October, 1812, 
 and educated at Ackworth, the well-known school in 
 connection with the Society of Friends, to which his 
 parents belonged. One of his schoolfellows was John 
 Bright. Leaving school at an early age, his first business 
 training was acquired in a bank, and he resided for some 
 time at Newcastle-on-Tyne. Before 1856, however, he had 
 become a partner in the Dallam Forge Iron Works at 
 Warrington, and in that year he settled in Warrington 
 and began to take an active part in the management of 
 the business. He was one of the founders and principal 
 proprietors of the Warrington W^ire Iron Company 
 (Limited), and in 1874 this company, together with the 
 Dallam Forge Company, was amalgamated with the 
 Wigan collieries of Messrs. Pearson and Knowles, 
 under the style of the Pearson and Knowles Coal and 
 Iron Company (Limited), forming one of the most 
 important concerns of the kind in the United King- 
 dom. Mr. Bleckly was for many years its chairman, 
 and, as was stated in an obituary notice in the Times, 
 " to his skill and perseverance is largely due the modern 
 rivalry of Lancashire with Staffordshire as a centre 
 of the iron industry." " Mr. Bleckly, however," it is 
 added in this brief memoir, "was much more than an
 
 Preface. v 
 
 iron manufacturer. One of the earliest members of the 
 Iron and Steel Institute, and founder of the Warrington 
 Chamber of Commerce, he took a keen interest in local 
 affairs, and particularly in Poor Law administration. He 
 distinguished himself as a magistrate, and, after being for 
 many years the late Lord Derby's second on the Liverpool 
 Quarter Sessions, he succeeded to the chairmanship in 
 1888." Mr. Bleckly spent the last fourteen years of his 
 life at Altrincham, taking a general superintendence of 
 the large business with which he was connected, and 
 devoting much time to his magisterial and other duties, 
 and to political affairs in which he was warmly interested. 
 There he died on the 24th of January, 1890.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke 
 
 Locke on Human Understanding 
 
 Butler's Analogy ....... 
 
 The Utilitarian Theory of Morals — a CoLLoauv 
 Progress ........ 
 
 Notes on the Law of Value 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and his Contemporaries 
 
 The Journey to Emmaus .... 
 
 Socrates and the Athenians 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 43 
 
 93 
 129 
 
 259 
 295 
 325 
 383 
 425 
 
 VERSES : 
 
 Before and After . 
 
 Contrasts 
 
 Falk Laws 
 
 Archbishop Manning 
 
 Rome, Spain, and Britain 
 
 The Clerical Pervert . 
 
 Cardinal Manning applauds Innocent IIL and hi 
 
 1 I M E S 
 
 In an Italian Church ...... 
 
 475 
 481 
 
 484 
 491 
 
 494 
 496 
 
 497 
 498
 
 Vlll 
 
 Contents. 
 
 At Naples .... 
 Limitations .... 
 Speeches of Pope Pius IX. . 
 In Memory of Henry A. Bright 
 
 In Memory of Alice B . 
 
 At Church Stretton 
 
 PAGE 
 
 500 
 
 .5°3 
 
 508 

 
 ESSAYS AND PAPERS. 
 
 •> * * * c 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 JOHN LOCKE. 
 
 At the opening meeting of a new session in connection 
 with the Warrington Literary and Philosophical Society, 
 held at the Museum on Friday evening, November 13th, 
 1874, the President, Mr. Bleckly, read a paper on " The 
 Life and Writings of John Locke." 
 
 Mr. Ble£;kly said : — I have to explain how it happens 
 that we do not meet this season at the usual time, though 
 I am also obliged to confess that I was not exactly aware, 
 as I ought to have been, what our rule in this respect is. 
 
 Some weeks ago, however, our excellent and zealous 
 Secretary called to remind me that our session would 
 commence in eight or ten days, and he wished to know 
 whether he was to announce some special subject, for 
 what he was pleased to call the President's address, or 
 whether the President would take out a roving commission, 
 and " survey mankind from China to Peru." I didn't 
 happen to be at home when he called, and was a little 
 startled when I received his communication, for one 
 doesn't carry an address of such a kind in one's pocket, 
 and men who have much other business on hand are not 
 prepared at a moment's notice to indite one, even although 
 they are considerately informed they need be at no loss 
 for subjects, as " the world is all before them where to 
 choose." The fact, moreover, happened to be that the 
 Secretary, in his medical capacity, had enjoined me some 
 
 1
 
 2 Essays and Papers. 
 
 weeks before to take a holiday, and I had been shaping 
 my affairs so as to obey his injunction, when he so 
 suddenly came down upon me in his secretarial function 
 to propound an address ; in this dilemma I told him fairly 
 that I had made preparation to obey his first order, and 
 was not at the moment " careful to answer " him as to 
 the second ; that, indeed, I was on the point of starting for 
 the holiday he had prescribed, that the travelling season 
 was rapidly passing away, and that of the two, under the 
 circumstances, I preferred to put off the business of the 
 address, rather than postpone my journey. The Secretary 
 made no objection, and so I took a ticket for the ancient 
 city of Bath, I hope our rules are sufficiently flexible to 
 meet such a case as this, but whether or no, I offer the 
 Society an apology for the infringement of the rules that 
 has occurred. 
 
 When one has a work to do, there is nothing like doing 
 it at once, and so being established at Bath, I began to 
 think of the burden the Secretary had laid upon me, and 
 how I was to get rid of it ; but first I had to ask myself 
 whether the Society had given any directions as to the 
 matter or manner of the address to be delivered, and 
 although I was at the laying of the first planks of the 
 Society, I could not remember that we had imposed upon 
 the President any special obligation in this respect ; we 
 had, if I remember right, a sort of loose notion that our 
 first President would occupy the position permanently, 
 and if so, there would have been no need of any special 
 regulation, as it would be presumed that, con amove, he 
 would excogitate an annual address out of the ample 
 scientific materials which he was constantly assimilating ; 
 he would spontaneously and naturally find out an appro- 
 priate groove and subject, without any extraneous 
 rule or direction ; without any effort he would keep us 
 advised of what was going on in the world of science, of 
 what was being done, and of what was being thought 
 in those wide regions of knowledge over which he is 
 accustomed to expatiate, and the Society would ask no
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 
 
 3 
 
 more. Besides at that time he had coadjutors who are 
 not with us now, and who, if any change had been 
 desired, would have been ready to do similar work ; 
 but when this order of things passes away, when the 
 office falls into the hands of those who have no title 
 to speak on such high themes — lay minds labouring with 
 many lay things — the Society, I thought, would have 
 to moderate its expectations, or to define its require- 
 ments — in short, supply a certain quantity of straw 
 out of which the tale of bricks it asks for is to be 
 fabricated. 
 
 In this state of incertitude, therefore, not knowing 
 exactly what to do or how to do it, I began to look round 
 the city of Bath, if not in search of the picturesque, in 
 search of something that might fill up a quire of paper. 
 The city is full of legends, from the days of King Bladud 
 to the days of Beau Nash, and it is rich in literary 
 reminiscences — it tells of Humphrey Clinker and Jane 
 Austin, and" the eccentric author of the " Caliph Vathek," 
 and many more ; but the tide of fashion has ebbed away 
 from it — and our novelists now seek their heroes and 
 heroines in more favoured places, and I soon found that 
 the medicated waters of Bath would not furnish much 
 fish to my empty net, and so I had to look around to 
 see what the neighbourhood would do. Near us was 
 Glastonbury Abbey, boasting of its descent from Joseph 
 of Arimathea, and claiming to be the burial place of that 
 King Arthur whom the Laureate has given once more to 
 fame; then, not far off — within a day's excursion — was 
 the birthplace of John Locke ; and this attracts us, and 
 we determine to visit it, as a spot from whence it may be 
 possible to quarry the materials we are in search of. 
 
 We chose the route through Bristol, and turned off to 
 Clevedon, which is not on the direct line of road, for the 
 place has special points of interest. It was once the resi- 
 dence of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and it is said to be the 
 spot on which Tennyson collected the imagery of one of 
 his most touching ballads ; the crags, and the sea, and the 
 
 I ^
 
 4 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ships, and the bay visible from Clevedon are said to be 
 those depicted in the hnes — 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 On thy cold grey stones, O sea ! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter 
 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 O well for the fisherman's boy, 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play ; 
 
 well for the sailor lad, 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay. 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill ; 
 But O for the touch of a vanish 'd hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still. 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 But there is something more at Clevedon, and after 
 walking a mile or so along the shore you come suddenly 
 upon the low-lying and secluded parish church. It stands 
 in a hollow, close to the sea, or rather to the broad waters 
 of the Bristol Channel, and it is the burial place of the 
 Hallams. Henry Hallam, the historian, his wife, and 
 children, all lie there, among them that Arthur Henry 
 Hallam who inspired one of the noblest poems of our 
 time and Tennyson's most characteristic and suggestive 
 work, " In Memoriam." Of this obscure and remote 
 church Tennyson in that work writes thus : — 
 
 When on my bed the moonlight falls, 
 
 I know that in thy place of rest. 
 
 By that broad water of the west. 
 There comes a glory on the walls. 
 Thy marble bright in dark appears, 
 
 As slowly steals a silver flame, 
 
 Along the letters of thy name, 
 And o'er the number of thy years. 
 The mystic glory swims away. 
 
 From off my bed the moonlight dies, 
 
 And closing eaves of wearied eyes, 
 
 1 sleep till dusk is dipped in gray.
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 5 
 
 And then I know the mist is drawn, 
 
 A lucid veil from coast to coast, 
 
 And in the dark church, like a ghost, 
 Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn. 
 
 I thought it was something to see the same tablet, and the 
 
 last resting place of a family so illustrious and so honoured. 
 
 But we had to travel several miles further to Locke's 
 birthplace, and partly by road and partly by rail, we 
 arrived in due time at the bright and picturesque village 
 of Wrington, where he was born. We had no difficulty 
 in finding the house, for the good people of the village a 
 few years ago fixed a stone in it, upon which the fact 
 is duly inscribed ; but singularly enough they made a 
 mistake in the date, and informed the world that Locke 
 was born in 1637, instead of 1632. We called at the 
 rectory to examine the register, and found, what was also 
 remarkable, that another John Locke had been born there 
 in 1637, ^iid that by some accident his birth had been 
 chronicled instead of that of his illustrious namesake. 
 The wall of the house to which the inscription is affixed 
 forms part of the boundary of the churchyard, and in the 
 churchyard there lies buried with her four sisters a writer 
 who once filled no undistinguished place in the literature 
 of her country — Hannah More. 
 
 There are no traditions of Locke at Wrington — his 
 father's usual residence being at Pensford, not very far 
 off ; in the hall at the rectorv his name and the date of 
 his birth — well nigh worn out — are cut on the base of a 
 pillar that supports the roof. Having satisfied ourselves 
 by exploring the village, we had to return and to revert to 
 books and such other aids as were at hand^ for a connected 
 story of Locke's life, with which I determined to meet 
 the Secretary's challenge, and, if it may be, the Society's 
 expectations. 
 
 John Locke, then, was born at this quiet Somersetshire 
 village of Wrington, on the 29th of August, 1632, twenty- 
 four years after Milton and a year after Dryden, thirty-six 
 years after Descartes and in the same year as Spinoza. 
 Shakespeare had been dead sixteen years, and Bacon six ;
 
 6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Cromwell was thirty-three years old, and Hampden 
 thirty-nine ; while his own father, who, in a very humble 
 way, was a sort of village Cromwell and village Hampden, 
 was only twenty-four. That father was a country attorney 
 and clerk to the Somersetshire Justices until justices of 
 the peace were constrained to become men of war, and 
 the justices' clerk, rather than pay the sum of 8s ^d claimed 
 from him as ship-money in 1636, resolved to join in the 
 fight for national liberty. As a captain of horse, the elder 
 Locke took part in the civil war while his son was learning 
 to write English and talk Latin — neither of which, it is 
 said, did he ever contrive to do with perfect scholarship, 
 though in both he was able to give very lucid utterance 
 to the rarest wisdom and most impressive truths. 
 
 Though between law and war his father was very busy 
 during the time of Locke's home education, he seems to 
 have been well looked after, and the influences that sur- 
 rounded him in childhood helped to fit him for the work 
 of his later life. It is rather strange that two years before 
 Charles L was executed, the rebellious Somersetshire 
 attorney should have been able to get admission for his 
 son into Westminster School, a very hotbed of loyalty, 
 and one in which the Monarchical party was so well able 
 to hold its ground that, while the Parliamentarians put 
 head masters of their own choosing in nearly every other 
 public school, they left in undisputed control over it the 
 head master appointed by King Charles. But so it was, 
 and in 1646 young Locke went to Westminster as King's 
 scholar. " In the worst of times," said South the divine, 
 who entered the school a year before Locke, " we were 
 really King's Scholars ; we were not only called so." He, 
 no doubt, thought this, but some of them may have been 
 juvenile hypocrites. Dryden, who entered two years before 
 Locke, may have acquired there that facility for lauding 
 each and all of the powers that he, and mocking each and 
 all of the rival powers that were, for which he was famous 
 in after life, and which lessens our respect for him as a 
 man, though it hardh' weakened his strength as a poet.
 
 Life a)id \\'yiti>ii^s of John Locke. 7' 
 
 But young Locke, coming to school imbued with the 
 opinions of the Roundheads, seems to have got on among 
 the youthful Cavaliers without either discomfort or dis- 
 credit. The famous Dr. Busby, very nearly the most 
 eminent of all English schoolmasters — the manwhotrained 
 some of the foremost statesmen, poets, and philosophers 
 of his time during sixty years, and who could boast that 
 at one time sixteen of his pupils were together on the 
 bishops' bench — was his schoolmaster; and under Busby 
 he made such progress that in 165 1 he was one of the 
 lads chosen to pass from the Westminster foundation to 
 Christ Church, Oxford. 
 
 At Oxford he came under another famous master, Dr. Fell. 
 
 " I do not like thee, Dr. Fell — 
 The reason why I cannot tell." — 
 
 Locke could have told the reason why, as we shall see 
 directly. During the Commonwealth, however, he seems 
 to have been only under Dr. Fell for a few weeks, 
 as Dr. Fell was suspended in 1751 by the Parliamentary 
 Commission ; and during the Commonwealth he fared 
 very comfortably at Christ Church, where the great 
 Nonconformist, Dr. Owen, filled the office of Dean. His 
 College companion and life- long friend Tyrrell, the 
 historian, tells that he was there distinguished for his 
 talents and learning; and we may readily believe it. But 
 his studies were not all or altogether such as would 
 have been approved of had not the Revolution left the 
 students more than ordinarily free to choose their own 
 pursuits. He did fairly well the routine work of the 
 College, though regretting that it took up so much of his 
 time that he had not enough left for special studies in 
 philosophy, and for such instructive recreation as was to 
 be found in general reading and in intercourse with his 
 friends. His views on this subject were well expressed in 
 a letter which he addressed long afterwards to the Earl of 
 Peterborough, who had asked him to recommend a tutor 
 for his son, and had said v^hat sort of a tutor he wanted. 
 " I must beg leave to own," wrote Locke, "that I differ a
 
 8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 little from your lordship in what you propose. You 
 would have a thorough scholar, and I think it not much 
 matter whether he be any great scholar or no. If he but 
 understand Latin well, and have a general scheme of 
 sciences, I think that enough; but I would have him well- 
 bred, well-tempered; a man that, having been conversant 
 with the world and amongst men, would have great 
 application in observing the humour and genius of your 
 son, and omit nothing that might help to form his 
 mind and dispose him to virtue, knowledge and industry. 
 This I look upon as the great business of a tutor. This is 
 putting life into his pupil, which, when he has got, masters 
 of all kinds are easily to be had. For, when a young 
 gentleman has got a relish of knowledge, the love and 
 credit of doing well spurs him on: he will, with or without 
 teachers, make great advances in whatever he has a mind 
 to. Mr. Newton learnt his mathematics only of himself; 
 and another friend of mine, Greek (wherein he is very well 
 skilled) without a master, though both these studies seem 
 more to require the help of a tutor than almost any 
 other." And he says in another letter to the same 
 nobleman : " When a man has got an entrance into any 
 of the sciences, it will be time then to depend on himself, 
 and rely upon his own understanding, and exercise his own 
 facidties, which is the only way to improvement and mastery^ 
 There you have Locke's philosophy in a nutshell, the 
 secret of his life in a sentence. Seek help from others 
 while you are learning to walk ; then depend on yourself ; 
 rely on your own understanding ; exercise your own 
 faculties — that is the way to mastery. 
 
 But in our review of Locke's life, he is still only an 
 Oxford undergraduate, reading novels and travel-books as 
 well as studying Descartes, and picking out all that is 
 good from all that is not good in his philosophy, chatting 
 and joking with his friends. Professor Burrows's 
 "Worthies of All Souls" will show you how jovial Oxford 
 undergraduates could be in those days. While he learns as 
 much as he is bound to learn of the sophisms of the
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. g 
 
 schoolmen, he is looking eagerly out of his Christ Church 
 quietude into the stormy world in which Cromwell, 
 Milton, and such men are roughly, yet honestly, trying to 
 solve some of the problems of practical politics. He is 
 preparing himself for different work, but in the same 
 direction, while he studies Tully and Puffendorf, " De 
 Officio Hominis et Civis, de Jure Naturali et Gentium;''' "and 
 above all," as he says, "what the New Testament teaches, 
 wherein a man may learn to live, which is the business of 
 ethics, and not how to define and dispute about names of 
 virtues and vices." " True politics," he also says, " I 
 look on as a part of moral philosophy, which is nothing 
 but the art of conducting men right in society." 
 
 He is doing a little more than that ; he is preparing for 
 practical work in life. What shall it be ? He has no 
 mind to go back to Somersetshire and carry on his worthy 
 father's business as a country lawyer and clerk to the 
 justices, for his father's fighting life is over now. Nor 
 with scant fortune and poor health does he see his way to 
 do much work worth doing in the political life of London. 
 He thinks he will be a physician ; at any rate, that is a 
 good study to pursue while he remains at Oxford. So he 
 takes his B.A. degree in 1655, and his M.A. in 1658, and 
 then applies himself more especially to medical reading. 
 But other work is offered to him as well, and he does it. 
 In 1661 he is Greek lecturer at Christ Church. In 1662 he 
 is reader in rhetoric. In 1663 and 1664 he is censor of 
 moral philosophy ; and at the close of the latter year, 
 partly on account of his own health, he accepts an 
 invitation from his friend Sir Walter Vane, Charles II. 's 
 envoy to the Elector of Brandenburgh, to go with him as 
 secretary. That detains him a year and a half, and on 
 his return he is found to have acquitted himself so well 
 that other and more important diplomatic employment is 
 pressed upon him. This he declines, as, though he is fond 
 of foreign travel and the intellectual benefits to be derived 
 from it, he is not fond of diplomacy and its formalities and 
 prevarications. Clerical preferment is also pressed upon
 
 ^o Essays cDid Papers. 
 
 him, if he will consent to go into the Church ; but this he 
 declines yet more resolutely. He is a better Christian 
 than most men in his dav ; but he has no call for the 
 pulpit, and " divines," as he says, " are not now made, as 
 formerly, by inspiration and on a sudden, nor learning 
 caused by laying on of hands." Therefore he goes back 
 to Oxford, resolved to devote himself to medicine, that 
 science which, under the guidance of his friend Sydenham, 
 is just beginning to grow into a real science, and is 
 sorely in need of a few such practitioners as Locke would 
 be. " Medicine," said Bacon, not many years before, " is 
 a science which hath been more professed than laboured, 
 more laboured than advanced, the labour being in my 
 judgment more in a circle than in progression; I find 
 much iteration, but small addition." All that was on the 
 point of being revolutionised by Sydenham, whom Locke 
 calls "one of the master builders at this time in the com- 
 monwealth of learning ;" but Sydenham always regarded 
 Locke as his master, and doubtless with truth. Locke 
 saw, at any rate as clearly as Sydenham, the necessity of 
 teaching a better way than what he termed "this romance- 
 way of physic ; " and we need not wonder that, in 
 preference to diplomacy or the Church, he should have 
 settled down, at the age of thirty-six, to be one of its 
 teachers or, as his spiteful fehow-student, Anthony Wood, 
 puts it, " Mr. Locke, after having gone through the usual 
 courses preparatory to practice, entered upon the physic 
 line, and got some business at Oxford." 
 
 Mr. Locke was " upon the physic line " for many years, 
 though not for long at Oxford. An apparently small 
 accident led to a change of residence, and greatly altered 
 the current of his life, though it only opened for him 
 broader ways of enforcing the principles from which he 
 never swerved. In 1666 the great Lord Shaftesbury— 
 then only Lord Ashley, but already an influential 
 politician— went down to Oxford to consult a Dr. Thomas. 
 Dr. Thomas, not being at home, deputed Locke to see his 
 patient. Locke cured the ailment about wdiich he was
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. ii 
 
 consulted, and by so doing, it was considered at the time, 
 saved Lord Asldey's life. Lord Ashley was not ungrate- 
 ful, and he found it all the easier to show his gratitude 
 because Locke's society was so very agreeable to him 
 outside " the physic line." He soon persuaded the young 
 Oxford doctor to become a member of his own house- 
 hold ; leaving him free to study medicine as he liked, 
 but bargaining that he should not practise it " out of his 
 house, except among some of his particular friends." I 
 need not detail to you the stages by which it came about 
 that Locke, thus coming to be the intimate friend of one 
 who was nearly the foremost politician — we can hardly 
 say, statesman— of the day, exchanged the practice of 
 medicine for other pursuits. Suffice it to say that he 
 made the change with often-expressed regrets, until he 
 saw that he was only in the way of doing better than he 
 could otherwise have done the sort of work that he was 
 resolved to do. 
 
 Except that he paid two long visits to the continent, 
 once to go as medical companion of the Earl of Northum- 
 berland, once for the benefit of his own health, Locke 
 was Lord Shaftesbury's constant adviser and assistant in 
 many ways all through the most important period of his 
 life ; and he only abandoned that position in 1683, when, 
 Shaftesbury having completely lost favour with Charles IL 
 and the party in power, and being compelled to take 
 refuge in Holland, Locke also thought it prudent to go 
 abroad for safety. He was in exile for five years until the 
 Revolution of 1688 enabled him to return to England. 
 
 Lord Shaftesbury was the life-long and warm friend of 
 Locke ; and we may be sure that he was a man possess- 
 ing many great qualities, or such an enduring friendship 
 would not have been maintained between them. Let us 
 for a moment turn to Dryden's portrait of him in 
 " Absalom and Achitophel." Dryden was a venial satirist, 
 though a great poet. He accuses Shaftesbury of being 
 false in friendship : one would like to have heard Locke's 
 opinion on this point, and we may perhaps measure the
 
 12 Essays and Papers. 
 
 accuracy of the painting in other respects by its mis- 
 representation in this : — 
 
 Of these the false Achitophel was first ; 
 A name to all succeeding- ages curst. 
 For close designs and crooked counsels fit ; 
 Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 
 Restless, unfixed in principles and place, 
 In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; 
 A fiery soul which, working out its way, 
 Fretted the pigmy body to decay. 
 And o'er informed the tenement of clay ; 
 A daring pilot in extremity, 
 
 Pleased with the danger when the waves went high, 
 He sought the storms, but for a calm unfit 
 Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 
 Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide. 
 Else why should he, with wealth and honor blest, 
 Refuse his age the needful hours of rest. 
 Punish a body which he could not please, 
 Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease ? 
 ***** 
 
 In friendship false, implacable in hate. 
 Resolved to ruin or to rule the state, 
 To compass this the triple bond he broke 
 The pillars of the public safety shook ; 
 Then seized with fear yet still affecting fame, 
 Usurped a patriot's all atoning name. 
 ***** 
 
 Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge 
 The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 
 In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abethdin 
 With more discerning eyes or hands more clean, 
 Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress ; 
 Swift of despatch, and easy of access. 
 
 Of all the painful incidents of this time the most 
 galling to Locke must have been his expulsion from 
 Oxford in 1684. I have already referred to Dr. Fell, who 
 was Dean of Christ Church until the Roundheads dis- 
 placed him. Under the Restoration he became Bishop 
 of Oxford, and also resumed his former position as Dean 
 of Christ Church. lie seems to have always professed
 
 Life and Writings of Jo Jul Locke. 13 
 
 great friendship for Locke, and some very affectionately 
 worded letters of his to the young doctor are extant. 
 But Locke had good reason for suspecting that certain 
 underhand influences to his prejudice came from Dr. 
 Fell ; and his suspicions were afterwards confirmed. In 
 November, 1684, King Charles caused a letter to be 
 written to the Dean, suggesting that " one Locke, who 
 belonged to the Earl of Shaftesbury, and had upon 
 several occasions behaved himself very factiously against 
 the Government, should be removed from Christ Church." 
 Dr. Fell wrote back a letter betraying his former 
 treachery: — "I have for divers years had an eye upon 
 him ; but so close has his guard been on himself that, 
 after several strict inquiries, I may confidently affirm, 
 there is not any man in the college, however familiar with 
 him, who had heard him speak a word either against or 
 so much as concerning the Government ; and although 
 very frequently, both in public and private, discourses 
 have be&n purposely introduced to the disparagement of 
 his master, the Earl of Shaftesbury, his party and designs, 
 he could never be provoked to take any notice, or discover 
 in word or look the least concern. So that I believe there 
 is not a man in the world so much master of taciturnity 
 and passion. He has here a physician's place, which 
 frees him from the exercise of the college, and the obliga- 
 tion which others have to residence in it, and he is now 
 abroad for want of health ; but notwithstanding this, I 
 have summoned him to return home, which is done with 
 this prospect, that if he cornes not back, he will be liable 
 to expulsion for contumacy ; and if he does, he will be 
 answerable to the law for that which he shall be found to 
 have done amiss. It being probable that, though he may 
 have been thus cautious here where he knew himself 
 suspected, he has laid himself more open at London, 
 where a general liberty of speaking was used, and where 
 the execrable designs against His Majesty were managed 
 and pursued. If he don't return by the first of January, 
 which is the time limited to him, I shall be enabled, of
 
 14 Essays and Papers. 
 
 course, to proceed against him to expulsion. But if this 
 method seems not effectual or speedy enough, and His 
 Majesty, our founder and visitor, shall please to command 
 his immediate remove, upon the receipt thereof, directed 
 to the dean and chapter, it shall accordingly be executed." 
 His Majesty straightway commanded that the seditious 
 Locke should be "forthwith removed from his student's 
 place, and deprived of all rights and advantages thereunto 
 belonging; " and Dr. Fell straightway replied that " His 
 Majesty's command for the expulsion of Mr. Locke from 
 this college had been fully executed." Locke's prompt 
 rejoinder to this petty persecution was his first " Letter 
 on Toleration," the earliest printed, though by no means 
 the first written, of his works. 
 
 After the death of King Charles IL, William Penn, 
 who had known Locke at the University, used his 
 interest with King James to procure a pardon for him, 
 and would have obtained it, if Locke had not answered 
 that he had no occasion for a pardon, since he had not 
 been guilty of any crime. 
 
 At the time of these transactions it might seem to the 
 quiet people who were looking on that this Dean and 
 Bishop, basking in the royal favour, and offering himself 
 as a ready tool of a despotic Government, occupied a 
 position more honourable and enviable than that of 
 Locke. Posterity, however, has no difficulty in deciding 
 which of the two was the more righteous and magnani- 
 mous man. 
 
 Soon after his return to England his greatest work, 
 the " Essay on Human Understanding," which had been 
 written, or at any rate begun, nearly tw^enty years before, 
 was published ; and other works quickly followed. Their 
 appearance made him one of the most famous men in 
 Europe, the friend of all the greatest and boldest thinkers 
 of his time, the opponent of many masters of controversy. 
 He was also — as he had been during Lord Shaftesbury's 
 supremacy — employed in various branches of public 
 service ; but his health, alwa3's delicate, rendered it
 
 Life and ]\'ritin<^s of John Locke. 15 
 
 impossible for him to remain long in London, and he 
 found plenty to do in defending the daring views that 
 he had put forward in his great essay, and in setting upon 
 paper other views that he desired to make known while 
 life remained to him. So he resided much in the country, 
 and especially during his later years at Oates in Essex, 
 the abode of his great friends Sir Francis and Lady 
 Masham — Lady Masham, daughter of the celebrated 
 Dr. Cudworth, being a woman of great abilities. From 
 a graceful sketch written by her, giving us the best 
 account of his character and temperament that we have, 
 apart from the evidence of his own letters and treatises, 
 I may quote a few sentences. " He was," says Lady 
 Masham, " a profound philosopher, and a man fit for the 
 
 most important affairs He knew something of 
 
 almost everything which can be useful to mankind, and 
 was thoroughly master of all that he had studied ; but he 
 showed his superiority by not appearing to value himself 
 in anyway on account of his great attainments. Nobody 
 assumed less the airs of a master, or was less dogmatical, 
 and he was never offended when any did not agree with 
 
 his opinions In the most trifling circumstances of 
 
 life, as well as in speculative opinions, he was always 
 ready to be convinced by reason, let the information 
 come from whoever it might. He was the most faithful 
 follower, or indeed the slave of truth, which he never 
 abandoned on any account, and which he loved for its 
 
 own sake He felt pleasure in conversing with all 
 
 sorts of people, and tried to profit by their information, 
 which arose not only from the good education he had 
 received, but from the opinion he entertained that there 
 was nobody from whom something useful could not be 
 got. And indeed by this means he had learnt so many 
 things concerning the arts and trade that he seemed to 
 have made them his particular study ; insomuch that 
 those whose profession they were often profited by his 
 information, and consulted him with advantage. . . . He 
 was very charitable to the poor, provided they were not
 
 i6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 the idle or the profligate, who did not frequent any church 
 or who spent their Sundays in an alehouse. He felt, 
 above all, compassion for those who having worked hard 
 
 in their youth, sink into poverty in their old age 
 
 Often in his walks he visited the poor of the neigh- 
 bourhood, and gave them the wherewithal to relieve their 
 wants or to buy the medicines he prescribed for them if 
 they were sick and had no medical aid. He did not like 
 anything to be wasted ; which was, in his opinion, losing 
 the treasure of which God has made us the economists. 
 He himself was very regular, and kept exact accounts of 
 
 everything He was kind to his servants, and 
 
 showed them with gentleness how he wished to be served. 
 He not only kept strictly a secret which had been confided 
 to him, but he never mentioned anything which could 
 prove injurious, although he had not been enjoined 
 secrecy ; nor did he ever wrong a friend by any sort of 
 indiscretion or inadvertency. He was an exact observer 
 of his word, and what he promised was sacred." 
 
 Early in the eighteenth century a young Edinburgh 
 student, named Aikenhead, gave utterance to opinions 
 that the rigid Presbyterians of the day regarded as 
 atheistical ; and, in spite of his protestations and contradic- 
 tions, he was executed for atheism — nearly the last martyr 
 who suffered to the death in Britain for religious opinions 
 or the lack of them. Locke was at the time so afflicted 
 with the asthma which had plagued him through life 
 that he could hardly speak— so deaf that he could hardly 
 hear; but news of this persecution reached him, and he 
 wrote indignant letters to Edinburgh, asking for a full 
 statement of the facts, that he might publish his judgment 
 thereupon. He died at Oates, on the 28th of October, 
 1704, in his seventy-third year. 
 
 These, very briefly told, are the main incidents in the 
 life of John Locke — a life that was comparatively unevent- 
 ful, though passed in stirring and memorable times. In his 
 early boyhood, the house-talk must have been constantly 
 of the civil war then raging, and as a Westminster boy.
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. ly 
 
 though he may not have been actually an eye-witness of 
 Charles I.'s execution, he must have heard the shouts 
 and groans, the trembling exultations and the muffled 
 lamentation of the populace as they hurried up to 
 Whitehall Palace from Westminster and Southwark on 
 that ghastly 30th of January, 1649. Though he lived in 
 tolerable quiet at Oxford during the Commonwealth we 
 know that he watched the progress of affairs with great 
 interest, and though he took but little part as a prime 
 mover in the later events of Charles 11. 's and James II. 's 
 reigns, in the Revolution and in the establishment of 
 William of Orange on the English throne with a new 
 sort of kingship — a kingship in which Divine Right was 
 ignored, and " Vox Populi, Vox Dei," was the political 
 maxim, — though, as I say, he took no prominent part in 
 these movements, he watched them keenly, and guided 
 them not a httle. It was ill-health, as well as a natural 
 temperament that ill-health must have strengthened, 
 which doubtless kept him in the background ; but he did 
 better work in the background than could have been 
 expected from him had he come to the fore as an active 
 politician. 
 
 Happily for the world he left other men — more fitted 
 for actual participation in the turmoil of later Stuart 
 politics — to plan and to effect the Revolution of 1688, 
 and to systematise all the political changes consequent 
 upon it ; while he thought out and systematised the 
 principles that must be at the bottom of such political 
 revolutions and social changes, as well as the guiding 
 forces in minds that would advance the intellectual and 
 moral development which he laboured for. 
 
 Locke was a thinker and writer for a long time before 
 he was known by any but his most intimate friends to 
 be anything more than a very venturesome and skilful 
 physician and a very useful counsellor of his patron, Lord 
 Shaftesbury, and of all others who came to him for 
 advice. The year 1670 is given as the date at which he 
 commenced writing his " Essay on Human Understand- 
 
 2
 
 1 8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ing," though there is good reason for supposing that it 
 began to be thought out, if not written, at least ten years 
 earher ; but it was not pubhshed till i6go. In the same 
 year appeared the " Treatise on Civil Government," the 
 " Treatise on Education," and two " Letters on Tolera- 
 tion," of which we know that the first had been written 
 in Latin as early as 1685, and had been published as a 
 Latin treatise at Amsterdam in i68g. Another letter on 
 " Toleration " appeared in 1692, an " Essay on the 
 Reasonableness of Christianity " in 1695, and three 
 letters to Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, in defence of 
 the " Essay on Human Understanding," and some other 
 works of less general interest complete the list. 
 
 Within the very narrow limits of space at my disposal 
 I shall endeavour to indicate to you the most important 
 features of Locke's teaching as he elaborated it in the 
 principal of those works. 
 
 In a curious old manuscript volume, a sort of memo- 
 randum book belonging to Locke's father, which is now 
 in the British Museum, a friend of mine has discovered 
 some very interesting entries, apparently in the hand- 
 writing of Locke himself, and, if so, made by him while 
 he was a young man at Oxford. One of them contains 
 a concise description of philosophy. " It is sorted," he 
 says, " into three parts, namely, Physics, Ethics, and 
 Dialectics : Physics is to discern and judge of the world 
 and of such things as are therein ; Ethics is to treat of 
 life and manners ; Dialectics, that is Logic, to make 
 reason to grow, and improve both Physics and Ethics, 
 which is moral philosophy. Moral philosophy is the 
 knowledge of precepts of all honest manners which 
 reason acknowledgeth to belong and appertain to man's 
 nature as the things which now differ from beasts. It is 
 also necessary for the comely government of man's life. 
 Necessity was the first finder out of moral philosophy, and 
 experience (which is a trusty teacher) was the first master 
 thereof." There you have the germ of all Locke's later 
 philosophising, whether metaphysical or ethical. His
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke, 10 
 
 greatest work, the " Essay on Human Understanding," 
 grew, he tells us, out of an argument with some 
 friends, which came to a deadlock because they could 
 not agree on fundamental principles. " After we had 
 awhile puzzled ourselves," he says, " without coming 
 any nearer to a resolution of those doubts which 
 perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a 
 wrong course, and that before we set ourselves upon 
 enquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our 
 own abilities, and see what objects our understandings were or 
 were not fitted to deal with." The " wrong course " which 
 Locke and his friends took in that eventful argument was 
 doubtless one for which there was plenty of precedent. 
 Before Locke's time, through all the dreary periods of 
 earlier and later scholasticism, and even in his time, in 
 spite of the brilliant but insufficient suggestions of Bacon 
 and the partly-discovered and ill-interpreted truths to be 
 found in the teaching of such men as Descartes and 
 Hobbes, argument generally consisted merely in the hurl- 
 ing about of dogmas, insoluble by any human intellect, 
 and most of which it would be considered blasphemy for 
 any human intellect to attempt to solve. It was quite a 
 revelation for Locke to say, " Do not attempt to use 
 weapons that you cannot use : before you try to handle 
 them see what is their weight, what metal they are made 
 of, and whether you have muscle enough to grasp them, 
 and nerve enough to guide them," or, avoiding metaphor, 
 " Give over arguing on things you cannot understand and 
 using so-called arguments that neither you noryoi^r oppo- 
 nents understand ; — instead of that, see what powers 
 of understanding you really possess, and then what 
 subjects you have power to argue about, what arguments 
 you have power to use." To use Locke's own words, 
 " When we know our own strength, we shall the better 
 know what to undertake with hopes of success : and when 
 we have well surveyed the powers of our own minds, and 
 made some estimate what we may expect from them, we 
 shall not be inclined either to sit still and not set our
 
 20 Essays and Papers, 
 
 thoughts on work at all, in despair of knowing anything, 
 or, on the other side, question everything and disclaim all 
 knowledge, because some things are not to be understood. 
 It is of great use to the sailor to know the length of his 
 line, though he cannot with it fathom all the depths of the 
 ocean. It is well that he knows it is long enough to reach 
 the bottom at such places as are necessary to direct his 
 voyage, and caution him against running upon shoals 
 that may ruin him. Our business here is not to know 
 all things, but those which concern our conduct. If 
 we can find out those measures whereby a rational 
 creature, put in that state in which man is in this world, 
 may and ought to govern his opinions and actions, 
 depending thereon, we need not be troubled that some 
 other things escape our knowledge." Most philosophers 
 undertake to solve for us the whole secret of the universe. 
 Locke honestly confesses that he could solve very little 
 indeed, and bravely counsels us to sit down in quiet 
 ignorance of those things which are beyond the reach of 
 our capacities, and " to content ourselves with trying to 
 know what can be known." That is the true philosophy — 
 "to inquire into the origin, certainty and extent of human 
 knowledge, together with the grounds and degrees of 
 belief, opinion, and assent and to leave the unknowable 
 alone." " Sure I am," he says, " that all the light we can 
 let in upon our minds, all the acquaintance we can 
 make with our own understandings, will not only be very 
 pleasant, but bring us great advantage in directing 
 our thoughts in search of other things. It is, therefore, 
 worth while to search out the bounds between opinion 
 and knowledge, and examine by what measures, in things 
 whereof we have a certain knowledge, we ought to regulate 
 our assent and moderate our persuasions." That is the 
 scope and purport of Locke's great essay. 
 
 It would be idle for me, even if I were able, in the 
 course of a few minutes, to lead you through the intricacies 
 of the metaphysics contained in the essay, marvellously 
 simple as those metaph}-sics are in comparison with nearly
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 21 
 
 everything that has been written before or since on the 
 same and kindred subjects, except by John Stuart Mill ; 
 but that is not requisite. It is the object which Locke 
 had in view and the method by which he pursued it which 
 I wish to point out to you ; and perhaps the few sentences 
 which I have quoted will suffice for that. Amid some 
 blunders of phrase and blunders of thought, Locke did 
 once for all open out the true path of metaphysical research 
 when he showed that experience is the great teacher, itself 
 needing, like all great teachers, to be taught, and at the 
 same time that, while the old theories about innate ideas 
 are untenable, experience can and must sohdify into a sort 
 of intuition — or, as he puts it, that " sense and reflection " 
 are the sources of all our ideas. In any impartial history 
 it will be recorded that all the weight of authority in his 
 own time was against Galileo, however much those who 
 represent that authority now may seek to evade the 
 consequences involved in the fact, and so when Locke 
 published -his " Essay on Human Understanding," " it 
 was proposed," his biographer says, " at a meeting of the 
 heads of the houses of the University of Oxford, to censure 
 and discourage the reading of it, and, after various debates 
 among themselves, it was concluded that each head of a 
 house should endeavour to prevent its being read in his 
 college." 
 
 Nothing is more remarkable in the history of philosophy 
 than the altered state of feeling which exists in the same 
 class and rank of minds at one era and at another 
 towards the same scientific and speculative conclusions, 
 a fact which illustrates the wisdom of Gamaliel's counsel, 
 that authority had better let such dubious matters alone, 
 for that if not true they will certainly come to naught, 
 and if true they cannot be overthrown. 
 
 Dugald Stewart spoke no more than the truth when 
 he described the Essay as "the richest contribution of 
 well-observed and well-described facts which was ever 
 bequeathed to this branch of science by a single individual, 
 and the indisputable, though not ahva}'3 acknowledged,
 
 22 Essays and Papers. 
 
 source of some of the most refined conclusions with 
 respect to the intellectual phenomena which have been 
 since brought to light by succeeding inquiries." But, 
 great as those merits are, they are not the greatest. 
 They place Locke above all other Englishmen as a meta- 
 physician. But he was more than a mere metaphysician. 
 He was a seeker after truth. " Whatever I write, as 
 soon as I shall discover it not to be truth, my hand 
 shall be forwardest to throw it in the fire," he said, and 
 he meant it. " It is a duty we owe to God," he wrote 
 in his commonplace book, " as the fountain and author 
 of all truth, who is truth itself, and it is a duty we owe 
 also to our own selves, if we will deal candidly and 
 sincerely with our own selves, — to have our minds con- 
 stantly disposed to entertain and receive truth where- 
 soever we meet with it, or under whatsoever appearance 
 of plain or ordinary, strange, new, or perhaps displeasing 
 it may come in our way. Truth is the proper object, the 
 proper riches and furniture of the mind ; and according 
 as his stock of this is, so is the difference and value of one 
 man above another. He that fills his head with vain 
 notions and false opinions may have his mind perhaps 
 puffed up and seemingly much enlarged, but in truth it is 
 narrow and empty; for all that it comprehends, all that it 
 contains amounts to nothmg, or less than nothing, for 
 falsehood is below ignorance, and a lie worse than nothing. 
 Our first and great duty then is, to bring to our studies and 
 our enquiries after knowledge a mind covetous of truth, 
 that seeks after nothing else, and after that impartially, and 
 embraces it, how poor, how contemptible, how unfashion- 
 able soever it may seem." And in the Essay : — " Vague 
 and insignificant forms of speech and abuse of language 
 have for so long passed for mysteries of science ; and 
 hard and misapplied words, with little or no meaning, 
 have, by prescription, such a right to be mistaken for 
 deep learning and height of speculation, that it will not 
 be easy to persuade either those who speak or those who 
 hear them that they are but the cover of ignorance and
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 23 
 
 hindrance of true knowledge. To break in upon this 
 sanctuary of vanity and ignorance will be, I suppose, some 
 service to the human understanding." Now you know 
 why the " Essay on Human Understanding" was written. 
 If you have not yet read the book, I advise you to read 
 it at once ; for the world is not yet quite rid of sanctuaries 
 of vanity and ignorance. 
 
 If the subject be not too debatable and too dry, I may, 
 perhaps, on some other occasion, ask your attention more 
 particularly to the contents of Locke's Essay, by way of 
 showing its position in reference to the speculation which 
 preceded and to that which has followed its publication. 
 
 No one thinks now of reversing Bacon's method in 
 reference to physics, and Locke's Essay is but an 
 application of the same method to metaphysics ; but the 
 word " metaphysics " is not of good reputation, and is 
 thought to represent a great deal of cloudy and unprofit- 
 able speculation. No doubt it does so ; but perhaps 
 not mora than was represented by the word " physics" 
 before Bacon's time ; and when the subjects to which 
 we apply the word "metaphysics" are treated of, 
 according to the methods of physical science, more 
 fruitful results will be seen, and when this comes to 
 pass, the guiding principles of such a system wall be 
 found in Locke's Essay. In the historical order of 
 speculation that which is subtle and abstract has pre- 
 ceded that which is concrete and plain, but this can 
 hardly be called the natural order in which the subjects 
 are in a common way presented to the understanding, 
 for we learn the lesson of things before we learn the 
 lesson of thoughts — we read the plan and purpose of the 
 world that is without before we decipher the world that 
 is within. Now, if there be but one real principle of 
 investigation, one only true method of ascertaining and 
 understanding what the world, in its manifold forms and 
 modifications, means and involves, then, having learned 
 to apply this method with success and certainty to the 
 simplest and least occult phenomena, we may expect to
 
 24 Essays and Papers. 
 
 employ it with a similar success among the facts and 
 relations which are more intricate and inaccessible ; and 
 however barren its results may hitherto have been, how- 
 ever it may have earned the unpopularity into which it 
 has fallen, when its method is reformed and expurgated, 
 metaphysics wili no longer be a dreary w^aste or an 
 elaborate and useless puzzle. Instead of this, it may 
 furnish the master key of human knowledge ; for, whether 
 we know it or not, we are entangled in a web of meta- 
 physics from which it is hard to emancipate ourselves. 
 The language in which certain subjects are presented to 
 us is full of metaphysical terms, and as Moliere's hero 
 had been talking prose all his life without knowing it, 
 so unawares we may often discourse metaphysics, and 
 we can only escape the influence of bad metaphysics by 
 acquiring those which are better. The words of meta- 
 physics came into existence when the methods which it 
 pursued were visionary and unreal, and a perpetual 
 confusion of thought is created in consequence. Meta- 
 physics has been called a disease of language, so many of 
 its most disputable points being due to ambiguities of 
 words. Locke has devoted the third book of his Essay 
 to the subject of words, and he confesses — " when I began 
 this work on the understanding and a good while after, I 
 had not the least thought that any consideration of words 
 was at all necessary to it ; " but he goes on to say — " he 
 that shall well consider the errors and obscurity, the 
 mistakes and confusion that are spread in the world by an 
 ill use of words, will find some reason to doubt whether 
 language as it has been employed has contributed more 
 to the improvement or hindrance of knowledge amongst 
 mankind." Now, Locke is one of the least rhetorical of 
 writers, and his statements are always plain and guarded 
 ones, and it is due to him that after hearing such a 
 sweeping judgment we should read the argument that 
 leads him to it ; and a most interesting argument it is. 
 Writers are not accustomed to employ language with a 
 rigorous precision, they are content to use words in a
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 25 
 
 loose and slipshod way, and because this is enough for 
 ordinary purposes we conclude that it is sufficient for all 
 purposes. No mistake can be more fatal, 
 
 I called the attention of the Society some years ago to 
 the subject of words, and I remember that some of my 
 audience thought I had made too much of it, and that it 
 was not necessary to insist on so much accuracy and 
 exactness ; I said then, as I say now, and as I have been 
 taught by Locke to say, that for the ordinary commerce 
 of life the ordinary usages of language are quite sufficient ; 
 but that for the discussion of what is more recondite and 
 abstract, it is essential that a rigorous precision should be 
 observed, that the words we make use of should represent 
 definite and unmistakable things. If a man is asked how 
 far his house is from the church or the market, he may 
 say one hundred or two hundred yards, and the answer is 
 reckoned sufficient ; if a railway company is restricted to 
 a charge of id per mile, it must measure its distances 
 with exactness ; and if a mechanic is making a machine, 
 he must work to a very small fraction of an inch. The 
 progress of physical science has been immensely advanced 
 by the perfection of its quantitative measurements ; it can 
 weigh and measure to a nicety that is almost inconceiv- 
 able, and its results are proportionately valuable. The 
 invisible and impalpable phenomena and methods of mind 
 are also dependent upon a machinery of words ; and in 
 proportion as these become more and more precise and 
 definite, will increased light be thrown upon the questions 
 they deal with. 
 
 Sir John Herschel says — " Take, for instance, the word 
 * iron.' Different persons attach very different ideas to 
 this word. One who has never heard of magnetism has a 
 widely different notion of iron from one in a contrary 
 predicament. The vulgar, who regard this metal as 
 incombustible, and the chemist who sees it burn with 
 the utmost fury, and who has other reasons for regarding 
 it as one of the most combustible bodies in nature; 
 the poet, who uses it as an emblem of rigidity, and.
 
 26 Essays and Papers. 
 
 the smith and the engineer, in whose hands it is plastic, 
 and moulded like wax into every form ; the jailer, who 
 prizes it as an obstruction, and the electrician, who 
 sees in it only a channel of open communication by 
 which that most impassable of obstacles, the air, may be 
 traversed by his imprisoned fluid ; — have all different, and 
 all imperfect, notions of the same word. The meaning of 
 such a term is like a rainbow — everybody sees a different 
 one, and all maintain it to be the same. Some words are 
 indefinite, as 'hard' or 'soft,' Might, or 'heavy' (terms 
 which were at one time the sources of innumerable 
 mistakes and controversies), and some exceedingly 
 complex, as 'man,' 'life,' 'instinct,'" — and more to the 
 same purpose. Now, if our common everyday words 
 have in them such a width of signification, and may so far 
 mislead, words that stand for mental and metaphysical 
 things may have meanings quite as extensive, and far 
 harder to define. The Archbishop of York says : — " The 
 names we employ in speech are not always symbols to 
 another of what is explicitly understood by us, but quite 
 as often are symbols both to speaker and hearer, the full 
 and exact meaning of which neither of them stop to unfold, 
 any more than they regularly reflect that every sovereign 
 which passes through their hands is equivalent to 240 
 pence. Such words as ' state,' ' happiness,' ' liberty,' 
 'creation,' are too pregnant with meaning for us to 
 suppose that we realise their full sense every time we read 
 or pronounce them." We may not, as the Archbishop 
 says, always use the word " sovereign " with the 
 conscious recollection that it consists of 240 pence ; 
 but we can at any moment translate it into this equi- 
 valent, and what is wanted is that we should be able 
 to decompose all such words into real elements. Of the 
 meanmg of the word " substance " we have a tolerably 
 clear notion when we apply it to this table or this chair ; 
 but I turned the other day to a modern " dictionary of 
 science, literature, and art," to see what the word meant, 
 and I found this account of it, — " In metaphysics and
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 27 
 
 logic substance is said to be only the collection or synthesis 
 of attributes." " Attributes synthetically united give 
 substance, and substance analysed gives attributes " — 
 this is surely a hard saying; yet "substance" is a word 
 that has played a conspicuous part in the metaphysical 
 world. To speak of it more plainly, the attributes of this 
 table may be its hardness, its tenacity, its shape, and its 
 colour, &c. ; now it is asked, if the qualities of the table, 
 such as these and the rest, make up the table, or if there 
 is not something besides in which these qualities inhere — • 
 a substance, in short, plus all the separate qualities or 
 attributes. Is the substance the sum of the attributes, or 
 something else ? This question involves a metaphysical 
 theory which has been grafted on some very practical 
 matters. The word is innocent enough at one time, 
 perplexing enough at another, but its differences of 
 meaning are not always distinguishable, and such words 
 are very numerous, and justify the strictures of Locke. 
 
 In this month's Contemporary Review Mr. Matthew 
 Arnold seeks to determine what the word "being " means 
 — and he says, " all one can say of it is, that it means 
 * being,' something which the philosophers understand 
 but we never shall, and which explains and demonstrates 
 all sorts of hard problems, but to philosophers only, and 
 not to the common herd of mankind." "Philosophy," he 
 goes on to say, "is full of the word, and some philosophies 
 are concerned with hardly anything else ; the scholastic 
 philosophy, for instance, was one long debate about 
 'being' and its conditions; " and then he seeks to unlock 
 its meaning through the etymology of the word ; but he is 
 not very successful, as these very abstract words elude 
 our attempts to endow them with palpable and tangible 
 meaning ; what they represent cannot be made visible, it 
 is a mental product only, the words are a sort of counters 
 or symbols — standing for what never had or can have " a 
 local habitation," but merely "a name." 
 
 Again, the word " idea," which fills so large a space 
 in Locke's Essay that he may be considered to have
 
 28 Essays and Papers. 
 
 naturalised it, is ambiguous enough, and even Locke uses 
 it very loosely ; it was a word that he could hardly 
 dispense with, and yet, as being the product of a philosophy 
 antagonistic to his own, it should have been most carefully 
 watched and guarded. It is a common word now, but 
 it has upon it the mark and signature of a special theory, 
 and it needs to be cross-examined before we admit it to 
 much familiarity. 
 
 There is a story told of a lady who after reading Locke's 
 Essay, was in doubt about the meaning of this word, 
 which she pronounced id-e-a and upon asking a gentleman 
 what it meant, he replied with very scant courtesy, 
 *' Madam, id-e-a is the feminine oi id-i-ot.'' 
 
 The Essay, though not published till after the Revolution, 
 was written during the reign of Charles IL, when the 
 degradation of England under the most contemptible of 
 all the Stuarts seemed to offer little hope for immediate 
 pohtical reform. The accession of William and Mary 
 gave rise to plenty of hope. It was partly as an apology 
 for the deposition of James II. and the election of his son- 
 in-law, and far more as an exposition of views greatly 
 in advance of any that William or his advisers would 
 support, that Locke wrote his Treatise, or rather his two 
 Treatises, on " Civil Government." The immediate 
 provocation for this was a book written by a Sir Robert 
 Filmer, called " Patriarcha," with the object of proving 
 that — Adam being endowed with kingship over all crea- 
 tion, and the patriarchs after him having been absolute 
 monarchs by divine right — a special endowment with 
 tyrannical powers had by some subtle process descended 
 from the patriarchs to modern kings, and to English kings 
 of the Stuart line especially, giving them authority superior 
 to all laws and all the inclinations of their subjects. " It 
 is hardly possible to find a more trifling and feeble work," 
 is Hallam's verdict ; and Locke confessed himself mightily 
 surprised that, " in a book which was to provide chains 
 for all mankind, he should find nothing but a rope of 
 sand, useful perhaps to men whose skill and business is to
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 29 
 
 raise a dust and blind the people, the better to mislead 
 them, but not of any force to draw those into bondage 
 who have their eyes open, and so much sense about them 
 as to consider that chains are but an ill wearing, how 
 much care soever have been taken to file and polish them." 
 Filmer's book became very popular, however, as an 
 extreme exposition and would-be scriptural justification 
 of unmitigated despotism, and, as such, Locke thought it 
 worth his while to controvert it. The first half of Locke's 
 work on " Civil Government " is an elaborate, perhaps a 
 too elaborate, exposure of Filmer's arguments, the killing 
 over and over again of a pigmy by a giant. The second 
 half is a masterly exposition of Locke's own theory of 
 Government — or, rather, of a theory of Government far 
 older than his, though it had never before been so fully 
 developed or supported by anything like such force of 
 logic or such philosophical acumen. This second half of 
 Locke's work was, for posterity, the valuable half. 
 
 Having first laid down and substantiated the broad 
 principle that a "state of nature " is a state of perfect 
 freedom — subject to the " law of nature," which gives no 
 man freedom to enslave another — and a state of equality, 
 " wherein all the power and jurisdiction is reciprocal, no 
 one having more than another," Locke proceeds to show 
 that when men pass from the rudest condition of life into 
 a more civilized one, and supplement natural laws by civil 
 laws, those civil laws cannot properly be anything more 
 than orderly developments of the primitive laws of nature. 
 " The natural liberty of man," he says, " is to be free from 
 any superior on earth, and not to be under the will or 
 legisl9.tive authority of man." " The liberty of man in 
 society is, to be under no other legislative power but that 
 established, by consent, in the commonwealth, nor under 
 the dominion of any will, or restraint of any law, but what 
 that legislative shall enact, according to the trust put in 
 it." 
 
 Locke denies that despotic regal authority can have 
 grown out of paternal authority, because he denies that
 
 30 Essays and Papers. 
 
 parents have any right to injure their children, or that 
 any other duty devolves upon them beyond the protection 
 and training of those children while they are too weak 
 and foolish to fight their own battle in the world. But 
 he is willing to believe that civil government grew — • 
 and grew properly — out of patriarchal authority. " The 
 natural fathers of families, by an insensible change, became 
 the politic monarchs of them too, and, as they chanced to 
 live long, and have worthy and able heirs for several 
 successions or otherwise, so they laid the foundations of 
 hereditary or elective kingdoms." But if monarchs came 
 into fashion in this way, the way gives them no warrant 
 at all for any abuse of their monarchical authority. They 
 are monarchs by divine right only so long as they conform 
 to healthy human institutions. The well-being of their 
 subjects is the great and only object for which they are 
 endowed with any special authority, and as soon as they 
 cease to regard that, they surrender all title to retain the 
 position of monarchs, and if they do not abdicate they 
 ought to be deposed. 
 
 That is a bare outline of the central thesis in Locke's 
 " Treatise on Civil Government," maintained by him 
 with great vigour of argument and variety of illustration. 
 There are some who still think that in it Locke 
 undertook to prove too much, and that in showing that 
 tyrants and despots have no right to reign, he virtually 
 sanctions every sort of rebellion and revolution ; and of 
 course in his own day it was bitterly denounced by his 
 political opponents as a more mischievous work than 
 even Harrington's " Oceana," or Algernon Sidney's 
 " Discourses on Government," the two most famous 
 utterances of avowed Republicans of that period. I will 
 not say that it is free from all objection on this score ; 
 but, at the utmost, it only somewhat overstates a case 
 that surely has reason and justice altogether on its side. 
 And, whatever may be its blemishes, it cleared the 
 political thought of Europe of a wonderful amount of 
 rubbish. Since his time no practical statesman, no
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 31 
 
 politician making any real claim to statesmanship, has 
 talked seriously about the divine right of kings, or the 
 paternal duty of monarchs to treat their subjects as slaves. 
 The logic and the banter of Locke's treatise, reproduced 
 by thousands who never knew that this treatise was the 
 source of their own opinions, exploded for ever those 
 fantastic notions ; and in this very important branch of 
 political philosophy, no less than in his more particular 
 province of metaphysical research, Locke has effected an 
 entire revolution. 
 
 But in some respects a more remarkable production 
 than Locke's " Treatise on Civil Government " was his 
 " Letter on Toleration." I say Letter, because, though 
 two other letters, and one of them a very long one, were 
 subsequently published by him, and the fragments of a 
 fourth were included in his posthumous works, his first 
 letter was the really important one, saying all that he 
 really cared to say on the subject, although in the sub- 
 sequent letters he was compelled, by the obtuseness of 
 his opponents, to repeat, expand, and justify his original 
 remarks. That first letter was written, as I have already 
 observed, in Holland, while Locke was a fugitive from 
 the persecution of Charles IL's later minions, and was 
 being hunted about even in Holland by the Dutch allies 
 of the English politicians then in power. A more manly, 
 dignified, and eloquent protest in favour of religious 
 liberty could not have been penned, 
 
 A great deal, of course, had been written in favour of 
 religious liberty long before Locke's time ; but, unfortu- 
 nately, there was considerable confusion in the use of the 
 term. You remember that Milton, after hoping much 
 from the substitution of Presbyterian supremacy for the 
 Church government of Archbishop Laud and his sacer- 
 dotal party, had sadly to confess that " new presbyter is 
 but old priest writ large," — and so it had been all 
 through. The first Protestants rightly complained of the 
 way in which they were persecuted by the Catholics; but, 
 as soon as they had made sure their own position, they
 
 32 Essays and Papers. 
 
 began to persecute one another. Each sect and party 
 began by claiming the right of worshipping as it chose, 
 and then claimed the right of preventing other sects or 
 parties from worshipping in any other way. The best 
 men of course were more truly tolerant ; and a few of 
 them — the most notable of all being Milton — wrote and 
 published their views. Some while after Milton, Jeremy 
 Taylor issued his " Liberty of Prophesying " — a book 
 worthy of high praise, though somewhat narrow and self- 
 contradictory. But it was reserved for Locke to pro- 
 pound this unqualified proposition : '* All the pov/er of 
 Civil Governments relates only to men's civil interests, — • 
 is confined to this world ; and hath nothing to do with 
 the world to come." 
 
 It was to the lucid exposition of that doctrine that 
 Locke applied himself in his letters on Toleration. His 
 theory of civil Government made this easier for him. 
 Holding that governments only exist to secure and 
 strengthen the rights and liberties of the individuals who 
 voluntarily submit themselves to those Governments, 
 he was only logical — and he was always logical — in 
 excluding religious opinion from the sphere of govern- 
 ment. Religious action, within certain limits, he did not 
 thus exclude. " If a number of men conspire," he might 
 have said, "to commit a murder, it is the duty of the Civil 
 Government to find them out and punish them, and they 
 certainly ought not to be exempt from restraint by the 
 Civil Government, because they profess that what they 
 do is under guidance from heaven. Papistical incendiaries 
 who plot and scheme for the restoration of James III., 
 and who use the instruments of their religion to coerce 
 their devotees, deserve at least as much interference and 
 restraint as would be used in the case of other schemers 
 and plotters who wear no cloak of religion ; and the same 
 rule must apply to all religious incendiaries." But he 
 went no further than that. Provided they did not attempt 
 positive subversion of the civil interests of the State, he 
 urged that religionists of all sorts should have perfect
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 33 
 
 liberty to think and act as they chose. " God," he 
 declared, " has never given any such authority to one man 
 over another as to compel any one to his religion ; nor 
 can any such power be vested in the magistrate by the 
 consent of the people, because no man can so far abandon 
 the care of his own salvation as blindly to leave it to the 
 choice of any other, whether prince or subject, to prescribe 
 to him what faith or worship he shall embrace." Again, 
 " The care of souls cannot belong to the civil magistrate, 
 because his power consists only in outward force ; but 
 true and saving religion consists in the inward persuasion 
 of the mind, without which nothing can be acceptable to 
 God. And such is the nature of the understanding that 
 it cannot be compelled to the belief of anything by 
 outward force. Confiscation of estates, imprisonment, 
 torments, nothing of that nature can have any such efficacy 
 as to make men change the inward judgment that they 
 have formed of things." Again, "The care of the salva- 
 tion of mien's souls cannot belong to the magistrate, 
 because though the vigour of laws and the force of 
 penalties were capable to convince and change men's 
 minds, yet would not that help at all to the salvation of 
 their souls. For — there being but one truth, one way to 
 heaven — what hope is there that more men would be led 
 into it, if they had no rule but the religion of the Court, 
 and were put under a necessity to quit the light of their 
 own reason, and oppose the dictates of their own con- 
 sciences, and blindly to resign themselves to the will of 
 their governors, and to the religion which either ignorance, 
 ambition, or superstition had chanced to establish in the 
 countries where they are born ? In the variety and 
 contradiction of opinions in religion, wherein the princes 
 of the world are as much divided as in their secular 
 interests, the narrow way would be much straightened, 
 one country alone would be in the right, and all the rest 
 of the world put under an obligation of following their 
 princes in the ways that lead to destruction, and — that 
 which heightens the absurdity, and very ill suits the 
 
 3
 
 34 Essays and Papers, 
 
 notion of a Deity — men would owe their eternal happiness 
 or misery to the places of their nativity." 
 
 Those sentences will help to show you what was the 
 nature of Locke's argument in favour of Toleration. It 
 very nearly exhausted the subject, and, if men were 
 governed by reason, it would have rung the death-knell 
 of every sort of religious persecution. As it is, we may 
 be grateful to John Locke for having done so much to 
 secure liberty of conscience. It is not easy to put oneself- 
 at the point of view of those who took part in a great and 
 exciting controversy of former times ; arguments which 
 were then reckoned good and effective seem now to have 
 lost their relevancy, and we often miss the meaning for 
 want of knowing what was said on the other side. Locke's 
 argument, as I read it, refers exclusively to the coercive 
 jurisdiction of the magistrate ; which he restricts abso- 
 lutely to the affairs of this world ; what a man does which 
 is injurious to the State he may justly be punished for, 
 what he thi7iks is not within the province of the magistrate's 
 punitive power at all. This doctrine is hardly disputed 
 now in the civilised world, and one is amazed to read 
 what was written in Locke's time on the other side of the 
 question. 
 
 Itwasfor the special benefit of his friend Edward Chipley, 
 in the management of his children, that Locke wrote 
 " Some Thoughts concerning Education," but the treatise 
 is of great general value, and especially worth reading in 
 these days of educational reform. Its main purpose is to 
 show the extreme importance of training the body and 
 the heart as well as the intellect ; and the greater use 
 with which the mind can be developed if, conjointly 
 with the intellectual training, due attention is paid to 
 physical education and to strengthening of all these 
 qualities which go to the making of a gentleman, in the 
 true sense of that term. But Locke's remarks on the 
 scope and method of actual school-teaching of classics and 
 mathematics, and all the other tcs and ologies and osophies, 
 if now and then rather old-fashioned and out-of-date, are
 
 Life and Writm^s of John Locke. 35 
 
 remarkably sensible. As an illustration, not so much of 
 the tenor of the book, as of Locke's very matter-of-fact 
 temperament, and of some social and scholastic tendencies 
 of the time, which helped to make him so matter-of-fact, 
 I may quote to you part of one paragraph in this work. 
 
 Locke has been ridiculing the habit of the schoolmasters 
 of his day who made their boys spend the best part of 
 their early years in learning Latin and acquiring a certain 
 sort of skill in uttering Latin orations and writing Latin 
 essays. " If," he continues, "there may be any reasons 
 against children's making Latin themes at school, I have 
 much more to say, and of more weight, against their 
 making verses — verses of any sort. For, if he has no 
 genius to poetry, 'tis the most unreasonable thing in the 
 world to torment a child and waste his time about that 
 which can never succeed : and, if he have a poetic view, 
 'tis to me the strangest thing in the world that the father 
 should desire or suffer it to be cherished or improved. 
 Methinks the parents should labour to have it stifled and 
 suppressed as much as may be ; and I know not what 
 reason a father can have to wish his son a poet who does 
 not desire to have him bid defiance to all other callings 
 and business. Which is not yet the worst of the case ; 
 for, if he proves a successful rhymer, and get once the 
 reputation of a wit, I desire it may be considered what 
 company and places he is likely to spend his time in — 
 nay, and estate too. For it is very seldom seen that any 
 one discovers mines of gold or silver in Parnassus. 'Tis 
 a pleasant air, but a barren soil ; and there are very few 
 instances of those who have added to their patrimony by 
 anything they have reaped from thence. Poetry and 
 gaming, which usually go together, are alike in this too, 
 that they seldom bring any advantage but to those who 
 have nothing else to live on. Men of estates almost 
 constantly go away losers ; and 'tis well if they escape at 
 a cheaper rate than their whole estates or the greatest 
 part of them. If, therefore, you would not have your son 
 the fiddle to every jovial company-, without whom the 
 
 3*
 
 36 Essays and Papers. 
 
 sparks could not relish their wine, nor know how to pass 
 an afternoon idly — if you would not have him waste his 
 time and estate to divert others, and continue the dirty 
 acres left him by his ancestors — I do not think you will 
 much care he should be a poet, or that his schoolmaster 
 should enter him in vcrsifyinf^. But yet, if any one will 
 think poetry a desirable quality in his son, and that the 
 study of it would raise his fancy and ];arts, he must yet 
 confess that to that end reading the excellent Greek and 
 Roman poets is of more use than making bad verses of 
 his own in a language; that is not his (jwn." 
 
 Amongst other public matters to which Locke devoted 
 himself should ]>(■ noticed the state of the coinage, which 
 by clipping and abrasion had lost one-third of its value. 
 It was an old device of government to reduce the cpjantity 
 of metal and to leave it of the same nominal value. This 
 had not been done by public authority in Locke's time, 
 but tlu; effect was the same, and it led to such disorder 
 that Parliament at last took the matter into its most 
 serious consideration ; and to assist the men at the head 
 of affairs who, as Locke's biographer says, arc lujt always 
 the best judges of such matters, Locke published a little 
 treatise entitled " Some Considerations (>( the Lowering 
 of the Interest and Raising the Value of Money," in 
 which there are many nice and curious observations on 
 both these subjects, as well as on trrulc in general. This 
 treatise was shortly followed by two more on the same 
 subject, of which the same biographer says, " He fully 
 showed to the world by these discourses, that he was able 
 to reason on trade and business, as on the most abstract 
 parts of science; and that he was none of those 
 philosophers who spend their lives in search of truths 
 merely sixciilativc, and who by tlicir i;.;noranc(; of tiiose 
 things which concern the pui)lic good, are incapable of 
 serving their country. These writings commended him 
 to tli(; notice of the greatest persons, with whom he used 
 to converse very freely." 
 
 We may not ice anothci' little incident in Lo(-ke's history.
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. y] 
 
 as it shows the conscientious manner in which he apphed 
 his principles to the conduct of Hfe. So scrupulous a 
 regard as his to the claims of right when they come into 
 collision with the magnetic influence of money, has been 
 in ail times and amongst all classes conspicuously rare. 
 His biographer says, " In 1695 Mr. Locke was appointed 
 one of the commissioners of trade and plantations, a 
 place worth ;/^iooo per annum. The duties of this post 
 he discharged with much care and diligence, and with 
 universal approbation. He continued in it till the year 
 1700, when upon the increase of his asthmatic disorder, 
 he was forced to resign it. He acquainted no one with his 
 design of leaving that place till he had given up his com- 
 mission into the king's own hand. The king was very 
 unwilling to dismiss iiiin, and told our author that he 
 would be well pleased with his continuance in that office, 
 though he should give little or no attendance, for that he 
 did not desire him to stay in town one day to the hurt of 
 his health. But Mr. Locke told the king that he could 
 not in conscience hold a place to which such a salary was 
 annexed without discharging the duties of it, and there- 
 fore he begged leave to resign it. King William had a 
 great esteem for Locke, and would sometimes send for 
 him to discourse on public affairs, and to know his senti- 
 ment of things." 
 
 Such, then, was John Locke, a man of whom the least 
 that can be said is, that he was a trul\- noble and patriotic 
 Englishman ; we may differ from him in many matters 
 of opinion, but we cannot fail to recognise in him high 
 and commanding qualities, of which his country may 
 justly be proud. Li\ing, when the passions of the 
 great revolution were at their height, it would have 
 been wonderful if he had escaped tiicir influence. A 
 political partisan, mixed up with the liercest of political 
 contests, we must not be surprised if we find in his w(jrks 
 some of the hard words that such contests bring forth. 
 He saw with his own eyes the evil doings of that despotic 
 rule which brought on a civil war; he lived through the
 
 38 Essays and Papers. 
 
 conflict, and until the days of a restoration which ended by 
 restoring the arbitrary ways and more than the follies of 
 the past ; he lived amid commotion and strife ; his political 
 writings were the offspring of stormy times, and they bear 
 the impress and colour of their origin. But where we may 
 dissent from his conclusions, we must always respect his 
 fairness of mind and manliness of character. He was not 
 driven into violent counsels by the fantastic theories of 
 fifth monarchy men, nor by the fatuity of the champions 
 of Divine right. The strange theories of government that 
 were put forward as an apology for the arbitrary proceed- 
 ings of the time led him to investigate the subject in its 
 first principles ; and though some part of what he wrote 
 may be only of temporary interest, the much larger part 
 is of permanent and enduring worth, which experience, 
 indeed, may temper and modify, but will never reverse. 
 
 Returning for a moment to our introductory remarks, 
 we extended our journey from Bath to Torbay, and could 
 not but remember that in Locke's time when William III. 
 landed there, he found only bare hills and a few fishermen's 
 huts upon an open strand, where to-day there are to be 
 seen upon the wooded slopes, innumerable villas and 
 gardens, a prosperous and populous town, and a sheltered 
 haven ; and the transformation is not without its moral. 
 That our country during the two centuries which have 
 since elapsed has made vast progress, both moral and 
 material, that it is not now torn and distracted like France 
 and Spain by contending factions, that its internal discords 
 since those days have been left to the arbitrament oiwords 
 and not swords, is unquestionably due to the teaching, the 
 personal bearing, and influence of such men as John 
 Locke. Wordsw^orth says — 
 
 ' Great men have been among us ; hands that penned 
 And tongues that uttered wisdom — better none. 
 The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, 
 Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend, 
 These moralists could act and comprehend ; 
 They knew how genuine glory was put on ;
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 39 
 
 Taught us how rightfully a nation shone 
 
 In splendour ; what strength was, that would not bend 
 
 But in magnanimous weakness. France, 'tis strange, 
 
 Has brought forth no such souls as we had then. 
 
 Perpetual emptiness ; unceasing change ! 
 
 No single volume paramount ; no code ; 
 
 No master spirit ; no determined road ; 
 
 But equally a want of books and men ! ' 
 
 We may care nothing for the poHtical speculations of the 
 morahsts thus enumerated by Wordsworth, and with whom 
 Locke might very well have been classed, but we remem- 
 ber that they took a generous view of human nature, and 
 had a genuine sympathy with its wants and sorrows. 
 Beyond this domain of politics, however, there lies a 
 region whose frontier is even now somewhat ill-defined — 
 the region of a man's own personal opinions and beliefs. 
 In Locke's time, as we have seen, Jeremy Taylor's appeal 
 for the "Liberty of Prophesying" had been made, and 
 Milton's " Areopagitica " — " a speech," as he calls it, " for 
 the liberty of unlicensed printing to the Parliament of 
 England " — had also been heard, and yet real toleration 
 was neither liked nor understood. Eminent Presbyterians, 
 like Calamy, preaching before the Long Parliament, de- 
 nounced toleration as the last stronghold of Satan, and 
 while Owen took the lead among a noble few in urging 
 upon Cromwell and his party the wisdom of allowing at 
 any rate some liberty of conscience, treatises without 
 number were written against any such ruinous folly. 
 John Edwards, a very respectable Puritan divine, for 
 example, used these words in his " Gangrena " : — "A 
 toleration is the grand design of the devil — his master- 
 piece and chief engine he works by at this time, to uphold 
 his tottering kingdom. It is the most compendious, 
 ready, sure way to destroy all religion, lay all waste and 
 bring in all evil. It is the most transcendent, catholic 
 and universal evil for this kingdom of any that can be 
 imagined. As the original sin is the most fundamental 
 sin, having the seed and spawn of all in it, so a toleration 
 has all errors in it and all evils. It is against the whole
 
 40 Ei>says and Papers. 
 
 stream and current of Scripture both in the Old and New 
 Testament ; both in matters of faith and manners ; both 
 general and particular commands. It overthrows all re- 
 lations, political, ecclesiastical, and economical. And 
 whereas other evils, whether of judgment or practice, be 
 but against some one or two places of Scripture, this is 
 against all— this is the Abaddon, Apollyon^ the destroyer 
 of all religion, the abommation of desolation and astonish- 
 ment, the liberty of perdition, and, therefore, the devil 
 follows it night and day, working mightily in many by 
 writing books and other ways — all the devils in hell and 
 their instruments being at work to promote a tolera- 
 tion." The strong breeze of Locke's logic was needed 
 to clear the air from such a miasma as this. There had 
 been a fierce cry for political freedom, but individual 
 liberty of thought and speech had few adherents. It is 
 never easy to draw hard and fast lines on such a subject 
 with a due regard to the conflicting interests that have to 
 be provided for. We may even yet ask how much of the 
 individual belongs to the community and how much to 
 himself, and how far does the penal jurisdiction of society 
 extend over a member who may happen to move in an 
 orbit that is slightly eccentric ? The question is a delicate 
 one — apart altogether from law — for there is some pre- 
 sumption at least on the side of the majority ; but Locke 
 came forward as the champion of the few and the feeble 
 against the domination of the many and the strong ; and 
 notwithstanding that the many and the strong asserted 
 with an uncompromising vehemence that they were also 
 exclusively the right and the good — a claim which he knew 
 had been frequently made, and not unfrequently falsified 
 in the actual working of the world's affairs. 
 
 Locke's philosophy has been challenged as tending to 
 materialism. Bishop Berkeley, however, derived from it 
 his system of idealism, so that we may set off the one 
 system against the other. But with neither of them is 
 Locke to be identified. He was a man of so much 
 integrity and fearlessness of mind that when he held a
 
 Life and Writings of John Locke. 41 
 
 distinct opinion he would distinctly avow it. Conclusions 
 may be deduced from his language which would have been 
 far from his real meaning. He had to rebuild from the 
 foundation ; and it need not surprise us if criticism, 
 hostile and friendly, has discovered that some of his 
 materials are not weatherproof, and that his lines are not 
 all straight and square. But if his critics have found 
 defects in his workmanship, and have shown that with 
 his singlehanded strength he did not make complete the 
 whole of what he undertook, they are indebted to him for 
 the methods by which they have corrected him ; and if 
 he has been worsted in conflict, the weapons have been 
 forged in his own armoury. " He nursed the pinion that 
 impelled the steel." 
 
 In making war upon the old philosophy Locke did not 
 merely overthrow ; he built, and re-organized, and he took 
 human nature as he found it, discarding mere conjecture ; 
 he dealt with it by the method of observation and 
 experimeut, keeping the highway that Bacon had cast up, 
 and avoiding the " high priori road." What might be 
 the conclusions of mere abstract speculation apart from 
 experience he did not care to inquire. His philosophy was 
 of a practical sort, having for its basis the facts of life and 
 history, as they respectively illuminate each other ; and 
 he did not confound proof with probability ; his judgment 
 waited for evidence and he gave full weight to the just 
 claims of authority. The habits and teachings, however, 
 acquired in the region of proof he carried with him into 
 the region of probability, and he carefully adjusted the 
 measure and quality of his assent to the quantity and 
 character of the probabilities that were afforded to it. I 
 have already referred to a work which he wrote, the full 
 title of which is " On the Reasonableness of Christianity 
 as delivered in the Scriptures ; " and it is worth noting in 
 these days, when there is a destructive criticism abroad 
 which, like a potent acid, dissolves the richest pearls, 
 that such a man as Locke, whose equal is not to be found 
 in our generation, did not despair of the great common-
 
 42 Essays and Papers. 
 
 wealth of man, and, further, that he found reason for the 
 hope which he held. He knew both the strength and the 
 weakness of the position which men had fortified against 
 their doubts and their fears, and though he might feel 
 that it was not exactly impregnable all round, he dehber- 
 ately believed that it was capable of defence. He had 
 " told the towers " and " marked the bulwarks," and he 
 certified that they were trustworthy and tenable. 
 
 As a philosopher, he undertook to answer certain 
 questions, to solve certain difficulties, and to interpret 
 certain phenomena ; and he did well, in his sober way, to 
 disregard the frowns and the obloquy he incurred by 
 pursuing his inquiry without fear of the results. When 
 he was told that his reasonings clashed with some 
 authority, he asked to see the title deeds of the authority, 
 or to have his reasonings invalidated ; but he did not 
 recognise a right in one province of knowledge to inter- 
 dict or to limit inquiry in another ; he sought to ascertain 
 the range and extent of man's present powers ; and while 
 he kept himself within these, he knew that he was safe ; 
 he followed the physical method, yet he did not surrender 
 to physics the whole realm of philosophy, and he did not 
 yield to philosophy the whole empire of man. Neverthe- 
 less, it was from the data of experience that he gathered 
 whatever gave form and colour and consistency to his 
 highest hopes and fears and aspirations, and from the 
 dim twilight of the understanding and the reason he 
 penetrated to 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land. 
 
 If he traced our knowledge to its source, he did not 
 pretend to determine its boundary or its goal ; if he proved 
 that it gushed forth at first through the channel of a mere 
 sensation, he tracked it also through its manifold and 
 mysterious windings, to the highest promontories and 
 pinnacles of thought, where it mingles and blends with 
 the immeasurable that is beyond.
 
 ON LOCKE'S "ESSAY CONCERNING 
 HUMAN UNDERSTANDING." 
 
 After partaking of the highly seasoned dainties provided 
 for us by our President at the last meeting, I felt some- 
 what reluctant to put upon the table on the next occasion 
 merely a plain dish, without embellishment and without 
 spices or condiments. I mentioned my difficulty to the 
 Honorary Secretary; but obtained no sympathy from him. 
 He said at once that he could not, under any circum- 
 stances, prescribe or recommend whipped cream as an 
 ordinary article of diet, and, therefore, that the palate 
 of the Society must accommodate itself to what was less 
 stimulating ; in fact, it seemed to me that he would 
 not be at all displeased or dissatisfied though now and 
 then — 
 
 On hamely fare we dine, 
 Wear hodden grey and a' that. 
 
 And this being the case, I returned to my unseasoned 
 cookery, and went on with the composition which the 
 Honorary Secretary had previously bargained for. If 
 you find it much less pleasant both to masticate and to 
 digest than its predecessor, I shelter myself behind the 
 broad shield of the Honorary Secretary, and announce, 
 as is done on many other occasions, that the entertain- 
 ment is under his special patronage ; that the drugs and 
 medicaments with which the preparation is freely com- 
 pounded, are administered with his approbation, as 
 tonics and astringents, to brace up the very relaxed 
 state of intellectual fibre which our President, in his 
 opening address, so loudly complained of ; and I should
 
 44 Essays a)id Papers. 
 
 not tell the whole truth if I did not acknowledge that 
 I came pretty much to the same conclusion myself. 
 I was, indeed, afraid that mj' subject was a somewhat 
 uninviting one ; but then I remembered that we were 
 a Literary and Philosophical Society, and ought not 
 to turn our backs upon a subject because it was in 
 some degree abstruse. I am ready to apologise for all 
 men in these high pressure times who find it needful to 
 amuse and enliven themselves in the regions of light 
 literature ; but even here an occasional variety is not 
 altogether disagreeable. 
 
 From grave to gay, from lively to severe. 
 
 And on making this experiment to-night, I shall not be 
 greatly disappointed if it turns out that I have taken up 
 a subject which no skill of mine can make interesting; 
 but I shall feel that the fault lies with the artificer, and 
 I shall not the less consider that in itself the theme is 
 one which may fairly occupy the attention of a society 
 like ours, if only there be leisure and light to handle it 
 properly. 
 
 Last Session I read a paper on " Locke's Life and 
 Writings," and I intimated that on some future occasion 
 I might call your attention more particularly to that 
 work of his by which he is most extensively known 
 in English literature — his " Essay concerning Human 
 Understanding." If I am asked why I choose a subject 
 which I admit to be somewhat abstract and dr}', and 
 which requires for its proper handling more literary 
 skill than I possess, I answer, that my own reading has 
 lain a good deal in this direction, and that when we 
 established this Society we did not calculate upon or 
 expect much originality, but we agreed that whatever 
 each one of us met with which was interesting to himself 
 he should endeavour to communicate to his fellow- 
 members. What I have, therefore, to read to you now 
 will embody nothing original, but will reproduce, more 
 or less exactly, as I have understood il ^^"ell or ill, what
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 45 
 
 I have gathered up as I have gone along in connection 
 with a subject which possesses for many a profound 
 interest. A Literary and Philosophical Society should 
 cure us, in some degree, of mere narrowness of mind. 
 Each one of us is, perhaps, too much absorbed in his 
 own pursuits. We meet here that we may take an 
 interest in and understand the pursuits of others ; and 
 for my own part, I do most reluctantly and unwillingly 
 occupy your time, as I would much rather that the rising 
 generation should speak, and tell us what they know and 
 what they think of the world and its ways, its order and 
 constitution. Ostensibly we all come here to learn ; and 
 by our presence we all of us say that our education is 
 incomplete ; that by some chance or other we may happen 
 to be burdened with ignorance and prejudice, which it 
 would be well for us to get rid of. We come here, 
 according to our charter and constitution, not to be inert 
 listeners, but to inquire, to discuss, and to review what 
 hitherto swe may have taken for granted. It has been 
 said that the first lesson in controversy is to unlearn our 
 native tendency to treat our adversaries as fools. If we 
 learn this lesson, and try to seize the aspect of the truth 
 which presents itself to their minds, we may find that this 
 aspect which represents their experience represents our 
 own also, that the points of difference are reducible to 
 difference in the data leading to errors of interpretation. 
 
 Locke's " Essay Concerning Human Understanding" 
 is one of the masterpieces of English literature. There- 
 fore, it is a work that every educated Englishman 
 ought to be acquainted with. It is, moreover, one of 
 those works which marks an epoch and an era in the 
 history of a great and absorbing question ; and therefore 
 it is one deserving of a careful study. Though we find 
 metaphysical speculation in its crude form distasteful to 
 us, we cannot altogether escape its influence, and we are 
 not to measure questions by their immediate results — by 
 the large or small number of men who have been occupied 
 about them, or by the amount which they have contri-
 
 4^ Essays and Papers, 
 
 biited to the exchanges or the markets of the world. Man 
 does not Hve by bread alone. If, says the Archbishop of 
 York, it be asked what is the use of logic, what fruit does 
 it bring ? and if the question means what material wants 
 does it supply, what comforts does it furnish to humanity ? 
 the question is a base, sordid, and stupid one, against 
 which every better mind indignantly protests. The 
 " Essay Concerning Human Understanding " is classed 
 with metaphysical works, and these have no good reputa- 
 tion ; indeed, it has been said that when a man is talking 
 about what he does not understand, to a person who does 
 not understand what he is talking about, he is talking 
 metaphysics. It is to be hoped we may escape this 
 catastrophe. Because men have written cloudily and 
 obscurely upon a topic, it is not always to be inferred that 
 the topic is itself unintelligible ; rather, it may happen 
 that the writers have followed a wrong method or have 
 been themselves wanting in the faculty of clear exposition. 
 A subject may inherently involve difficult problems, the 
 solution of which may be impracticable with the materials 
 at present in hand ; and yet it may be impossible, and 
 altogether undesirable, to restrain the spirit of speculation 
 and inquiry from investigating such subjects, for they 
 present questions to which a certain class of minds are 
 irresistibly drawn. Though for generations none may 
 solve them, or arrive at the goal they are seeking, yet the 
 explorers may open many glowing prospects by the way, 
 and lift up their fellow-traveller above the petty claims 
 and pursuits which are daily pressing upon him. Nations 
 that are absorbed by lower and merely material interests 
 seldom achieve much in the world, or the greatness they 
 attain to quickly passes away and leaves little fruit. 
 
 Oxford has recently published an edition of David 
 Hume's works, and the editors have contributed elaborate 
 introductory essays and criticisms, from which I make 
 the following extracts : — " There is a view of the history of 
 mankind, by this time familiarised to Englishmen, which 
 detaches from the chaos of events a connected series of
 
 Locke on Human Understanding^. 47 
 
 ruling actions and beliefs — the achievements of great men 
 and great epochs, and assigns to these in a special sense 
 the term ' historical.' According to this theory — which, 
 indeed, if there is to be a theory of History at all, alone 
 gives the needful simplification — the mass of nations 
 must be regarded as left in swamps and shallows outside 
 the main stream of human development. They have 
 either never come within the reach of the hopes and 
 institutions which make history a progress instead of a 
 cycle, or they have stiffened these into a dead body of 
 ceremony and caste, or at some great epoch they have 
 failed to discern the signs of the times, and rejected the 
 counsel of God against themselves. Thus permanently 
 or for generations, with no principle of emotion but 
 unsatisfied want, without the assimilative ideas which 
 from the strife of passions elicit moral results, they have 
 trodden the old round of war, trade, and faction, adding 
 nothing to the spiritual heritage of man. It would seem 
 that the historian need not trouble himself with them, 
 except so far as relation to them determines the activity 
 of the progressive nations." 
 
 " A corresponding theory may with some confidence 
 be applied to simplify the history of philosophical 
 opinion. The common plan of seeking this history in 
 compendia of the systems of philosophical writers, taken 
 in the gross or with no discrimination, except in regard 
 to some popularity, is mainly to blame for the common 
 notion that metaphysical inquiry is an endless process 
 of thrashing old straw. Such inquiry is really progres- 
 sive, and has a real histor}', but it is a history represented 
 by a few great names. At rare epochs, there appear men 
 or sets of men with the true speculative impulse to begin 
 at the beginning and go to the end, and with the faculty 
 of discerning the true point of departure, which previous 
 speculation has fixed for them. To the historian of 
 literature a philosopher is interesting, if at all, on account 
 of the personal qualities which make a great writer, and 
 have a permanent effect on letters and general culture.
 
 48 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Locke and Hume had undoubtedly these quahties, and 
 produced such an effect, an effect in Locke's case more 
 intense upon the immediately following generation, but in 
 Hume's more remarkable, as having re-appeared after 
 near a century of apparent forgetfulness." 
 
 It may seem a small matter in reference to so large a 
 subject as Locke's Essay, to remark that the title of the 
 work is very seldom given with accuracy. I have consulted 
 many books in connection with this work, and I have more 
 often found the title given inexactly than the contrary ; 
 and, considering the class of writers who have handled 
 the subject, this is a little remarkable. The true title of the 
 book is an "Essay Concerning Human Understanding" 
 —whereas it is by most writers referred to as " Locke's 
 Essay on the Understanding." My copy is so lettered 
 on the back, though the other words are in the title- 
 page. An " Essay Concerning Human Understanding " 
 is one thing, and an " Essay on the Human Under- 
 standing " is another. How we understand, how we get 
 at our knowledge, and what is meant by the human 
 understanding, are matters that cannot be kept separate ; 
 yet there is a distinction, and as Locke has deliberately 
 chosen a specific name for his work, his commentators 
 and critics might be expected to adhere to it. 
 
 The first inquiry that presents itself in taking up such 
 a book as Locke's is this— What is the question which 
 he proposes to answer ? — what is the problem he seeks 
 to solve ? And Locke, being free from all manner of 
 mystification, puts the clue into our hands at once. A 
 very brilliant and acute writer some few years ago 
 contributed a work to our literature which he called 
 " Institutes of Metaphysic, or the Theory of Knowing and 
 Being"; and he professes to lay down the laws which 
 must necessarily bind all intelligence in whatever part 
 of this wide universe it may exist. Assuming that there 
 are everywhere objects to be known, and intelligence to 
 know them, there are, he alleges, certain conditions 
 involved which must govern and regulate these things
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 49 
 
 everywhere and always. Locke was not so ambitious 
 or aspiring, he did not pretend to know what was 
 possible in the universe, he confined his investigation 
 to the state of things existing on this globe. Prefixed 
 to the Essay is an epistle to the reader, in which he 
 says: " Were it fit to trouble thee with a history of 
 this Essay, I should tell thee that five or six friends 
 meeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject 
 very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a 
 stand by the difficulties that rose on every side. After 
 we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any 
 nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, 
 it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course, 
 and that before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that 
 nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, 
 and see what objects our understandings were, or were 
 not, fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the company, 
 who all readily assented ; and thereupon it was agreed 
 that this should be our first inquiry. Some hasty and 
 undigested thoughts on a subject I had never before 
 considered, which I set down against our next meeting, 
 gave the first entrance into this discourse ; which, having 
 been thus begun by chance, was continued by entreaty ; 
 written by incoherent parcels; and after long intervals of 
 neglect, resumed again, as my humour or occasion 
 permitted ; and at last, in a retirement, where an 
 attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought 
 into that order thou now seest it." 
 
 In the second paragraph of the work he tells us that 
 his purpose is " to inquire into the original, certainty 
 and extent of human knowledge, and it is most 
 important to bear in mind this limitation of his inquiry 
 — to have it continually before us as the object to which 
 the investigation is directed — "the original, certainty 
 and extent of human knowledge." But then we are 
 stopped at this frontier, and it is immediately demanded 
 of us what we mean by knowledge. It seems a 
 
 4
 
 50 Essays and Papers. 
 
 simple enough word, but it has given rise to no little 
 contention, and people who have spoken of knowledge, 
 and of what they knew, have often meant in reality 
 only what they believed or conjectured. Whately, in 
 his Logic says — " Knowledge implies three things : ist, 
 firm belief; 2nd, of what is true; 3rd, on sufficient 
 grounds. If anyone e.g. is in doubt respecting one of 
 Euclid's demonstrations, he cannot be said to know 
 the proposition proved by it ; if, again, he is fully con- 
 vinced of anything that is not true, he is mistaken in 
 supposing himself to know it ; lastly, if two persons are 
 each fully confident, one, that the moon is inhabited, 
 and the other that it is not (though one of these opinions 
 must be true), neither of them can properly be said to 
 know the truth, since he cannot have sufficient proof of 
 it." Now, with all respect for Archbishop Whately, this 
 seems to me a confused and unsatisfactory account of 
 the matter ; for belief and inference and evidence are 
 all compounded together to make up knowledge. 
 Tennyson says — and poets often have an insight that 
 leads them into the light, whilst the rest of the world is 
 
 in the dark — 
 
 We have but faith ; we cannot know ; 
 
 For knowledge is of things we see 
 
 And yet we trust it comes from Thee 
 
 A beam in darkness — let it grow. 
 And elsewhere he says — 
 
 Behold ! we know not anything, 
 
 I can but trust that good shall fall 
 
 At last— far off— at last, to all, 
 
 And every winter change to spring. 
 
 So runs my dream — but what am I ? 
 
 An infant crying in the night, 
 
 An infant crying for the light. 
 
 And with no language but a cry. 
 In a certain sense what Tennyson says in this last extract 
 is true. Carrying the word knowledge up to some high 
 ideal, we may say truly 
 
 Behold, we know not anything.
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 51 
 
 But coming down to the level of common practical things, 
 we adopt his first definition, and say, 
 Knowledsre is of thingfs we see. 
 
 We are here to some extent anticipating the discussion 
 which Locke introduces later on, but I do not attempt to 
 follow the order of his work. When we are seeking to 
 understand anything we usually apply ourselves in the 
 first instance to the simplest and plainest examples — and 
 we will do so on this occasion. Now, if our president 
 had a man in the witness-box, and asked him what he 
 knew about the matter in hand, he would have a very 
 distinct notion of what he meant by that question, and 
 if the witness began to tell him what he believed, he 
 would stop him, and tell him to confine himself to what 
 he knew, adding, probably in the somewhat cumbrous 
 phraseology of the law — of his own knowledge — what he 
 knew of his own knowledge — and our president would 
 not be long in making the witness comprehend a dis- 
 tinction which seems to have puzzled Archbishop Whately, 
 and even greater men than he. In high regions of specu- 
 lation, where human lungs can scarcely respire, we may 
 exclaim with the poet, 
 
 Behold, We know not anything. 
 
 But in matters involving the largest worldly interests, in 
 issues of life and death, we follow a different rule, and we 
 presume to think that we know a great deal, and we act 
 accordingly ; and what is the ground of this presumption ? 
 Probably the most scientific piece of legislation known to 
 modern English law is the Indian Evidence Act of 1872, 
 and I will quote from it three paragraphs bearing upon 
 the question before us— 
 
 " Oral evidence must in all cases whatever be direct- 
 That is to say, 
 
 " If it refers to a fact which could be seen, it must be 
 the evidence of a witness who says he saw it. 
 
 " If it refers to a fact which could be heard, it must be 
 the evidence of a witness who says he heard it. 
 
 A *
 
 52 Essays and Papers. 
 
 " If it refers to a fact which could be perceived by any 
 other sense or in any other manner, it must be the 
 evidence of a witness who says he perceived it by that 
 sense or in that manner." 
 
 We dispose of men's property and Hves by knowledge 
 derived from these sources, and we do it with the utmost 
 confidence; we know, then, by the evidence of our senses. 
 What would our president say if he encountered in the 
 witness-box a man who, in response to some question as 
 to what he had seen or heard, should solemnly declare — 
 "Behold, we know not anything"? And yet this is the 
 temper of mind that has been manifested by some schools 
 of metaphysics. 
 
 Let us take another example from the unsophisticated 
 region of common life. We read in the New Testament 
 these words : " The sheep follow Him, for they know His 
 voice " — a dog or a horse, and other domesticated animals, 
 also know the voices they are accustomed to — if it be said 
 this is instinctive knowledge, I ask in what respect it 
 differs from the knowledge an infant has of the voices and 
 faces it hears and sees ? And what is the distinction 
 between this instinctive knowledge and such other know- 
 ledge as we designate differently ? Perhaps, we may call 
 the other rational knowledge, for to know is to be aware 
 of relations, felt or perceived. 
 
 But let us for a moment consider further this matter 
 of instinctive knowledge — the knowledge of an animal 
 having senses like our own, A dog knows its master, 
 and so does a horse. No other word in our language 
 expresses or explains the action of a dog or horse except 
 the word " knowledge." They know the voice, habits, 
 and ways of those with whom they have continually 
 associated. There are hundreds of anecdotes showing 
 what we call the sagacity of dogs : sagacity being a 
 word that primarily meant keenness of smell, and 
 having subsequently been applied to quick apprehension 
 generally. A disposition has existed not to apply to.
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 53 
 
 the intelligence of the animal creation the same words as 
 those by which we designate human intelligence ; never- 
 theless, words do not alter the nature of things ; and 
 however we may disguise it by difference of language, in 
 its essential character the intelligence of animals — their 
 knowledge — have the same marks and origin as that of 
 man ; its range is less, and there are regions into which 
 it does not reach ; but as an intuitional adaptation of 
 means to ends they are of the same order. 
 
 An anecdote that Lockhart tells of Sir Walter Scott's 
 dog Camp is not so remarkable as many others, but it has 
 peculiar features which make it suit our present purpose. 
 " As the servant was laying the cloth for dinner he would 
 address the dog, lying on his mat by the fire, and say, 
 ' Camp, my good fellow, the Sheriff's coming home by the 
 ford ' (or by the hill, as the case might be), and the sick 
 animal would immediately bestir himself to welcome his 
 master, going out at the back door or the front door, 
 according to the direction given, and advancing as far as 
 he was able." The dog knew not only his own name but 
 that his master was cahed the Sheriff, and he knew 
 the objects to which the words " ford " and "hill" were 
 applied ; he shows this by his actions, the clearest proof 
 of knowledge that can be given. The peculiar knowledge, 
 however, indicated by the word "Sheriff" he could not 
 possess ; the social and legal relations that belonged to 
 his master were things the nature of which he could not 
 know. The lawyer of the district, we may assume, knew 
 them all : knew that the Sheriff had property, and knew 
 all the complex apparatus of relations that belonged to 
 it — knew their origin and knew their history ; he knew, 
 also, all the varied ramifications of the Sheriff's social 
 relations and multitudes of other things which were part 
 and parcel of the Sheriff's surroundings, of which the dog 
 could have no glimmering of knowledge. The village 
 doctor knew the Sheriff's bodily constitution — knew it 
 anatomically and physiologically ; knew that he had certain
 
 54 Essays and Papers. 
 
 tendencies and habits, which were influenced by certain 
 modes of treatment ; knew that his children inherited 
 special points of strength and weakness derived from 
 their parents, and beyond this he knew much of the 
 Sheriff's physical organisation ; but it is still the same 
 Sheriff known to the dog. The parson of the parish might 
 have a knowledge of the Sheriff differing from that 
 possessed by the lawyer and the doctor ; he might know 
 that he was passionate and perverse, or that he was loving 
 and generous, and that he made efforts to correct his 
 errors and improve his disposition ; but if he had been 
 asked under what conditions and circumstances, with 
 what feelings and thoughts, amid what aspects and sur- 
 roundings, he would exist in the hereafter, — 
 
 Where, beyond these voices, there is peace ; 
 
 he would have said, " Behold, we know not anything! " 
 and comparing the vast unknown with the mere fragment 
 which we know, the exclamation, as we said before, 
 would be both appropriate and true. The knowledge 
 which thus clustered round this one person — the Sheriff — 
 seems to be, in a manner, inexhaustible. But its origin 
 is simple, and the first steps of it are in their nature 
 identical. The knowledge of each one of the human 
 agents we have summoned is circumscribed, and though 
 it is more comprehensive and special than that of the 
 dog, it is reducible to the same elements. It begins with 
 the senses, but it has an almost infinite expansiveness, 
 and travels far beyond the region of sight and sense, 
 though it must always, in the last analysis, submit to 
 methods of verification required by sight and sense. 
 What we call a proper name is a name given to some 
 person or thing to distinguish it from others ; but it is not 
 given on account of any quality possessed by it. John or 
 James may be the name of hundreds of people who differ 
 from one another in innumerable ways, and the name 
 John or James gives us no information about them e.xcept
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 55 
 
 perhaps that of sex. Now this sort of name some 
 animals can be made to understand — they can be made 
 to know how they are appHed ; but there is another class 
 of names implying attributes — general and abstract — 
 and these they can have no knowledge of. What we 
 call intuitions — things understood at sight, impressions 
 passively received — are common to man and brute. 
 They can evidently be stored up in the memory, and they 
 may be recalled, or, as we say, recollected — that is, 
 re-collected. Brutes, like men, are capable of acts of 
 memory when exercised upon intuitions alone, for they 
 are all implied in dreaming, and a dog asleep upon a rug 
 before the fire often shows by his barking and growling 
 that he has vivid dreams. Man can form thoughts or 
 conceptions, and can remember and reproduce them ; 
 but properly speaking there can be no images of these. 
 Thoughts are to be understood and conceived — not 
 imagined or imaged. The dog has the sensible image and 
 the words for it, which is only another kind of sensible 
 image ; but the abstraction which man can frame, the 
 thought which he can embody, the conception which he 
 can call into existence, is inaccessible to any lower intelli- 
 gence that we are acquainted with. However closely the 
 anatomical structure of man may correspond with that of 
 inferior races, however impossible it may be to discrim- 
 inate between the ultimate physical elements that go to 
 the formation of each, there is here a demarcation 
 broad and deep, which cannot be bridged. Let science tell 
 us all it can of comparative anatomy and comparative 
 physiology ; let it prove to us the unity and community 
 that exist in the physical structure of all animated 
 nature ; let it descend to germ cells and protoplasm, and 
 pronounce them to be all one — we take our stand upon 
 the mental phenomena referred to, and which underlie 
 these external resemblances ; and we venture to assert 
 that they at least cannot be assimilated. 
 
 It is worth while to devote a little more time to this
 
 56 Essays and Papers. 
 
 subject. The work which words perform in the business 
 of knowledge is not sufficiently considered. It is hardly 
 too much to assert that the true relation between 
 language and thought is nowhere completely laid down. 
 Sir Wm. Hamilton says: — "Though in general we must 
 hold that language, as the correlative and product of 
 thought, must be viewed as posterior to the act of 
 thinking itself, on the other hand it must be admitted 
 that we could never have risen above the very lowest 
 degrees in the scale of thought without the aid of signs. 
 A sign is necessary to give stability to our intellectual 
 progress— to establish each step in our advance as a new 
 starting point for our advance to another beyond. A 
 country may be overrun by an armed host, but it is only 
 conquered by the establishment of fortresses. Words are 
 the fortresses of thought. They enable us to realise our 
 dominion over what we have already overrun in thought 
 — to make every intellectual conquest the basis of opera- 
 tions for others beyond." We have noticed that a dog 
 can learn the names of a few objects ; but when we speak 
 of the qualities of those objects — of beauty, of courage, 
 or any other such attributes, he cannot follow us — the 
 common qualities that go to make up a general name — 
 such as tree, or animal, are beyond him — the special 
 knowledge contained in words he cannot penetrate : and 
 this is the characteristic of all immature rudimentary 
 intelligence. Let us ask at what age does a boy first use 
 any word ending in " ation," and how many years is it 
 before such a word as " sensation " can be explained to 
 him. Its first component, " sense," understood as the 
 general name for hearing, sight, touch, taste, and smell, 
 is for a long time incomprehensible. The force of the 
 ending " ation " cannot by any possibility be known until 
 the power of forming abstractions has been considerably 
 developed. No child from the nursery speaks of himself 
 as " I " ; he regards himself as an object. Hearing 
 himself called " Georgy," he will say — " Give Georgy,"
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 57 
 
 when he wants something ; or he will plaintively indicate 
 "Georgy" as the cause of the evil when he has hurt 
 himself. Such a form of speech as " I hurt myself" is 
 never heard among young children. Tennyson elaborates 
 this thought : 
 
 The baby, new to earth and sky, 
 What time his tender palm is prest 
 Against the circle of the breast. 
 Has never thought that " this is I." 
 But as he grows he gathers much, 
 
 And learns the use of " I " and " me " ; 
 And finds " I am not what I see. 
 And other than the things I touch." 
 
 So rounds he to a separate mind. 
 
 From whence clear memory may begin ; 
 As thro' the frame that binds him in 
 
 His isolation grows defined. 
 
 The strict and proper notion of reasoning — the attribute 
 by which it might be defined, is that of reaching 
 some conclusion by an indirect means. When we per- 
 ceive of two men that one is taller than the other, 
 although the judgment we form may be the effect 
 of reason, we do not describe it as a reasoning 
 process ; but if the investigator, not being able to make 
 a direct comparison between them, introduces a medium, 
 and by its means infers that one is taller than the 
 other, then we say the conclusion has been obtained 
 by a process of reasoning. So in applying a common 
 name to two individuals that resemble each other, we 
 judge and nothing more ; but if we apply it to a third, 
 fourth, fifth, and so on, the process we go through is 
 reasoning. Reason, in fact, is the capacity for using 
 media of any kind, and a consequent capacity for 
 language ; the term reasoning has reference to the art 
 of thinking by media, in order to reach a conclusion. 
 It is by the intervention of signs that all the higher 
 reasoning is carried on. In all cases, that which gives 
 the name and character of rational to a proceeding, is the
 
 58 Essays and Papers. 
 
 use of means to gain the end in view. Words are signs and 
 media, the history and mystery of which are to be traced; 
 they are the instruments by which the reasoning pro- 
 cess is carried on, the steps of the ladder by which man 
 chmbs up into those higher worlds where his four- 
 footed companions cannot follow him. In an old report 
 on deaf and dumb teaching, which I met with lately, 
 there are some observations on the effect of words 
 upon the intelligence which struck me as interesting, and 
 which I will read : — " In comparing the values of hearing 
 and seeing, if the point to be determined were the value 
 of the direct sensations transmitted to the sensorium, 
 through each of them, merely as direct sensation, there 
 could not be any ground for, or moment's hesitation in, 
 pronouncing the almost infinite superiority of the eye to 
 the ear. For what is the sum of what we derive from 
 the ear as a direct sensation ? It is sound ; and sound 
 admits indeed of infinite variety ; but strip it of the 
 value it derives from arbitrary associations, and it is 
 but a titillation of the organ of sense, painful or pleasure- 
 able according as it is shrill, soft, rough, discordant, 
 or harmonious, &c. Should we on the contrary attempt 
 to set forth the sum of the information we derive from 
 the eye independently of the aid derived from arbitrary 
 means, it is so immense that volumes would not contain 
 a description of it ; so precious, that no words, short of 
 those we apply to the mind itself, can adequately express 
 its value. Indeed, all language bears witness to this, by 
 figuratively adopting visible imagery to signify the highest 
 operations of intellect. Expunge such imagery from any 
 language, and what will be left ? Whence then, and the 
 question is often asked, does it arise that those born blind 
 have such superiority of intelligence over those born deaf? 
 Take, it may be said, a boy of nine or ten years of age who 
 has never seen the light, and you will find him convers- 
 able and ready to give long narratives of past occurrences, 
 &c. Place by his side a boy of the same age who has
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 59 
 
 had the misfortune to be born deaf, and observe the con- 
 trast. The latter is insensible to all you say ; he smiles 
 perhaps, and his countenance is brightened by the beams 
 of * holy light ' ; he enjoys the face of nature, nay, reads 
 with attention your features, and by sympathy reflects 
 your smile or favour. But he remains mute ; he gives no 
 account of past experience or future hope ; you attempt to 
 draw something of this kind from him ; he tries to under- 
 stand, and to make himself understood ; but he cannot, 
 and you turn away from a scene so trying under an im- 
 pression that of these two children of misfortune the com- 
 parison is greatly in favour of the blind, who appears by 
 his language to enter into all your feelings and concep- 
 tions, while the unfortunate deaf mute can hardly be 
 regarded as a rational being ; yet he possesses all the 
 advantages of visual information. All this is true. But 
 the cause of this apparent superiority of intelligence m 
 the blind is seldom properly understood. It is not that 
 those wht) are blind possess a greater or anything like an 
 equal stock of materials for mental operation, but because 
 they possess an invaluable engine for forwarding those 
 operations, however scanty the materials to work upon — 
 artificial language. Language is defined to be the expression 
 of thought ; so it is, but it is, moreover, the medium of 
 thinking — the value to man is nearly equivalent to that of 
 his reasoning faculties ; without it he could hardly be 
 rational. It is the want of language and not the want of 
 hearing (unless as being the cause of want of language) 
 that occasions that deficiency of intelligence or inexpansion 
 of the reasoning faculty so observable in the naturally 
 deaf and dumb. Give them but language by which 
 they can designate, compare, classify, and consequently 
 remember, excite and express their sensations and ideas 
 —then they must surpass the originally and permanently 
 blind in intellectual perspicuity and correctness of com- 
 prehension — by as much as the sense of seeing furnishes 
 matter for mental operations be}ond the sense of hearing
 
 6o Essays and Papers. 
 
 considered as direct sensation. It is one thing to have 
 fluency of words, and quite another to have correct notions 
 or precise ideas annexed to them. But though the ear 
 furnishes us only with the sensation of sound, and sound 
 merely as such can stand no comparison with the 
 multiform, delightful, and important information derived 
 from visual impressions; yet as sound admits of such 
 astonishing variety (above all when articulated) and is 
 associable at pleasure in the mind with our other 
 sensations and with our ideas and notions, it becomes the 
 ready exponent and nomenclature of thought. It is on 
 this account chiefly that the want of hearing is to be 
 deplored as a melancholy chasm in the human frame." 
 
 If we are to give to the majesty of words all the homage 
 that is here demanded, we must also charge upon them 
 the illusions and delusions — and their name is legion — to 
 which they have subjected us ; we must remember the 
 many sonorous periods we have heard and read — " signi- 
 fying nothing ; " the much pompous declamation we have 
 listened to — which merely "darkened counsel by words 
 without knowledge ; " and the glib utterances upon great 
 subjects which have vexed and perplexed us. The 
 following, from the " Rejected Addresses," is of course 
 caricature, though, after making some needful allowances 
 for satire, it would not be difficult to match it in real 
 life :— 
 
 Hark ! I hear the strains erratic 
 
 Dimly glance from pole to pole ; 
 Raptures sweet and dreams ecstatic 
 
 Fire my everlasting soul. 
 Where is Cupid's crimson motion — 
 
 Billowy ecstasy of woe ? 
 Bear me straight, meandering ocean, 
 
 Where the stagnant torrents flow. 
 Blood in every vein is gushing — 
 
 Vixen vengeance lulls my heart ; 
 See the Gorgon gang is rushing — 
 
 Never, never let us part.
 
 Locke on Human Undcrstandino;. 6i 
 
 f> ' 
 
 The language in which men describe mental operations 
 is most commonly derived from the organ of sight; and 
 all figurative language needs to be translated ; when 
 St. Paul would describe a state of knowledge that was 
 imperfect and incomplete, he says, — "Now we see through 
 a glass darkly," and the word " darkly " in the original 
 is just enigma. Knowledge is largely enigmatical, partly 
 because of erroneous methods which men have adopted, 
 and partly because the subjects it has dealt with are 
 some of them insoluble by any method which we have at 
 our command. When the same writer would describe a 
 state of perfect knowledge he says, " We shall see face to 
 face ; " and another writer, of a much earlier date, when 
 he would describe a state of things in which men should 
 agree in their objects and thoughts, can find no more 
 forcible words than that " they shall see eye to eye." 
 (Isaiah Hi. 8.) The enigmatical character of knowledge 
 is due, in no small degree, as we shall find hereafter, to 
 the ambiguity of the medium through which it is mostly 
 presented to us — language ; we see through a glass — our 
 knowledge comes to us in a great degree through the 
 glass of words, and the glass refracts and distorts and 
 colours the objects that are seen through it ; but then this 
 does not destroy its reahty, it is not altogether incapable 
 of rectification. W^hat we see may be reconciled with 
 what is revealed through other senses by comparison, and 
 other mental machinery. The philosophy which preceded 
 Locke relied very much, and was in fact built, upon the 
 notion that the senses as a means of knowledge were 
 fallacious and treacherous. It was argued that a stick 
 immersed in water appeared crooked, while in the air it 
 appeared straight ; that objects were magnified and their 
 distance mistaken in a fog; that the sun and moon appeared 
 but a few inches in diameter, while they were really thou- 
 sands of miles ; that a square tower at a distance was 
 mistaken for a round one, and so forth. These and many
 
 62 Essays and Papers. 
 
 similar appearances were thought to be sufficiently ac- 
 counted for by ascribing them to the fallacy of the senses, 
 ■which thus served, like the substantial forms and occult 
 qualities of other theories, as a decent cover for their 
 ignorance. The fact is that in many of those instances 
 which are called deceptions of sense, the error is not in 
 the information which the senses give us, but in the judg- 
 ment or conclusion which we deduce from their evidence. 
 Thus, if I mistake the picture of a cube or of a sphere 
 delineated upon a plain surface for these solid bodies 
 themselves, the error is not in the eye, for it has fulfilled 
 its office by giving me information of the form, colour, 
 apparent magnitude, &c., of the object perceived ; but 
 when I deduce from these perceptions that the object 
 perceived is a solid and not a plane, I am guilty of a piece 
 of false reasoning ; so that the fallacy, here, is not in the 
 senses but in the conclusion of reason. But what places 
 the evidence of the senses in the most convincing light 
 is, that it is by their means alone that we are able to 
 detect this fallac}^ In the case just mentioned we might 
 reason for ever without being able to determine whether 
 the body was a solid or a plane ; but we can at once settle 
 the question, by going so near as to see its appearance 
 more distinctly or yet more certainly by the help of the 
 sense of touch, whose proper province it is to perceive 
 the dimension of solidity. Quaint writers find out simili- 
 tudes that have no basis of reality in them, and yet have a 
 certain sort of coherence and appropriateness which when 
 once pointed out is not easy to be got rid of. One 
 such writer says : " The five senses are the five loaves 
 with which Jesus fed the multitude." The evidence of 
 the senses furnishes indeed to us all a substratum of 
 knowledge which is not untruly compared to bread in 
 the physical economy. Other food may have qualities that 
 render it more acceptable in certain cases, but bread is 
 the staff of life — and the senses are the staff of knowledge.
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 63 
 
 We are not indeed restricted to them, but if we affect to 
 despise or dispense with them our knowledge becomes 
 attenuated and unreaL 
 
 Standing upon the sea shore and watching the waves 
 break and foam upon the beach, there is no mistaking 
 what is before us; it is no matter of behef; we know 
 that what we look upon is the sea. But if ten yards 
 from where the waves are breaking we notice a line of 
 seaweed, we may not know hoiu it has come there, yet if 
 we have had previous acquaintance with the same state 
 of things we infer that the tide has ebbed and left the sea- 
 weed where it is, and we have no doubt of this, although 
 we have not seen it ; and if we were giving evidence under 
 the Indian Evidence Act we might be required to bring 
 the person who did see it ; nevertheless, we are tolerably 
 certain that the seaweed was left there by the tide, and 
 we may be said to know it. Now, here we reach Locke's 
 standpoint. He says, " Let us then suppose the mind to 
 be, as WB say, white paper, void of all characters, with- 
 out any ideas ; how comes it to be furnished ? Whence 
 comes it by that vast store which the busy and boundless 
 fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless 
 variety ? Whence has it all the materials of reason and 
 knowledge ? To this I answer in one word — from ex- 
 perience ; in that all our knowledge is founded ; and from 
 that it ultimately derives itself; our observation employed 
 either about external, sensible objects, or about the 
 internal operations of our minds perceived and reflected 
 on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understanding 
 with all the materials of thinking. These two are the 
 foundations of knowledge, from whence all the ideas we 
 have or can naturally have do spring." Sensation and 
 reflection, according to Locke, are the two channels that 
 convey to us all our stores of knowledge. By sensation 
 he means whatever affects our bodily organs of which 
 we are conscious — by reflection, whatever mental opera- 
 tions we are conscious of. The word " reflection " has been
 
 64 . Essaya and Papers. 
 
 complained of as ambiguous, and perhaps it is — possibly 
 the words " observation " and " inference " might more 
 exactly express what is meant. We are seeking the 
 origin of knowledge — our senses are spoken of as the 
 inlets — we observe or perceive what is around us, and 
 from the knowledge thus acquired we proceed to the 
 acquisition of what is only attainable by inference or by 
 reasoning. We infer that the seaweed was left upon the 
 shore, for we did not see the operation. We observe the 
 print of a small foot upon the sand, and we feel pretty 
 sure that it was made by a child, and we are warranted 
 in doing this by knowledge we have acquired before, and 
 this is an elementary process of reasoning, as we shall 
 have occasion to notice hereafter, and the knowledge we 
 obtain by means of it is scarcely less certain than that 
 obtained by the senses. Locke calls it reflection. 
 
 I observe the sun to be exactly on the meridian, and I 
 calculate that at a place where a friend of mine lives, 
 15 degrees in longitude to the west of my position, it is 
 just eleven o'clock. In all such cases the sight of 
 present phenomena conjoined with knowledge previously 
 acquired leads us to infer something we do not actually 
 observe — ^something past, it may be, something future, 
 or something distant ; in other words, that some event 
 has happened, will happen, or is happening, although 
 beyond the sphere of our observation. This inferring 
 something beyond actual perception is what we term 
 reasoning ; to know, therefore, is to apprehend by the 
 senses such objects as are adapted to them ; and to pass 
 beyond the knowledge so acquired to such other as 
 our experience warrants, is to infer, or to reason. 
 It has been attempted to invalidate human knowledge 
 on the double ground that the senses are deceptive 
 and reasoning illusive. Doubtless, in our journey 
 toward the temple of knowledge, whether we traverse the 
 one road or the other, we are liable to go astray ; 
 but this is an incident of our humanit\-, which attaches
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 65 
 
 to us everywhere, and under all circumstances ; and 
 it is the purpose of inquiry and investigation to furnish 
 us marks and criteria by which we may guard 
 ourselves against this proneness to error and mistake. 
 But who is the monitor who tells us that no certainty 
 is to be attained, that our instruments and our methods 
 are ahke fallacious and untrustworthy — and how did 
 he get at this information, who told him that to 
 know anything with certainty was impossible ? By what 
 process did he arrive at this conclusion, and how are his 
 processes and his information better than ours ? He can 
 but invalidate human knowledge by means of human 
 knowledge. He can but cast doubt on the result of our 
 discernment by the contents of his own ; he can but 
 tell us that we are all wTong upon such evidence as 
 we have been guided by ; his means of knowledge 
 are the same as ours. The sceptic who impugns the 
 senses and the reason — our observation and our inference 
 — can only put his own in the place of ours ; the tools 
 with which we build are the very tools with which 
 he would destroy. His tools have no more value 
 and no more virtue than ours. If it be futile to 
 observe and to reason in order to construct, it is 
 equally futile in order to destroy. To criticise human 
 knowledge by means of human knowledge is all that any 
 one can do, and is all that ever has been done. It 
 is by reason that the impotence of reason has been 
 assumed, and knowledge has been shown to be a 
 nullity only by other knowledge that is equally valid. It 
 is necessary to bear this in mind, and to remember 
 the illustration of the man who was so busy lopping the 
 boughs of a tree on which he stood that he inadver- 
 tently lopped the bough on which he was standing. 
 This scepticism, however imposing it may appear, is 
 only a demonstration to prove that all demonstration is 
 vain. Whatever disparages, and seeks to destroy such 
 evidence as human nature is compelled to rely on is 
 
 5
 
 66 Essays and Papers. 
 
 scepticism. It may be that of the dogmatist, or that of 
 the destructive ; but if it would shake the foundation of 
 knowledge, of the evidence that is alone attainable by 
 man, it is a pernicious scepticism ; to deny the possi- 
 bility or validity of knowledge is to bring back con- 
 fusion and chaos. Perceptions of sense are set against 
 and opposed to conclusions of reason ; but if as witnesses 
 Perception and Reason give opposite testimonies, and 
 Reason claims to be believed in preference, cross- 
 examination brings out the fact that Reason's testimony 
 is nothing more than hearsay gained from Perception. 
 By its own account it cannot possibly have done 
 anything more than compare and interpret the evidences 
 which Perception has given. In this sphere, as in 
 other spheres. Reason can do nothing more than 
 reconcile the testimonies of Perception with one another. 
 When it proved that the sun does not move round the 
 earth, but that the earth turns on its axis, Reason 
 substituted for an old interpretation which was irre- 
 concilable with various facts a new interpretation which 
 was reconcilable with them, and equally well accounted 
 for the more obvious facts. 
 
 You will have noticed in the paragraph I read from 
 Locke, that he says " There are two fountains of know- 
 ledge, from whence all the ideas we have, or can naturally 
 have, do spring." Here comes in the stumbling of his 
 work — the word idea which he uses as a synonym for 
 knowledge. But he uses it also in the very widest and 
 most general sense : he says — " It is the term which I 
 think serves best to stand for whatsoever is the object of 
 the understanding when a man thinks : I have used it to 
 express whatever is meant by phantasm, notion, species, 
 or whatever it is which the mind can be employed about 
 in thinking." Again he says — " External objects furnish 
 the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities, which are 
 all those different perceptions they produce in us, and the 
 mind furnishes the understanding with ideas of its own
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 67 
 
 operations." The word is used by Locke in the loosest 
 way, and it is not possible to attach a precise and definite 
 meaning to it. I have tried to obtain from many sources 
 such an explanation of the word as would cover the use 
 made of it before Locke's time, but I have failed. Sir Wm. 
 Hamilton complains that to the waiters of his time " The 
 history of the word 'idea' seems to be completely unknown. 
 Previous to the age of Descartes, as a philosophical term 
 it was employed exclusively by the Platonists, and with 
 them the idea was not an object of perception — the idea 
 was not derived from without. Word and thing, idea has 
 been the crux philosophorum since Aristotle cursed it to the 
 present day. Plato agreed with the rest of the ancient 
 philosophers in this — that all things consist of matter and 
 form ; and that the matter of which all things were made 
 existed from eternity without form : but he likewise 
 believed that there are eternal forms of all possible things, 
 which exist without matter ; and to these eternal and 
 immaterial forms he gave the name of ideas." Milton 
 says — 
 
 God saw his works were good, 
 Answering His fair idea. 
 
 Having such an origin, having such a history, and having 
 such associations, Locke would have done well to annex 
 to the word — if he used it all — some precise and 
 definite signification ; and this he has not done. Whatever 
 the word might originally have signified, it came to be 
 employed in English with a specific and useful meaning. 
 In Boswell's " Life of Johnson," I find the following 
 passage : — " Dr. Johnson was particularly indignant 
 against the almost universal use of the word ' idea ' in the 
 sense of notion or opinion, when it is clear that idea 
 can only signify something of which an image can be 
 formed in the mind. We may have an idea or image 
 of a mountain, a tree, or a building ; but we cannot 
 surely have an idea or image of an argument or pro- 
 position. Yet, we hear the sages of the law delivering 
 
 5 ^
 
 68 Essays and Papers. 
 
 their ideas upon the question under consideration, ' and 
 the first speakers in Parliament, entirely coinciding in 
 the idea which has been ably stated by an honourable 
 member,' or ' reprobating an idea unconstitutional, and 
 fraught with the most dangerous consequences to a great 
 and free country.'" Dr. Johnson called this "modern 
 cant," What would he have said of the French Emperor, 
 who made war for an idea, tickling the vanity of his 
 subjects by a foolish and unmeaning word ? 
 
 Our president is a lawyer, and his profession are careful 
 in the use of words. Yet, eminent legal writers lay them- 
 selves open to Dr. Johnson's rebuke. Looking the other 
 day into the tenth edition of " The Principles of the 
 Law of Real Property," by Joshua Williams, I found this 
 sentence : — " The first thing, then, the student has to do, 
 is to get rid of the idea of absolute ownership. Such an 
 idea is quite unknown to the English law. No man is in 
 law the absolute owner of lands. He can only hold an 
 estate in them." And turning to the profession of our 
 hon. secretary, I find so eminent a man as Sir William 
 Gull writing : — " Therapeutics are governed by the idea 
 that disease is an entity which must be combated and 
 cast out." Following in the wake of Dr. Johnson's 
 criticism, Mr. James Mill gives us the simplest and best 
 application of the word that I am acquamted with. He says : 
 — " We have two classes of feelings ; one, that which exists 
 when the object of sense is present ; another, that which 
 exists when the object of sense has ceased to be present. 
 The one class of feelings I call sensations ; the other class 
 of feelings I call ideas." Hobbes says : — " The light of 
 human minds is perspicuous words — by exact definitions 
 first snuffed and purged from ambiguity; ambiguous words 
 are like ignes fatui ; and reasoning upon them is wandering 
 among innumerable absurdities and their end contention 
 and sedition or contempt." It is not mere inconvenience and 
 inadvertence that follows upon the misuse of this word. A 
 more fertile source of error and confusion was hardly ever
 
 Locke un Hionan Understanding. 69 
 
 introduced into our literature than this word "idea" — 
 derived from a Greek word signifying to see. It is almost 
 impossible to fix its meaning throughout the multifarious 
 ways in which Locke employs it, as it is also impossible 
 to know what precise thought it represented and what was 
 its exact worth in the minds of the men who originally 
 coined it at the intellectual mint. Locke speaks of know- 
 ledge as a great and complex whole made up and com- 
 pounded of innumerable ideas, resolvable at last into 
 ideas of sensation and reflection. The web of knowledge, 
 as he describes it, is woven from this warp and woof; the 
 pattern may be infinitely varied by different combinations. 
 But at the bottom ideas are the basis and the staple ; 
 impressions derived from sense, by some process of 
 mental chemistry, become ideas. Locke found the word in 
 the world, the very current coin of philosophy which met 
 him at every turn, and he did not inquire with sufficient 
 care into its origin and its antecedents. According to 
 Sir Wm. 'Hamilton the real history of the word has been 
 obscured and lost, and its reappearance in modern times 
 was but as the ghost of its former self, maintaining only a 
 shadowy connection between the theories of the past and 
 the inquiries of the present. " It is a term," says Locke, 
 "which stands best for whatsoever is the object of the 
 understanding when a man thinks." It would seem, 
 however, that the word which stands best for an object 
 would be the name of the object — it would seem more 
 correct to say that we think of an object by its name rather 
 than by the idea of it. The object of the understanding 
 when a man thinks is either something presented to the 
 senses, which is then not an idea, or it is something repre- 
 sented in the mind, which may then be an idea, or image, 
 or a notion. The consequences that have been deduced 
 from Locke's doctrine are not to be charged upon him, he 
 did an inestimable work in stating and explaining the true 
 foundations of knowledge, and if the phraseology which 
 had been handed down to him possessed an inheritance of
 
 yo Essays and Papers. 
 
 mysterious meaning, he must needs make use of it, for he 
 could not create another, and the result has been that he 
 only partially unravelled the perplexity that had been 
 bequeathed to him. Locke did not mean to take his 
 system of ideas from the ancients, but his own as differing 
 from theirs is not sufficiently discriminated, and educated 
 as he had been when those doctrines were alone admitted, 
 writing for those who were prepared for none other, he 
 does not keep clear in his own mode of treatment, still less 
 in the effect produced on others of the impressions left by 
 the old doctrines. He says, " Since the mind in all its 
 thoughts and reasonings hath no other immediate object 
 but its own ideas which it alone does or can contemplate, 
 it is evident our knowledge is only conversant about 
 them," That he saw in part the consequence of this 
 doctrine is plain, for he adds, "It is evident that the mind 
 knows not thmgs immediately, but only by the intervention 
 of ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, is 
 real only so far as there is a conformity between our 
 ideas and the reality of things. But what shall be 
 here the criterion ? How shall the mind, when it 
 perceives nothing but its own ideas, know that they 
 agree with the things themselves?" This is substantially 
 the dilemma that Berkeley insists upon — knowing only 
 ideas we are precluded from knowing anything else. 
 By the very terms of the proposition we are assumed 
 to be acquainted with nothing but ideas, and it is 
 not difficult to see how, from the net of words in which 
 the subject was thus entangled, this was almost an 
 inevitable result. There was an old notion in the world 
 which influenced all its thinking, and which was once 
 reckoned a self-evident principle, from which a large 
 crop of error has been produced, and it was this: nothing 
 can act or be acted upon but when and where it is 
 present. It seems a necessary consequence from this 
 principle, that when the mind perceives, either the objects 
 of its perception must come into it, or it must go out
 
 Locke on Human Understanding^. 71 
 
 of the body to these objects. We may notice this 
 opinion in the language common to a certain class of 
 subjects : when a man does not observe what is going 
 on around him, it is attributed to absence of mind ; 
 when he is what we call crazy, he is said to be out of 
 his mind. An eminent French author says: "We see 
 the sun, the stars, and an infinity of objects without us, 
 and it is not at all likely that the soul sallies out of the 
 body, and as it were takes a walk through the heavens 
 to contemplate all these objects." The perplexities 
 consequent upon these theories have infected the whole 
 subject. Berkeley infers the reality of ideas from the 
 circumstance that magnitude and figure, as perceived by 
 the eye and as perceived by the touch, are things in 
 appearance very different ; and Hume employs a similar 
 argument when he says, "The table we see seems to 
 diminish as we remove further from it ; but the real 
 table which exists, independent of us, suffers no alteration. 
 It was, therefore, nothing but its image which was 
 present to the mind." The known laws of optics, how- 
 ever, are a sufficient answer to such reasonings, and 
 prove that tangible magnitude must assume the precise 
 appearances to the eye which it does assume. 
 
 In asserting, as he does, that we perceive nothing but 
 our own ideas, and in asserting at the same time that 
 we have a knowledge of external objects, Locke devised 
 a puzzle which no ingenuity has been able to get out of; 
 for if we perceive only ideas, we are shut out from the 
 possibility of knowing what the represented objects are ; 
 nay, even from the possibility of knowing that such 
 things as represented objects exist ; no way is open 
 by which the faintest suspicion of their existence could 
 have access to us. We cannot, therefore, both know 
 external objects, and yet perceive nothing but ideas. 
 I have no intention, even if I were able, to introduce you 
 to the mazes of the controversy which ultimately arose 
 out of this doctrine of ideas. Bishop Berkeley founded
 
 72 Essays and Papers. 
 
 his system of idealism upon it ; but what the good bishop 
 precisely meant it is not always easy to determine, for 
 although a most acute reasoner, he is not consistent, and 
 his language is often very vague. He says, for instance, 
 and in one sense it is the seminal principle of his system 
 — " Some truths there are so near and obvious to the 
 mind, that a man need only to open his eyes to see them. 
 Such I take this important one to be, that all the choir 
 of heaven and furniture of earth — in a word, all those 
 bodies which compose this mighty frame of the world 
 have not any substance without a mind." It is quite 
 clear that things would not exist as they do to us, if the 
 intelligence which apprehends them acted through a 
 different organization ; if, instead of the nerves and 
 apparatus he possesses, man felt and thought through 
 another sort and set of instruments, he would most 
 likely feel and think after quite another fashion than he 
 does; if he saw through a different medium, what he saw 
 might put on quite another appearance, and might also 
 assume another aspect when it reached the intellectual 
 stage of its manifestation. But Berkeley goes further than 
 this, and denies to the world any substance without a mind. 
 The world, we say, is what we — rightly instructed — per- 
 ceive it to be. Berkeley says, without a mind perceiving, it 
 has not any substance; this, instead of being the plain truth 
 which he asserts, is surely a delusion. Lord Byron writes — 
 
 When Bishop Berkeley said there was no matter, 
 It was no matter what he said. 
 
 But this is not quite true ; the bishop's speculation is 
 a most refined and subtle one, and is a good mental 
 exercise. Berkeley is not, as Pope says, to be vanquished 
 with a grin, though one may perhaps say without pre- 
 sumption that his argument is mainly dependent upon 
 the ambiguity of words. 
 
 In the century after Locke, David Hartley attempted 
 to explain the origin of knowledge by an elaborate system 
 of vibrations, suggested by the then recent optical dis-
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 73 
 
 coveries of Sir Isaac Newton. He saj-s, " External 
 objects being corporeal can act upon the nerves and 
 brain, which are also corporeal, by nothing but impressing 
 motion on them." Sir Isaac Newton had said, " All 
 sensation is performed, and the limbs of animals moved, 
 in a voluntary manner by the power and actions of a 
 certain very subtle spirit, i.e. by the vibrations of this 
 spirit propagated through the solid capillaments of the 
 nerves from the external organs of the senses to the 
 brain, and from the brain to the muscles," to which 
 Hartley adds " The doctrine of vibrations as here de- 
 livered undertakes to account for the origin of our ideas 
 and motions, &c." This doctrine did not meet with a 
 very wide acceptance, and was derided by many metaphy- 
 sicians, though it so far conciliated the then, and perhaps, 
 ever mystical Coleridge, that he called his eldest son 
 Hartley after the author. The system of Hartley was, 
 in many respects, a remarkable though somewhat crude 
 anticipation of modern discoveries respecting the nervous 
 system. I speak under the correction of the hon. secre- 
 tary, but, as I understand it, it is the action of external 
 forces upon the nerves to which our special sensations 
 are due. Why oscillations of the air of certain specific 
 swiftness are felt as sound or as colour is unknown, but 
 that all mental action is accompanied by and dependent 
 upon some corresponding physical action is, I suppose, 
 clearly ascertained. How the two are conjoined we don't 
 know, though I fancy we may take it for granted that all 
 mental manifestations are inextricably interwoven with 
 certain physical developm.ents. Sever the optic nerve and 
 vision ceases — and in the animal economy other nerves 
 have an equally distinct function; and though the form of 
 the expression is open to objection, the mind may be said 
 to work by a machinery of nerves, which are dependent 
 upon external stimulus, and it is only by the co-operation 
 of the two — normal nerve and normal stimulus — that the 
 product of normal intelligence is ultimately produced.
 
 74 Essays and Papers. 
 
 We need not fear to explore this physical side of our 
 mental economy to the utmost. It is possible that in 
 bringing new knowledge to bear upon these problems the 
 old words miay have to be used in new and dubious and 
 questionable senses, and this may be inevitable ; but as 
 inquiry goes on a better and clearer nomenclature will be 
 found, and ultimately the new facts, whatever they may 
 be, will get for themselves a clothing of unexceptionable 
 words ; the new wine will be put into new bottles and 
 both will be preserved. Relying upon certain physical 
 facts, writers have said that thought is secreted as 
 bile is secreted ; but there is nothing to warrant the 
 statement. Chemistry combines elements, but does not 
 create them. Its products are the resultants of its 
 factors, but Newton's " Principia," and " Paradise Lost " 
 are not resolvable into vibrations. The writers of 
 such works may depend for their mental activity upon 
 brain and nerve, but that the product of these can be 
 assimilated with their ultimate production has not only 
 not been proved, but is contradicted by reason and by 
 experience. 
 
 In this region of knowledge, under the dominion of 
 inference, error is most common, arising from ambiguity of 
 language, and from the tendency to indulge in figurative 
 forms of speech. Locke has furnished many examples of 
 it, although he has at the same time denounced it in strong 
 terms. Here is a sample from the Essay : — " External 
 objects furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities 
 which are all those different perceptions they produce in 
 us, and the mind furnishes the understanding with ideas 
 of its own operations." " The mind'" and "i<s," and " the 
 understanding " are here spoken of as though they were 
 different things carrying on a certain commerce amongst 
 themselves, and having separate existences. Such a mode 
 of expression is well enough when we are talking about 
 indifferent matters, but when definite notions have to 
 be expressed they are dangerous, for writers insensibly
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 75 
 
 fall into loose metaphorical modes of writing until they 
 fail to attach any precise signification to their words, 
 and the words gradually so far influence the thought that 
 it is forgotten they are figurative, embodying mere tropes 
 and metaphors. This is not a mere superficial and unim- 
 portant error. It is one that pervades and vitiates a large 
 amount of what has been written on these subjects. 
 Some writers have made much of a distinction between 
 the understanding and the reason ; in fact, it is the great 
 characteristic of one school of writers, whilst others write 
 of the will and of the imagination as though they were 
 distinct powers and departments in human affairs. The 
 simple fact is, that man acts both rationally and emotion- 
 ally ; and as he does one or the other, it is convenient to 
 speak of the operations in a somewhat figurative manner, 
 and no harm arises so long as it is kept in view that the 
 language needs reconstructing if it is to be taken literally. 
 If we say that a man perceives and remembers, and 
 imagines atid reasons, we convey everything that is con- 
 tained in the more imposing phrase, that the mind of man 
 has the faculties of perception, and memory, and imagina- 
 tion, and reasoning. To say that a man hopes and fears, 
 and rejoices and grieves, is a form of speech that expresses 
 just the same meaning as the more circuitous and sonorous 
 phraseology that the mind of man is endowed with the 
 susceptibilities, or subject to the affections of hope and 
 fear, and joy and grief. Independently of the disadvantages 
 which in science must always attend circuitous tautological 
 and figurative expressions that add nothing to the sense, 
 such language in mental and moral philosophy gives rise 
 to peculiar evils that require special attention. We are 
 speaking, be it observed, of language as an instrument of 
 investigation and philosophical statement, and not as 
 a vehicle of common intercourse. The work of the mind 
 is often represented as if it were carried on by independent 
 agents, originating ideas, passing them from one to 
 another, and transacting other business amongst them-
 
 76 Essays and Papers. 
 
 selves. In this species of phraseology the mind fre- 
 quently appears a sort of field, in which perception, 
 recollection, imagination, reason, will, conscience, and 
 the passions carry on their operations like so many 
 powers in alliance with, or in hostility to, each other. 
 Sometimes one of those powers is supreme, the others are 
 subordinate ; one usurps authority and another submits ; 
 one reports and others listen ; one deludes and another 
 is deceived ; until the mind or the intellectual being 
 himself is jostled out of sight altogether by transactions 
 in which he appears to have no concern. At other times 
 these powers are described as having dealings with their 
 owner, or master, lending him ministerial assistance, 
 acting under his control or direction, supplying him with 
 evidence or instruction, and enlightening him by revela- 
 tions, as if he himself were detached or apart from the 
 faculties which he is said to possess and to command, and 
 to which he is represented as listening. Hobbes says : 
 " The metaphorical speech of attributing command and 
 subjection to the faculties of the soul, as if they made a 
 commonwealth or family within themselves and could 
 speak one to another, is very improper in searching the 
 truth of a question ;" and Locke himself, though he has 
 not succeeded in avoiding such phraseology, says : " I 
 suspect that this way of speaking of faculties has led many 
 into a confused notion of so many distinct agents in us, 
 which had their several provinces and authorities, and did 
 command, obey, and perform several actions as so many 
 distinct beings, which has been no small occasion of 
 wrangling, obscurity, and uncertainty in questions relat- 
 ing to them." It may not be altogether unprofitable to 
 select a few examples of this propensity, as it can hardly 
 be doubted that the constant use of particular words and 
 phrases gives them a power over the thoughts to which 
 they have no legitimate right, and produces a habit of 
 acquiescence in mere cloudy words which have no repre- 
 sentatives amongst real existences.
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 77 
 
 " The world," says the learned author of Hermes, " has 
 been likened to a variety of things, but it appears to 
 resemble no one more than some moving spectacle (such 
 as a procession or a triumph) that abounds in every part 
 with splendid objects, some of which are still departing as 
 others make their appearance. The senses look on while 
 the sight passes, perceiving as much as is immediately 
 present, which they report with tolerable accuracy to the 
 soul's superior powers." Another writer says, " Reason 
 and the senses, the two principles of truth, besides that 
 they are not always sincere, reciprocally delude each other. 
 The senses delude the reason by false appearances, and 
 the trickery they practise is passed on themselves in 
 return. Reason takes its revenge. The passions of the 
 soul disturb the senses, and make upon them vexatious 
 impressions. They vie with each other in deceiving and 
 being deceived." 
 
 It has been said, this personifying the faculties goes 
 on to sucb an extent that an intelligent being, like a con- 
 stitutional monarch, transacts all regular business through 
 his ministers ; as if the understanding were Secretary 
 of State for the Home Department ; the faculty of judg- 
 ment. Chief Justice of the Common Pleas ; and reason, 
 First Lord of the Treasury. Such a mode of writing may 
 be suitable enough on certain occasions and subjects, but 
 when we are dealing with what needs to be treated with 
 precision and accuracy, the plainer and more concise the 
 language, the smaller is the chance of mistake. Locke 
 condemns figurative speeches and allusions inall discourses 
 that pretend to inform or instruct, regards them as 
 inventions of rhetoric to mislead the judgment, adding 
 that when truth and knowledge are concerned they cannot 
 but be thought a great fault either of the language or per- 
 son that makes use of them. Yet it is curious to observe 
 how freely he sometimes indulges in what he so vigorously 
 condemns ; as in that celebrated passage in which, with a 
 beauty and pathos seldom exceeded, he speaks of the
 
 yS Essays and Papers. 
 
 transitory character of our reminiscences. " There seems 
 to be," says he, " a constant decay of all our ideas, even 
 of those which are struck deepest, and in minds the most 
 retentive ; so that if they be not sometimes renewed by 
 repeated exercise of the senses or reflection on those kind 
 of objects which at first occasioned them, the print wears 
 out, and at last there is nothing' to be seen. Thus the 
 ideas as well as children of our youth often die before 
 us ; and our minds represent to us those tombs to which 
 we are approaching, where though the brass and marble 
 remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the 
 imagery moulders away. The pictures drawn in our 
 minds are laid in fading colours, and, if not sometimes 
 refreshed, vanish and disappear." 
 
 Having determined that men owe their ideas, or as I pre- 
 fer to call it their knowledge, to sensation and reflection, 
 Locke proceeds to group our whole stock of ideas under 
 these two heads. He divides the body of human knowledge 
 into the various subjects of which it may be supposed to 
 consist, and under the head sensation he brings together 
 those distinct and separate portions which he considers 
 are traceable to that source ; he maps out the boundaries 
 of one very large tract of human knowledge, and assigns 
 it to sensation ; he examines its products with great care, 
 and shows that originally by some process or other, they 
 owed their existence to the senses, and he designates 
 them simple ideas, viz., ideas such as those of colour, 
 taste, sound, &c. He then applies the same method to 
 his other source of ideas — reflection — and he undertakes 
 to analyse these, and to prove that however disguised 
 they may be, they have one origin ; and here is the stress 
 of the controversy. Locke calls this class of ideas com- 
 plex, and he proceeds to untwist the most subtle and 
 elaborate of them, and to exhibit the threads and fibres 
 out of which they have been spun ; the pattern and the 
 hues may be vastly unlike the original material that 
 passed into the loom, but it is the mind \^•hi^h has
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 79 
 
 manipulated them and given to them forms and colours 
 which it has derived from the great world by which it is 
 surrounded and nourished. 
 
 It would be impossible for me to give even an 
 outline of this portion of Locke's Essay. It occupies 
 nearly half the work. He traverses the whole sphere of 
 human knowledge, and gathering specimens as he goes 
 along he resolves them into their elements, proving 
 that to human beings they are cognisable only in certain 
 ways, and that, however various their appearances, 
 they are resolvable at last into ideas of sensation or of 
 reflection. 
 
 It is not pretended that this part of Locke's great 
 argument is altogether unassailable, but its main pro- 
 positions — -making allowance for faultiness of expression 
 — have lighted the path of all subsequent inquiries, and 
 have influenced and governed all that has been since 
 written on the subject. If his statement is true, there is 
 another p6int to be noticed which follows as a matter of 
 course. If all ideas are acquired, as he says, then there 
 are none born with us, and the early chapters of the 
 work are devoted to the subject of innate ideas^ against 
 which he directs a vigorous polemic. In Locke's time, 
 this part of the subject was surrounded with the greatest 
 difficulties ; it was mixed up and misunderstood until it 
 passed out of the region of calm discussion into that of 
 heated partisanship ; much as in a preceding generation 
 what were called realism and nominalism vehemently 
 excited men's passions. One finds it difficult to compre- 
 hend the state of feeling which can be roused to such 
 great excitement by questions so abstract, and far 
 removed from practical results. Locke strenuously con- 
 tended that we have no innate ideas, and men fought 
 as resolutely for the possession of innate ideas as in 
 other times they fought for the recovery of the eleven 
 days which they reckoned had been lost by the reforma- 
 tion of the calendar. Men had possession of a certain
 
 8o Essays and Papers. 
 
 quantity of ideas or knowledge. Locke believed he could 
 trace the whole to two distinct and defined sources. Let 
 us hear him on the subject of innate ideas — he says, " It 
 is an established opinion amongst some men that there 
 are in the understanding certain innate principles ; some 
 primary notions, characters as it were, stamped upon the 
 mind of man, which the soul receives in its very first 
 being ; and brings into the world with it. It would be 
 sufficient to convince unprejudiced readers of the falseness 
 of this supposition if I should only show (as I hope I 
 shall in the following parts of this discourse) how men 
 barely by the use of their natural faculties, may attain to 
 all the knowledge they have without the help of any 
 innate impressions, and may arrive at certainty without 
 any such original notions or principles. For I imagine 
 anyone will easily grant that it would be impertinent 
 to suppose the ideas of colours innate in a creature 
 to whom God hath given sight and a power to 
 receive them by the eyes from external objects ; and no 
 less unreasonable would it be to attribute several truths 
 to the impressions of nature and innate characters, when 
 we may observe in ourselves faculties fit to attain as easy 
 and certain knowledge of them as if they were originally 
 imprinted on the mind. But because a man is not per- 
 mitted, without censure, to follow his own thoughts in 
 the search of truth, when they lead him ever so little out 
 of the common road, I shall set down the reasons that 
 made me doubt of the truth of that opinion, as an excuse 
 for my mistake, if I be in one ; which I leave to be con- 
 sidered by those who, with me, dispose themselves to 
 embrace truth wherever they find it." 
 
 It was contended, on the other side, that there were 
 principles, practical and speculative, universally agreed 
 upon by all mankind, and which, therefore, must be 
 brought into the world with them as necessarily and 
 really as their inherent faculties. 
 
 To this Locke replies, that if such principles can be
 
 Locke on Human Undcrstaiidin^. 8i 
 
 otherwise acquired, they are not, even by universal agree- 
 ment, proved to be innate ; but he denies the existence of 
 principles to which the universal consent of all mankind 
 has been given. To which it was rejoined, that the 
 principles were recognised as soon as propounded ; for 
 example : that whatever is, is ; and that it is impossible 
 for the same thing to be and not to be. Locke replies : 
 "I take liberty to say that these propositions are so far 
 from having an universal assent that there are a great 
 part of mankind to whom they are not so much as 
 known." " And to say a notion is imprinted on the mind 
 and yet at the same time to say that the mind is ignorant 
 of it and never yet took notice of it, is to make this 
 impression nothing. No proposition can be said to be in 
 the mind which it never yet knew, which it was never 
 yet conscious of. For if any one may, then, by the same 
 reason, all propositions that are true, and the mind is 
 capable of ever assenting to, may be said to be in the 
 mind and to be imprinted ; since if any one can be said to 
 be in the mind, which it never yet knew, it must be 
 only because it is capable of knowing it ; and so the 
 mind is, of all truths it ever shall know. Nay, that 
 truths may be imprinted in the mind which it never did 
 nor ever shall know: for a man may live long, and die at 
 last in ignorance of many truths which his mind was 
 capable of knowing, and that with certainty." 
 
 There is much more to the same purpose, and the 
 opinion which Locke declares was then so widely preva- 
 lent, has pretty nearly disappeared from the world. A 
 doctrine of similar import, but more carefully elaborated, 
 has taken its place, and the controversy in the new terms 
 is, perhaps, as unsettled as ever. Locke's doctrine has 
 undergone some modification, due to the more accurate 
 knowledge which has been obtained of the nervous 
 system. I speak again under the correction of the 
 honorary secretary, but, as I understand it, the nervous 
 structure is the instrument of all mental action : and 
 
 6
 
 82 Essays and Papers. 
 
 mental activity means and implies increased power 
 in those nervous centres through which the operations 
 are carried on — ^just as muscular activity is dependent 
 upon nerve power — whilst the muscular activity develops 
 increased muscular power, shown by augmented size and 
 weight. There is action and re-action ; under normal 
 conditions of health, mental activity is developed and 
 corroborated by nerve force, and a change and growth 
 of structure is the result of prolonged and regular normal 
 exertion of mental effort. The organisation, as a living 
 machine, is more capable of mental work ; it can co- 
 ordinate and hold together conceptions that formerly it 
 could not grasp or comprehend. Stated in terms of mind 
 this is mere common place. That habit gives facility is 
 a truism, but how it does it is another matter. Muscle 
 grows by exercise to a certain point ; the tension of a 
 muscle differs scarcely at all in principle from the tension 
 of a piece of leather. Nervous structures are subject 
 to the same law, and, the proper stimulus being applied, 
 they become capable of more and more elaborate work. 
 Mind is not nerve ; but a mind of great power must 
 possess a relative nerve power, and this fact connects 
 itself with Locke's philosophy in this way : a nervous 
 structure so built up by mental work, by the co-ordination 
 of experiences, by training and cultivation, may be 
 transmitted, and generation after generation may feel 
 in its nervous structure the effects of the changes that 
 have been wrought and of the methods that have been 
 employed ; and so the result of culture is to convert what 
 was a stony ground, or a thorny one, into a soil where 
 the seeds of knowledge may germinate under more favour- 
 able conditions, and become of a higher and better type. 
 In one sense the fact is a mere commonplace, in another 
 it is still only partially understood. Improved mental 
 culture means ultimately an improved mental machinery ; 
 it means a physical basis of more capacity ; and such 
 physical basis may be transmitted on and on, — and so
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 83 
 
 distant generations come into possession from the first of 
 an aptitude and a power which may be compared to, and 
 almost pass for, an innate stock of knowledge. 
 
 This fact, like a thousand others which time has 
 unfolded, was observed by Shakespeare, though he does 
 not attempt to explain or account for it. In " Cymbeline " 
 we have two boys stolen in infancy from the Court of their 
 father, who is called the King of Britain, and Belarius, 
 who stole them, and brought them up as peasants, 
 says : — 
 
 How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 
 These boys know little they are sons to the king ; 
 
 Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
 
 They think they're mine ; and, though train'd up thus meanly 
 
 r the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
 
 In simple and low things to prince it much 
 
 Beyond the trick of others. 
 
 And on the>same subject he says again, — 
 
 O thou goddess, 
 Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazonest 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rudest wind 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine. 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearn 'd ; honour untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other ; valour, 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd. 
 
 With Shakespeare, all this effect is due to nature ; but 
 in these days we want an explanation of the word — 
 we want to know the how of the operation — we want 
 to discover the specific cause of so remarkable an 
 effect. It was long ago observed in the animal creation ; 
 it was well known that races could be modified and 
 improved by selection and cultivation. It was not 
 
 6 *
 
 84 Essays and Papers. 
 
 known that the development of intelhgence and its 
 definite progress were dependent upon the same law. 
 Dogs were not pointers by nature, they became so by the 
 training and tuition of man ; and if all our game was 
 destroyed the generation of pointers might become 
 extinct, unless it happened that another use was found 
 for them — as of the pointer who had shared his master's 
 beer at a certain public-house, and would never pass the 
 house without making a point at the sign-board, his 
 master making a point of going in. 
 
 The intelligence of each generation of men may seem 
 to be an original stock common to the species, but investi- 
 gation shows it to be an inheritance. Knowledge is all 
 derived from particulars, from individual things ; by 
 comparison, and by reflection it gets put into general 
 propositions, which are more or less accurate, as 
 examples are well or ill selected. Each generation 
 inherits a stock of such general propositions, which in 
 most cases are taken up without any comparison with 
 the original particulars from which they have been 
 deduced, and so they pass current as having the image 
 and superscription of truth. They are subsequently 
 found not to fit in with later knowledge ; being weighed 
 in the balance they are found wanting. Knowledge must 
 be justified of all her children — their pedigree and their 
 title must in each case be proved. 
 
 Locke's doctrine on this subject is condensed into the 
 scholastic maxim — "nihil est in intellectu quod non prius fuerit 
 in sensu " — nothing is in the intellect that was not previ- 
 ously in the senses. Applied to a generation, this may not 
 seem so — applied to the race, it stands apparently upon 
 incontrovertible evidence. Locke says : " I must confess 
 when I first began this discourse of the understanding, 
 and a good while after, I had not the least thought that 
 any consideration of words was at all necessary to it. 
 But when, having passed over the original and composi- 
 tion of our ideas, and begun to examine the extent and
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 85 
 
 certainty of our knowledge, I found it had so near a 
 connection with words that unless their force and manner 
 of significance were first well observed, there could 
 be very little said clearly and pertinently concerning 
 knowledge ; which, being conversant about truth, had 
 constantly to do with propositions. And though it 
 terminated in things, yet it was, for the most part, so 
 much by the intervention of words, that they seemed 
 scarcely separable from our general knowledge." He 
 goes on to say, " It may lead us a little towards the 
 original of all our knowledge and notions if we remark how 
 great a dependence our words have on common sensible 
 ideas ; and how those which be made use of to stand 
 for actions and notions quite removed from sense have 
 their rise from thence, and from obvious sensible ideas are 
 transferred to more abstruse significations, and made to 
 stand for ideas that come not under the cognisance of our 
 senses ; for example, to imagine, apprehend, comprehend, 
 adhere, conceive, instil, disgust, disturbance, tranquility, 
 &c., are all words taken from the operations of sensible 
 things and applied to certain modes of thinking. Spirit in 
 its primary signification is breath, and I doubt not but 
 if we could trace them to their sources, we should find, 
 in all languages, the names which stand for things that 
 fall not under the senses to have had their first use 
 from sensible ideas." Since Locke's time the science 
 of language has been made the subject of closer study, 
 upon much more ample materials than was possible in 
 his day ; and his conjecture that in all languages the 
 names which stand for things that do not fall under the 
 senses have had their first rise from sensible ideas, may be 
 said to have been demonstrated so that one of the most 
 eminent of English writers on philology, Mr. Garnett, says, 
 adapting the scholastic maxim before referred to, " The 
 primitive elements of speech are demonstrably taken 
 from the sensible properties of matter, and nihil in oratione 
 quod non priits in scnsu may be regarded as an incontro-
 
 86 Essays and Papers. 
 
 vertible axiom. Language has not even distinct terms for 
 the functions of the different bodily senses, much less for 
 those of the mind — an epithet primarily meaning sharp- 
 pointed or edged is metaphorically applied to denote acid, 
 shrill, bright, nimble, passionate, perspicuous, besides 
 many minuter shades of signification." It may well be 
 asked, if there be transcendental knowledge, why has it 
 to express itself in language borrowed from the senses ? 
 and if it had another origin than the senses, why 
 was it not able to clothe itself in a garb of speech 
 fitted to its higher pretension ? 
 
 The position of Locke in reference to the doctrine of 
 innate ideas as expounded in his day seems to be im- 
 pregnable, though it needs to be interpreted in this day 
 by the discoveries since made in physiology. But Locke's 
 position has been to some extent undermined and impaired 
 by works of imagination. It is not that his theory has 
 from this quarter been directly assailed, that his lines have 
 been broken or his defences stormed ; but a gorgeous 
 phantom has been conjured up, which has dazzled and 
 delighted until it has been forgotten that it has no bases 
 of fact and is merely a castle in the air. Some one has 
 said that he cared not who made laws for the people so 
 long as he might make their songs ; and whatever might 
 be the force of logic, the magic of poetry is for a time 
 more potent, it blends together thought and feeling, 
 creating forms and colours which logic protests against in 
 vain. Wordsworth has left us a piece of work of this 
 sort which we could not wish other than it is, but which 
 we must regard as only a splendid illusion. He says : — 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep, and a forgetting ; 
 The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
 And Cometh from afar. 
 Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 And not in utlcr nakedness, 
 Rut trailing cloufls of gIor\- do we lonie 
 !• idin ( ii 1(1 whci i>. our l\ciiiic.
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 87 
 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
 Shades of the prison house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing Boy, 
 But he beholds the light and whence it flows, 
 
 He sees it in his joy ; 
 The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
 
 Must travel, still is nature's Priest, 
 
 And by the vision splendid 
 
 Is on his way attended ; 
 At length the Man perceives it die away, 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 And he raises his '* song of thanks and praise " for 
 
 Those first affections. 
 
 Those shadowy recollections. 
 
 Which, be they what they may. 
 Are yet the fountain light of all our day. 
 Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; 
 
 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
 Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
 Of the Eternal Silence ; truths that wake, 
 
 To perish never ; 
 Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour. 
 
 Nor Man nor Boy, 
 Nor all that is at enmity with joy 
 Can utterly abolish or destroy. 
 
 Hence in a season of calm weather 
 
 Though inland far we be. 
 Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
 
 Which brought us hither. 
 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 And see the children sport upon the shore. 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 
 
 Logic ineffectually opposes such vaticinations as these — 
 
 Science comes but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point. 
 
 Whereas poetry 
 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
 
 and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 I feel that I have already trespassed too long on your 
 time, although 1 am conscious that I have only given the
 
 88 Essays and Papers. 
 
 slightest and slenderest account of Locke's work. I have 
 passed over altogether perhaps the most important part 
 of it, that which John Stuart Mill calls " The immortal 
 Third Book," which treats specially of language, of the 
 imperfection and abuse of words, and from which it may 
 be gathered that more than half the obscurity which 
 surrounds certain regions of knowledge is due to the mis- 
 understanding of words. 
 
 The problem that Locke set himself to solve, and 
 that he has done more than any single man to explain, 
 " the original, certainty, and extent of human knowledge," 
 is yet debated as keenly as ever, though after a somewhat 
 different manner, and for the introduction of which we are 
 indebted to Locke. Volume after volume is still devoted 
 to the subject, and the world may yet have to wait some 
 time before the conflicting theories and opinions are 
 reconciled; but when they are so, much else will be made 
 clear which is now doubtful and obscure. The writer 
 whose influence in England has been most widely felt on 
 these subjects in recent years was probably the late Sir 
 William Hamilton. He says : — "It is only a confusion of 
 ideas or of words, or of both together, to talk of the 
 perception of a distant object, that is, of an object not in 
 relation to our senses. An external object is only per- 
 ceived as it is in relation to our sense, and it is only in 
 relation to our sense inasmuch as it is present to it. To 
 say, for example, that we perceive by sight the sun or 
 the moon is a false or elliptical expression. We perceive 
 nothing but certain modifications of light in immediate 
 relation to our organ of vision, and, so far from 
 it being true that when ten men look at the 
 sun or moon they all see the same individual 
 object, the truth is that each of these persons sees 
 a different object, because each person sees a different 
 complement of rays in relation to his individual 
 organ. It has been held, that in looking at the 
 sun, moon, or any other object of sight, we are
 
 Locke on Human Understanding. 89 
 
 actually conscious of these distant objects, or that these 
 distant objects are those really represented to the mind. 
 Nothing can be more absurd. We perceive through no 
 sense aught external but what is in immediate contact 
 with its organ." This may be a true account of the 
 matter; but it is not a true interpretation of our con- 
 sciousness, and is but a slightly modified version of the 
 answer given by the Greeks in early times to the question, 
 "How does the mind perceive matter?" Shut up, as 
 they assumed the mind to be, like a light in a dark 
 lantern, how did it become acquainted with things outside 
 the body ? It was agreed on all hands that the mind 
 could operate only where it was present ; and how could 
 it be present to the things of the material universe ? In 
 answer to this query, some asserted that the mind walked 
 out of the body^ in order to take cognisance of things of 
 sense ; while another set asserted that it did not walk 
 out of the body, and, consequently, that it did not 
 perceive the things of sense at all, but only the species, 
 images, or ideas of them. This was explained by 
 assuming that all material things dispersed from them- 
 selves filmy or shadowy representations, which, being 
 received by the senses, were, by them, transmitted to 
 the mind, which treasured them up ; and that, with 
 regard to most of them, the mind, by its peculiar 
 chemistry, sublimated the particular into general ideas. 
 Theories, even more fanciful than these, were adopted 
 by men of the highest powers ; but, in truth, they 
 belong to the region of romance, not of philosophy. 
 When we turn from writers like these to the pages 
 of Locke, we feel ourselves in a different atmosphere. 
 And yet, though Locke is no disciple of any previous sect, 
 and would probably have distinctly disavowed, if called 
 upon, the doctrine of phantasms or species reaching the 
 brain and so forming ideas, throughout his immortal 
 treatise he struggles with impediments derived from 
 that doctrine, owing to the manner in which it had
 
 90 Essays and Papers. 
 
 affected the language he employs. He systematically 
 uses the word ideas, as if ideas were something different 
 from the mind itself. He speaks of the mind being at 
 first like a blank sheet of paper, or like a dark cave 
 that is gradually furnished with ideas as the paper might 
 be written on with words, or the cave, by admitting light 
 and shadows through a chink, might be supplied with 
 reflections, and this became the prevalent way of think- 
 ing. How mind perceives matter we do not know, and 
 perhaps never may know ; it may be an ultimate fact 
 to be accepted but not explained, for to explain means 
 to make a thing plainer, and there is here no further 
 explanation to be given ; reason or inference has no 
 evidence to give, and we are shut up to the testimony of 
 the senses from which there lies no appeal. When we 
 turn to that phase of the subject belonging more strictly 
 to the mind proper, we are again embarrassed by the 
 involutions of language, the mind has been mapped 
 out and divided into numerous faculties and powers — - 
 perception, conception, attention, abstraction, memory, 
 imagination, and so forth — as if each one were a 
 little monarch, having a territory of its own, whereas, 
 however we may use the words, thoughts, ideas, images, 
 notions, feelings, &c., yet all these are but different 
 conditions, or states of mind, and nothing separate from 
 the mind itself; conventional and convenient words in 
 which to speak of mental work. For what do we mean 
 by the word mind distinct from the word man ? do 
 we discriminate anything more clearly by it ? do we 
 open any new light by saying the mind of man ? No 
 proot is required that the body alone cannot move and 
 see, and hear, and feel, and taste, and smell ; it must 
 be an animated body to do all this, and if animated 
 then mind is less properly something more than some- 
 thing different. Nor, because modern investigation has 
 proved the inseparable alliance of all intellectual phe- 
 nomena with organic conditions need we fear that by
 
 Locke on Htnnan Understanding. gi 
 
 identifying the word mind with the word man, we may 
 run into materialism. It is not even true that the eye 
 sees, or the ear hears ; but the man sees because he has 
 an eye to see with^ and hears because he has an ear. 
 By analogy, if it be true that our intellectual operations 
 are ordered and maintained through organic instruments, 
 it is still the man who knows and remembers and reasons 
 and contrives ; and these are intellectual states of that 
 man, and he is a being fitted for immortality, because he 
 is created capable of such states.
 
 BUTLER'S ANALOGY. 
 
 " The Analogy of Religion to the Constitution and Course 
 of Nature" is the title of the most profound and argu- 
 mentative work that the Church of England has given to 
 the world. It may not stand upon so exalted a pedestal 
 as it did half a century ago, and it may not now command 
 the implicit assent which was once given to it; but it 
 remains a model of calm and fair discussion, and if it does 
 not altogether silence objections, it proves that they are 
 not so triumphant as they were formerly assumed to be. 
 
 The argument of the work travels over many particulars, 
 but it lies in a nutshell, and is thus stated by Butler — " If 
 there be 'an analogy or likeness between that system of 
 things and dispensation of Providence, which Revelation 
 informs us of, and that system of things and dispensation 
 of Providence, which experience together with reason 
 informs us of, i.e. the known course of Nature ; this is a 
 presumption that they have both the same author and 
 cause." " It must be allowed just to join abstract reason- 
 ings with the observation of facts and argue from such 
 facts as are known to others that are like them ; from that 
 part of the Divine Government over intelligent creatures 
 which comes under our view to that larger and more 
 general government over them which is beyond it, and 
 from what is present to collect what is likely, credible or 
 not incredible, will be hereafter." " Let us compare the 
 known constitution and course of things with what is said 
 to be the moral system of Nature ; the acknowledged 
 dispensations of Providence, or that government which 
 we find ourselves under, with what religion teaches to 
 believe and expect, and see whether they are not
 
 94 Essays and Papers. 
 
 analogous and of a piece." " It is not my design to 
 inquire further into the nature, the foundation, and the 
 measure of probabiHt)^; or whence it proceeds that likeness 
 should beget that presumption, opinion and full conviction, 
 which the human mind is formed to receive from it, 
 and which it does necessarily produce in every one." 
 . . . " For there is no man can make a question, but 
 that the sun will rise to-morrow, and be seen, where it is 
 seen at all, in the figure of a circle and not in that of a 
 square." 
 
 Such is the scope and design of this great work, and 
 before making any application of it we must know what 
 the author means by the word " nature " and " natural." 
 He writes of the constitution and course of nature, and 
 if we ask what he means by these words, he informs us 
 that " the only distinct meaning of the word ' natural ' is 
 stated, fixed, or settled ; " the visible known course of 
 things appears to us natural. For there seems scarce 
 any other possible sense to be put upon the word, but 
 that only in which it is here used ; " similar, stated, or 
 uniform." We need not proceed further with Butler's 
 argument. It is the principle we are concerned with ; the 
 method he adopts, and which, whether well or ill applied 
 in particular cases, is in itself a satisfactory and unim- 
 peachable method. The greater part of all knowledge is 
 acquired by comparison and likeness ; we have learned 
 the name of some object, and on seeing another object of 
 similar appearance we apply the same name to it, and 
 experience teaches us to correct our hasty conclusions, 
 and to discover differences which were not at first 
 discernible. Butler declines to inquire into the grounds 
 on which it is that likeness begets so full a conviction, one 
 which, he says, is necessarily produced in everyone. We 
 may with advantage consult Mr. Herbert Spencer on the 
 subject; in the second edition of his " Principles of 
 Psychology," he treats of it in a full and comprehensive 
 manner. Chapter XXIV. discusses " the relations of
 
 Butler's Analogy. 95 
 
 likeness and unlikeness," and proceeds thus — " Continued 
 analysis has brought us down to the relations underlying 
 not only all preceding relations, but all processes of 
 thought whatever. From the most complex and the 
 most abstract inferences down to the most rudimentary 
 intuition, all intelligence proceeds by the establishment of 
 relations of likeness and unlikeness.'" — "The classification of 
 objects, we found to imply a perception of the likeness of 
 a new group of relations to a before known group, joined 
 with more or less unlikeness of the individual attributes. 
 . . . And we further saw that the perception of a 
 special object is impossible save by thinking of it as like 
 some before known class or individual." And Professor 
 Jevons in his "Principles of Science," says — "The 
 fundamental action of our reasoning faculties consists in 
 inferring or carrying to a new instance of a phenomenon 
 whatever we have previously known of its like, analogue, 
 equivalent, or equal. Sameness or identity presents itself 
 in all degrees, and is known under various names ; but 
 the great rule of inference embraces all degrees, and 
 affirms that so far as there exists sameness, identity or 
 likeness, what is true of one thing will be true of the 
 other." 
 
 Butler's process is an example and application of this 
 fundamental principle of our mental constitution ; we can 
 only learn and understand one thing as we have previously 
 become acquainted with another ; and it is because one 
 thing is more or less like another that we infer some 
 further resemblance, and the correctness of our inference 
 depends at last upon the exactness of our observation. 
 
 The datum line from which Butler starts is the " con- 
 stitution and course of nature ; " and nature, he tells us, 
 is what IS " stated, fixed, or settled ; " that order and 
 framework of things with which we are acquainted, which 
 we " find ourselves under." And here it is important to 
 notice that it is not the absolute order of things which is 
 to form the basis of measurement, but what we " find
 
 96 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ourselves under," what is " stated, fixed, and settled," so 
 far as our experience reaches. We only " know in part " 
 (i Cor. xiii. g) ; and what appeared " stated, fixed, and 
 settled " in former ages has that character no longer. So 
 far as men are concerned, the constitution of nature is 
 that order of things which has impressed itself on their 
 minds. They thought, for thousands of years, that the earth 
 was a plane and immovable, and that the sun moved ; 
 the whole framework of their belief on this subject has 
 been overturned, their senses told them that some change 
 took place, which was true, but their inference from it 
 was erroneous. Not in this respect only, but in hundreds 
 of others, the constitution and course of nature has 
 seemed to one generation a very different thing to what 
 it has seemed to another ; and as the apprehension of it 
 may yet undergo very great changes, what may be the 
 ultimate, true and final interpretation of it cannot be 
 determined, and therefore if, as Butler proposes, we are 
 to infer " from that part of Divine Government which 
 comes under our view, to that larger and more general 
 government which is beyond," we must be very careful 
 that we do not misinterpret that part which comes under 
 our view, seeing it is by this we are to judge of 
 that " which is beyond." Let us take an example 
 from Butler himself; he says, "The numerous seeds of 
 vegetables and bodies of animals, which are adapted 
 and put in the way to improve to such a point or state 
 of natural maturity and perfection, we do not see, 
 perhaps, that one in a million actually does. For the 
 greatest part of them decay before they are improved 
 to it, and appear to be absolutely destroyed." ..." And 
 I cannot forbear adding, though it is not to the present 
 purpose, that the appearance of such an amazing waste in 
 nature, with respect to these seeds and bodies, by foreign 
 causes, is to us unaccountable, as, what is much more 
 terrible, the present and future ruin of so many moral 
 agents by themselves, i.e. by vice.".
 
 BiUlcrs Analogy. 97 
 
 The ruin of these moral agents is assumed and sub- 
 stantiated by the analogy of nature's waste in the destruc- 
 tion of seeds, &c. Now, suppose that the destruction, 
 as Butler calls it, of seeds is a natural operation, and 
 that instead of their being " absolutely destroyed," as 
 he assumes, those which decay subserve altogether as 
 important and useful purposes in the economy of nature 
 as those which " improve." According to his notion 
 of "perfection," the hypothesis of the ruin of moral 
 agents loses this analogical proof; and we must not 
 overlook the fact that Butler claims this analogy on the 
 ground of "appearance"; and as this appearance may 
 be wholly false and deceitful, other appearances equally 
 relied upon may be also fanciful and fallacious. The 
 constitution and course of nature is something actual 
 and real. What men and generations of men have 
 thought of it is no proof that they thought correctly ; 
 and if not, then the conclusions or analogies thev dis- 
 covered ai^e even less to be relied upon ; they may indeed 
 be " baseless as the fabric of a vision." Once assume, 
 which is far more probable, that every part and particle 
 of nature has a predetermined place and purpose, and 
 Butler's notion of " waste " altogether disappears. We 
 only " know in part"; he builds up an argument which 
 he admits to be " terrible " upon an hypothesis which 
 may be utterly untenable ; the constitution and course 
 of nature he may have wholly misinterpreted and mis- 
 understood, and it may furnish no proof or probabilit\- 
 whatever in support of his argument. 
 
 In the ninth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans 
 we have another example of a false analogy which often 
 leads to a mistaken inference. — " Thou wilt say then 
 unto me. Why doth he yet find fault ? For who hath 
 resisted His will ? Nay but, O man, who art thou that 
 repliest against God ? Shall the thing formed say to 
 him that formed it. Why hast thou made me thus ? 
 Hath iiot the potter power over the clay, &c. ?" 
 
 7
 
 98 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Now, the comparison or analogy in this case altogether 
 fails : the writer argues that because a " thing " may be 
 used after any fashion that its owner pleases, so may a 
 man ; but unless the attributes of a man and the attributes 
 of a thing are the same, there is no real analogy. In 
 his " Aids to Reflection," Coleridge says, " Morality 
 commences with, and begms in, the sacred distinction 
 between thing and person ; on this distinction all law, 
 human and divine, is grounded." The distinction between 
 a person and a thing is so well understood and so funda- 
 mental that no proof of it need be given ; it is, however, 
 succinctly stated in a recent popular treatise — " The 
 Science of Law," by Sheldon Amos — " The true opposite 
 of a person is a thing" — "The primitive notions with 
 which the law deals are persons and things " — " A person 
 ... is only known to the law as a centre round which a 
 number of rights and duties gather, and who is hypo- 
 thetically in possession of the moral and mental faculties 
 needed to enjoy the rights and perform the duties." 
 
 Now, if it is argued that because its possessor may do 
 what he likes with a thing, he may, therefore, do what he 
 likes with a person, we at once resent the comparison 
 and deny the analogy. Whether it be right for an infinite 
 being to treat human beings as mere lifeless clay, we do 
 not inquire ; we say, it is not proved to be right because 
 such power exists over inanimate clay ; the clay, no 
 doubt, may be moulded and fashioned according to its 
 owner's fancy ; a human being may not be so dealt with. 
 No tribunal on earth would allow the validity of such 
 an analogy. In the worst of times, when slaves were not 
 allowed the privilege of persons, they were never actually 
 degraded into things ; so that if it is attempted to justify 
 an arbitrary proceeding with human beings on the ground 
 that such proceeding is allowable with inert matter, the 
 argument is invalid because the analogy is false. Hath 
 not the potter power over the clay ? Yes. Shall the 
 thing formed say to him who formed it. Why hast thou
 
 IJiitlcr's Aiuilugy. gg 
 
 made me thus ? No ; because it is a thing. But in 
 neither case is the reasoning applicable to persons ; the 
 clay has no rights and duties, and the person has ; mere 
 "power" may determine the destiny of clay, but some- 
 thing more than power must "shape the ends " of human 
 beings. We are not assuming to deal with the whole 
 argument ; we only say " the constitution and course of 
 nature " gives men power over clay to do what they will 
 with it ; but it does not give them such power over human 
 beings, and any argument is false which bases itself on the 
 similarity of persons and things, and infers that as mere 
 power is sufficient to deal with the one, it is sufficient 
 also to deal with the other. As a matter of fact, in some 
 other state of being persons and things may be confounded 
 together ; but an argument based upon the analogies 
 of this world is mistaken and misleading which implies 
 that because unrestrained rights exist here over inert 
 clay they therefore exist over human beings. Our beliefs 
 may be capable of proof, and we may seek to strengthen 
 a proof by false analogies; the analogies, however, must 
 be rejected, though the proof may remain ; but too often 
 the weak proof is corroborated by the apparent analogy, 
 and passes current on the strength of the analogy ; and it 
 is this source of error we have specially to guard against. 
 Parents may have existed who thought they had uncon- 
 trolled and unlimited power over their children because 
 they had such power over their trees and dwellings, 
 and followmg out Butler's argument they might have 
 concluded that whoever had equal power over the human 
 race had a right to exercise it in any manner that he 
 pleased ; but as soon as such parents are taught the true 
 relation between themselves and their children, they know 
 that their power is limited and restrained ; every year 
 narrows the limits of mere power, and substitutes for it 
 the higher notion of right ; the community circumscribes 
 continually the individual impulse, and if we assume any 
 principle of action as right in some superior being 
 
 , ' 7 *
 
 loo Essays and Papers. 
 
 because it is thought right in man, we must be quite sure 
 that our principle is truly and finally settled and approved 
 by man's highest and most developed intelligence. " 'Tis 
 excellent to have a giant's strength, but tyrannous to use 
 it like a giant." Men are not allowed to have uncontrolled 
 power over dumb animals : they may kill, but not torture 
 them : a brute has rights, the clay has none ; and all men 
 come to acknowledge this, though at some time it may 
 not have been recognized. 
 
 When the constitution and course of nature was 
 thought to justify the " butchering " of men and animals 
 to make a " holiday " for other men, it might be thought 
 justifiable for a god to deal similarly with the whole 
 human race. But such an analogy is exploded ; men 
 have no right to treat their fellows after this fashion, nor 
 can the fact that such treatment is at an)^ time common 
 and customary be pleaded in justification of similar treat- 
 ment in another sphere. Butler himself, for another 
 purpose, argues, " The destruction of a vegetable is an 
 event not similar or analogous to the destruction of a 
 living agent, because one of the two subjects compared is 
 wholly void of that which is the prmcipal and chief thing 
 in the other — the power of perception and of action." 
 (Analogy, chap. I.) 
 
 We see, then, that before we can found an argument 
 upon analogy we must know that the things compared 
 have similar attributes ; we cannot penetrate the unknown 
 by false analogies derived from the known. If the con- 
 stitution and course of nature here and now is to help us 
 in forming conceptions of what may be elsewhere and 
 hereafter, it is indispensable that we understand perfectly 
 and interpret accurately the things that are to guide our 
 hopes and expectations ; and if this is true of the visible 
 course of events in the world, it is also true of the words 
 and symbols by which the past and the future are brought 
 before our minds. We read written and printed words, 
 but we only know what they mean as we are acquainted
 
 Butler's Analu^y. loi 
 
 with the things for which they stand ; and if we have had 
 no experience of the things we can have no real know- 
 ledge of the words ; we must be able to compare the 
 words and the things before we can be sure that we know 
 the meaning of a proposition : though a predication is 
 made in words it has no validity unless it corresponds 
 with the represented things. In the 8th chapter of 
 Deuteronomy, Palestine is described as a " land out of 
 whose hills thou mayest dig brass;" and in the 2Sth of 
 Job we read, "brass is molten out of stone." Now, as 
 brass is a compound metal, neither of these statements is 
 accurate : the translators may be in error m rendering 
 the word ; but this does not affect the principle. The 
 proposition is a plain and intelligible one, and is only 
 known to be erroneous by our acquaintance with the 
 mode in which brass is made. Again, assertions are 
 made respecting the habits of the ant: but the truth of 
 the assertions can only be known when the facts are 
 known ; no theory respecting the words will avail us — 
 the question is, what are the facts ? and when these are 
 ascertained, the words must be modified and maintained 
 as they correspond or otherwise with the facts. 
 
 Another example of a more comprehensive character 
 will illustrate our meaning more completely. In the i8th 
 chapter of the ist of Kings we have an account of an 
 interview between Elijah and Obadiah. Elijah addressing 
 Obadiah says, " Go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is 
 here ; " on which Obadiah replies, "As the Lord thy God 
 liveth, there is no nation or kingdom, whither my lord 
 hath not sent to seek thee : and when they said, He is 
 not there, he took an oath of the kingdom and nation 
 that they found thee not." 
 
 An ingenuous person reading this story and knowing 
 nothing from other sources of " the constitution and 
 course of nature " would suppose that a man of Obadiah's 
 character who feared the Lord from his vouth, was
 
 102 Essays and Papers. 
 
 speaking only the literal truth, especially when he intro- 
 duces his assertion with the solemn words "As the Lord 
 thy God liveth ; " and yet we know that what he says is 
 merely hyperbole and exaggeration. And how do we 
 know this ? because we know that the world is a much 
 larger place than Obadiah had any notion of, that its 
 inhabitants have always spoken various languages, that 
 only very few persons in the world knew Elijah, and 
 that however arbitrary Ahab might have been, he was not 
 so foolish as to send out emissaries on so bootless a 
 mission. And yet Obadiah's assertion is most circum- 
 stantial — he took an oath of the kingdom and nation. We 
 ma}' modify and rebate the assertions ; but what then ? 
 We do so because we know they will not bear to be 
 literally interpreted ; and we know this by our acquain- 
 tance with certain facts, and not from any light derived 
 from the words. If the words related to persons and 
 things of which we have had no experience and which are 
 beyond the sphere of our observation, we might interpret 
 them literally, and we should err not less egregiously, 
 though quite unwittingly ; we should have nothing to 
 check our inference by. If a police officer were to make 
 an affidavit in a court of law that there was no corporate 
 town in England which he had not visited in search of 
 an offender, and if moreover he said that the chief 
 constable in each town had made an affidavit that no 
 such person was or had been there — he might be believed, 
 because we know the thing is not impossible ; it might 
 be done, and we might believe the proposition as being 
 consonant with our knowledge ; but when an assertion 
 goes beyond the bounds of our knowledge and the words 
 of it represent things and states of mind we have had no 
 experience of, we can give no intelligent assent to it, and 
 we may allege and think we believe what is utterly 
 absurd, because the propositions cannot be apprehended 
 in their realit}' ; we know only the words, and unless we
 
 Butle/s Analogy. 103 
 
 can check them by actual knowledge of the things, derived 
 from some other source we may assent to what is 
 contradictory and absurd. 
 
 It is impossible to conceive any statement more full 
 and more circumstantial than this of Obadiah's, intro- 
 duced as it is by a form of oath, and by a man of integrity 
 and uprightness. A priori we should say that such a 
 man's solemn statement made under such special circum- 
 stances might be relied upon in all its details ; and if we 
 knew none of the details and had no means of testing 
 them, our information as to Obadiah's character would 
 incline us to believe what he said ; but when we know the 
 particular facts he is speaking about, we at once refuse 
 our assent to the literal meaning of his words ; but we only 
 refuse this assent because we know from other sources 
 what is involved in his observation. 
 
 Let us now suppose that there is language in the Bible 
 which describes a universal deluge, and suppose we know 
 from other sources that such a deluge cannot have 
 occurred ; we restrict and retrench this language as we 
 restrict the language of Obadiah. Again, suppose that the 
 Bible describes the creation of the world as a recent event 
 which took place in a particular manner, and in a very 
 limited time. If we discover by other means that the 
 world has been in course of formation for myriads of ages, 
 and that it was peopled in quite another way and at a 
 much remoter era than the Book asserts, then the con- 
 stitution and course of nature must govern our conclusions 
 and not the ambiguous words of a very venerable docu- 
 ment ; if there be the widest possible discrepancy between 
 the Book's account of the origin of man, and the facts of 
 his history registered on the walls and floors of his 
 habitation, we must believe the latter evidence rather than 
 the former, because it is clearer, plainer, and more 
 authentic. We believed the words while we had no other 
 means of information ; but when we could explore the 
 strata of the earth and found there unimpeachable evidence
 
 I04 Essays and Papers. 
 
 of an antiquity that was altogether at variance with the 
 information contained in the Book, we had no alternative 
 but to rely upon the older document. We may shut our 
 eyes to the evidence, but we do not by this means 
 invalidate it, and the time will arrive when — come what 
 come may — this evidence will be as universally believed 
 as is the evidence of the earth's revolution and rotundity. 
 The evidence of words relating to the facts of nature 
 is not so strong and convincing as the evidence of the 
 facts themselves ; the antiquity of the world and the 
 antiquity of man are proved by evidence that is irrefragable, 
 and the evidence of some words written in a comparatively 
 recent age cannot overrule the evidence of facts which 
 contradict the words. The constitution and course of nature 
 is our datum line, any system of things which corresponds 
 to this may be true ; but one that contradicts it cannot 
 claim our assent when the complete evidence is before us. 
 The mode of interpretation here indicated is constantly 
 though perhaps unconsciously observed. We find moral 
 precepts in the Book very wide and comprehensive in 
 their terms, and we rebate them. " Take no thought for 
 the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things 
 of itself" is an injunction wholly opposed to our modern 
 habits, and it is quite disregarded ; a man who does not 
 take thought for the morrow is reckoned improvident and 
 blamable. One of the greatest and gravest faults of our 
 labouring classes is that they do not take thought for the 
 morrow, but leave it to take thought for the things of 
 itself; provident societies, insurance offices,, savings' 
 banks, and all kindred institutions are created and main- 
 tained by the men who take thought for the morrow. 
 Although there have been men who governed themselves 
 by the Book exclusively, who denounced this care-taking 
 and future-forestalling spirit, the constitution and course 
 of nature prevailed ; and the precepts that command 
 non-resistance, submission to injuries, and the like, 
 arc made to bend to the circumstances of the world.
 
 Butler's Analogy. 105 
 
 Read as literally as we have been accustomed to read the 
 story of the deluge, these precepts would altogether dis- 
 organise the arrangements of society ; and so society 
 deeming it indispensable that the affairs of the world 
 should be intelligently directed according to the lights of 
 experience, treats these precepts as tropes and figures ; 
 the words are subordinated to the things. But it is curious 
 to observe how words quite as unmanageable which in- 
 creased the power and importance of the clerical class have 
 been allowed to keep their literal signification, although 
 they contradict the constitution and course of nature as 
 completely as any we have been considering. The w'ords 
 which bade the disciples "take neither purse nor scrip nor 
 two coats," are as plain and precise as those which say, 
 " Whosesoever sins ye remit they are remitted," &c. But 
 whilst the latter are retained as a part of their charter by 
 Romanists, they altogether disavow the former; and then 
 they build the most mysterious dogma of religion upon a 
 few words, and decline to admit a figurative interpretation, 
 as it would deprive them of a wonder-working power. 
 The words '' This is my body " have no higher evidence 
 than the material bread to which they refer ; the senses 
 apprehend the words, and the senses also apprehend the 
 thing ; and, if the thing contradicts the meaning you put 
 upon the words, the words as embodying the weaker 
 evidence fall to the ground, are to be construed under- 
 standingly : "This is" — i.e. represents — "my body": 
 " I am the door " i.e. — represent it. 
 
 In Isaiah's time, men worshipped wooden idols, and no 
 doubt there was connected with them a halo of traditions, 
 temples, a gorgeous ritual, music, and priestly influences ; 
 and the people probably regarded the worship and its 
 surroundings with a certain reverence and awe. What 
 was actual and palpable was sublimated by what was 
 ideal and imaginative, and the evidence of sense was set 
 aside and despised in the blaze and fervour of devotion. 
 But these things did not impose upon Isaiah ; and in the
 
 loG Essays and Papers. 
 
 bluntest and most offensive manner, and with a minute 
 and sarcastic iteration, he describes how and by whom 
 the idol had been made, — the smith with the tongs, the 
 carpenter with a line ; — he depicts and delineates every 
 step of the process, he shows how the work has been 
 done, and that there is nothing occult in it ; " he heweth 
 him down cedars ; " " he burneth part thereof in the fire ; 
 with part thereof he eateth flesh ; he roasteth roast, and 
 is satisfied : yea, he warmeth himself and saith, Aha, I 
 am warm, I have seen the fire : and the residue thereof 
 he maketh a god, even his graven image : he falleth down 
 unto it, and worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, 
 Deliver me ; for thou art my god. They have not known 
 nor understood : and none considereth in his heart, 
 neither is there knowledge nor understanding to say, I 
 have burned part of it in the fire ; yea, also I have baked 
 bread upon the coals thereof; I have roasted flesh, and 
 eaten it ; and shall I make the residue thereof an abomi- 
 nation ? shall I fall down to the stock of a tree ? He 
 feedeth on ashes : a deceived heart hath turned him aside, 
 that he cannot deliver his soul nor say, Is there not a lie 
 in my right hand ? " (Isaiah xliv.) 
 
 Every word of this description may be applied to 
 transubstantiation : the process of growing and preparing 
 and cooking the wheat, the artificers who are engaged in 
 it, its physical features and effects, all have their counter- 
 part in Isaiah's picture ; and his interrogation and 
 denunciation are not one whit less applicable. With part 
 I made starch or paste or any other of the thousand 
 things for which wheat is available, and with the residue — 
 " he maketh a god ; he falleth down unto it and wor- 
 shippeth it; and prayeth unto it, and saith. Deliver me, 
 for though art my god." The analogy is painfully accurate 
 and close ; and that which rendered the thing possible in 
 Isaiah's time renders a similar thing possible now. There 
 is neither " knowledge nor understanding," " none con- 
 sidereth in his heart," and he is " deceived " and hath
 
 Butler's A)ialu^y. 107 
 
 '^ a lie in his right hand," because he lacks knowledge and 
 understanding. The instruments of knowledge with which 
 his Creator has endowed him, — his senses and reason — he 
 disavows and distrusts, and he accepts a " blind guide," 
 who has an interest in keeping up a false system, " and 
 has a lie in his right hand." 
 
 The argument of Isaiah is irresistible when it addresses 
 knowledge and understanding. Words may mislead ; facts 
 have a greater cogency ; this is a wooden idol ; this is a 
 piece of bread ; the constitution and course of nature 
 testify to the facts and their implications, and the words 
 must yield to the dominion of the things. To " know," 
 to " consider," to " understand " — these are the safe- 
 guards which are to deliver men from the perilous folly of 
 believing lies — of believing what has no basis of fact, no 
 correspondence with the constitution and course of nature. 
 Men may discover the meaning of nature or not as they 
 please, they may, if they please, live in regions of un- 
 reality, they may renounce the right of private judgment, 
 and hand over their intellectual and moral nature to the 
 disposal of another ; but no contrivance, no " voluntary 
 humility " (Col. ii. 18), and no abdication of their function, 
 no renunciation of " knowledge and understanding," no 
 believing and thinking by deputy, will stand instead of 
 the considering heart that looks at real things in their 
 native garb, and values them at exactly what they are 
 worth in the currency and work of the world. 
 
 By a man who had lived his life long in a remote 
 village — who had never known or understood — Obadiah's 
 story so solemnly vouched for would have been received 
 with an easy credulity. There was no help for it. The 
 man knew no better ; the King was irresistible, he had sent 
 everywhere, and taken oaths of all ; why should he not ? 
 In his unenlightened eyes the King was a person of un- 
 bounded power, who could do as he pleased ; but to a 
 man who knew Egypt, and Greece, and Italy, and Britain, 
 and the Baltic, Ahab's vaunting was mere vain-glorious-
 
 io8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ness, — a flagrant imposition, utterly incredible and 
 impossible ; mere Oriental extravagance ; and not one 
 whit more believable because Obadiah had been deceived 
 by it, and gave his solemn assurance of its truth. 
 
 And this remote villager is relatively in the position of 
 much more important persons. Measured against the 
 infinities, these persons — Popes, Cardinals, Councils — 
 are but as this ignorant rustic; nay, they are much less; 
 and in asserting peremptorily, as they do, that infinite 
 thmgs and relations are adequately represented through 
 the poor mechanism of words, and that these poor words 
 are the true and real exponents of what is invisible and 
 inscrutable, they are more presumptuous than any un- 
 travelled villager is ever likely to be. 
 
 We may apply this reasoning and these facts to the 
 popular doctrine of future punishment. What was thought 
 a rightful method of dealing with rational, emotional, and 
 imperfect beings at one era of the world's history was 
 thought a barbarous and cruel method at another. The 
 men who are so enamoured of antiquity should remem- 
 ber its arenas, wild beasts, thumb-screws, inquisitions, 
 slavery and brutality ; if its doctrines, its creeds and its 
 devotions, were compatible with such practices, we may 
 safely distrust its conclusions on moral questions. The 
 constitution and course of nature repudiate its methods 
 and reject its reasonings. 
 
 It was not thought unreasonable, as we have seen, 
 that a human being should be put on the same level as 
 the clay of a potter; his superior was presamed to hold 
 over him the same rights that the owner of inert clay 
 possesses over it : and we need only look at the judicial 
 proceedings of the world, at the punishments it inflicted, 
 and at the logic of its proceedings, to discern that an 
 unfortunate human being who violated the conventions 
 of society was a mere outcast, who might be made to 
 suffer any loss or anguish with impunity and approval. 
 In such a state of society a wrongdoer might be an
 
 Butler's Analogy. 109 
 
 Ishmaelite, treated as mere offal, whom no one cared 
 for ; everlasting punishment to the moral feelings of such 
 an age would seem as reasonable as the judicial cruelty 
 that was everywhere in vogue ; the teaching and the 
 practice were of a piece ; the constitution and course of 
 nature seemed on the side of endless and unmitigated 
 severitv ; rigon.r was the rule; mercy the exception. In 
 these modern days society stands aghast when a man, 
 though a nobleman, challenges for himself the right to do 
 as he likes with his own — even his property ; and he is 
 told, property has its duties as well as its rights. Society 
 is now horrified that a man should be allowed to " whop 
 his own nigger " without check or limit. It once regarded 
 these matters with complete indifference, and it listened 
 without remonstrance to a teacher who argued that a 
 human being and a piece of mert clay were subject to 
 the same rule of ownership : but the times are changed ; 
 crime is now treated with a certain humaneness; crimmals 
 are cared "for ; society concerns itself about them : " con- 
 siders " how they became what they are, and how they 
 may be raised and recovered ; metes out to them a 
 curative discipline ; teaches them, and in short makes 
 punishment subordinate to improvement ; an instrument 
 to save, and not an executioner to destroy. The time 
 may come — nay, it is certain to do so — when to take the 
 life of a criminal will be regarded with horror ; when it 
 will be seen that calm legal authority is sanctioning the 
 brutal remedies which constitute criminality. As Shylock 
 says, " The villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it 
 shall go hard but I will better the instruction." When 
 society was cruel and oppressive, cruelty and oppression 
 seemed to be the constitution and course of nature : 
 " When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as 
 a child, I thought as a child ; but when I became a man 
 I put away childish things." (i Cor. xiii. 11.) People 
 will not remember that the world was once in a state of
 
 no Essays and Papers. 
 
 childhood, and to a large extent it is so now; and that 
 what it " thought and understood " in childhood must be 
 put away as it grows into manhood ; and the vindictive- 
 ness that characterizes childhood, its conflicting passions 
 and impetuousness, most of all need to be put away. 
 The aspects of childhood are manifold, in some most 
 beautiful and to be imitated ; but that which in childhood 
 has been " thought and understood " must (much of it) be 
 put away; and its notion of punishment is one of the things 
 that must be put away : as much of it has already been 
 put away. Go through our gaols, our lunatic asylums, 
 our reformatories, and our common elementary schools, 
 and in every one of these places the old vindictive and 
 cruel methods are being " put away ;" the constitution 
 and course of nature has entered upon a new phase ; and 
 it becomes incredible to those who know and consider 
 it, that "vengeance" should ever have been regarded as 
 the impulse and measure of punishment. The men of a 
 generation speak the language of their generation ; they 
 see what it sees, and feel as it feels, and their analogies 
 are all based upon what they see and know and feel. 
 Plainly and undeniably they have thought in times past 
 that "whosoever killed did God service" (John xvi. 2), 
 and that it was "natural^' for God to be such as they 
 were ; they did not know they were cruel, that their acts 
 were savage and barbarous, and they transferred such 
 ways of thinking and acting to their gods, and thought 
 them conformable to the constitution and course of 
 nature. In a community where crime is reckoned and 
 treated as a disease, where its antecedents are regarded, and 
 where appropriate methods are applied to its extinction, 
 the reasoning of a man who was actuated by mere 
 " vengeance " would be horrible and incomprehensible, 
 would be in fact looked upon as we should look upon 
 methods of treating disease such as once prevailed among 
 savages.
 
 B utlers A n a logy . 1 1 1 
 
 The Being, that is in the clouds and air, 
 
 That is in the green leaves among the groves, 
 
 Maintains a deep and reverential care 
 
 For the unoffending creatures whom He loves. 
 
 The pleasure house is dust ; behind, before, 
 
 This is no common waste, no common gloom. 
 
 But Nature, in due course of time, once more 
 
 Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. 
 
 She leaves these objects to a slow decay, 
 
 That what we are and have been may be known ; 
 
 But at the coming of a milder day, 
 
 These monuments shall all be overgrown. 
 
 One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, 
 
 Taught both by what she shows and what conceals, 
 
 Never to blend our pleasure or our pride 
 
 With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.* 
 
 Now, suppose that the constitution and course of 
 nature as truly discerned should repudiate the old notion 
 and practice of punishment, and suppose that in the 
 Book there is language on the subject which is repugnant 
 to what is " natural," viz. " stated, fixed, or settled," we 
 must modify the words of the Book and bring them into 
 accordance with the more authoritative teaching. And 
 now let us hear what the Book says on the subject — ■ 
 " That servant, which knew his lord's' will, and prepared 
 not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be 
 beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and 
 did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with 
 few stripes." (Luke xii. 47, 48.) 
 
 Beating with stripes may be a figurative expression, 
 and may imply, as it plainly does, corrective and punitive 
 discipline ; and it is measured by the opportunities and 
 knowledge of the servant ; the indiscriminate sentence of 
 modern theology has no place here, but a rational law of 
 justice ; the stripes are to be few or many according to 
 the knowledge and disposition of the servant. But " few 
 or many " are utterly irrelevant words, where everlasting 
 punishment is meted out ; few or many — much or little — 
 
 * Wordsworth : " Hart Leap Weil."
 
 112 Essays and Papers. 
 
 have no application where there are only sheep and 
 goats : where these " go into everlasting punishment," 
 those " into life eternal/' A clear principle, at one with 
 the constitution and course of nature, must construe a 
 parable that is inconsistent with it. The separation of 
 mankind finally into two classes is incompatible with the 
 principle of meting out a graduated punishment ; and as 
 a graduated punishment is the rule elsewhere, and 
 satisfies more completely the requirements of the consti- 
 tution and course of nature as developed by the later and 
 higher jurisprudence, we have no alternative but to 
 regard the parable as inculcating kindness in general, 
 and as in no sense determining the final condition of 
 men. 
 
 A rule of distributive justice, which measures out 
 punishment according to the light and opportunity 
 possessed has everything to recommend it. The object of 
 the strong and wise should be to teach and strengthen the 
 weak, erring, and ignorant. To crush and destroy them, to 
 torture and to afflict them, in mere vindictiveness, was 
 intelligible once ; but it is so no longer ; the course of 
 nature rebels against and resents it ; the clay of the 
 potter may be handled after any fashion, a rational being 
 may not be so. 
 
 If it be said that Divine justice is a thing we do not 
 understand, we ask by what right does any man presume 
 to say that it is something repugnant to human notions of 
 justice ? If it cannot be understood or known, how then 
 can anything be predicated of it ? If I can know nothing 
 of it, how then can you know? How can it be said 
 that anyone is just, when the word justice represents an 
 unknown quality ? We need not adopt Mill's crushing 
 criticism upon Mansel ; we may take that of Coleridge. In 
 his " Aids to Reflection " he says, " I ask you, is this 
 justice a moral attribute ? If you attach any meaning to 
 tiie term justice, as applied to God, it must be the same 
 to which you refer when you affirm or den\- it of any
 
 BtUle/s Analogy. 113 
 
 other personal agent, save only, that in its attribution to 
 God you speak of it as unmixed and perfect. For if not, 
 what do you mean ? And why do you call it by the same 
 name ? I may, therefore, with all right and reason, put 
 the case as between man and man. For should it be 
 found irreconcilable with justice, which the Light of 
 Reason, made law in the conscience, dictates to man, how 
 much more must it be incongruous with the all-perfect 
 justice of God ? " 
 
 As illustrating the same principle St. Luke furnishes 
 another example (vii. 41) : — " A certain creditor had two 
 debtors : the one owed five hundred pence, and the other 
 fifty. And when they had nothing to pay he frankly 
 forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them 
 will love him most ? Simon answered and said, I 
 suppose that he to whom he forgave most. And he said 
 unto him, Thou hast rightly judged." 
 
 Here is no mystification — a plain man is asked a plain 
 question :' the constitution and course of nature is appealed 
 to ; under the specified circumstances what will come to 
 pass ? The men have nothing to pay ; then certainly 
 theology replies they must find a surety or a ransom : 
 nothing of the kind ; the creditor frankly forgives; no one 
 pays him anything, and his generosity is rewarded by the 
 love of his debtors. " Love is the fulfilling of the law," 
 and lays the foundation of further moral growth and 
 excellence. Make what you like of other teaching, this 
 apologue and its moral cannot be mistaken. 
 
 One more illustration, which St. Matthew furnishes, 
 may be quoted in extenso ; for the story, though so well 
 known, will bear repeating. 
 
 Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother 
 sin against me, and I forgive him ? till seven times ? Jesus saith unto 
 him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times ; but. Until seventy times 
 seven. Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain 
 king, which would take account of his servants. And when he had 
 begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten 
 thousand talents. But forasmuch as he had not to pav, his lord 
 
 " 8
 
 114 Essays and Papers. 
 
 commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he 
 had, and payment to be made. The servant therefore fell down, and 
 worshipped him, saying. Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee 
 all. Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed 
 him, and forgave him the debt. But the same servant went out, and 
 found one of his fellowservants, which owed him an hundred pence : 
 and he laid hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying. Pay 
 me that thou owest. And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and 
 besought him, saying, Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 
 And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should 
 pay the debt. So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they 
 were very sorry, and came and told their lord all that was done. Then 
 his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou wicked 
 servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me : 
 shouldst not thou also have had compassion on thv fellowservant, even 
 as I had pit}' on thee ? And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to 
 the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him. So like- 
 wise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your 
 hearts forgive not everv one his brother their trespasses. 
 
 The persons who hstened to this story were the 
 " common people," " unlearned and ignorant men," 
 whose judgment in these days is despised ; "this people 
 who know not the law is cursed " (John vii. 49) ; what 
 acquaintance have they with theology, with the decrees 
 of Councils, the writings of the Fathers, and all the 
 tomes that fill the shelves of learned divines? Very little. 
 Nevertheless, the Divine Master spoke the words of this 
 parable, and meant His hearers to understand it, and they 
 could hardly fail to do so ; it does not need a Latin 
 commentary to make it plain, all the apparatus of Biblical 
 criticism can hardly obscure its transparent simplicity : — ■ 
 there is a King and his servants, there is a debt and no 
 means of paying it ; the debtor sues for mercy, and the 
 King, the lord of the servant, is moved with compassion, 
 and looses him and forgives him the debt. These are all 
 plain words and common things. Everybody knows what 
 a debt is, and what compassion is, and what is meant by 
 forgiving a debt ; but it is the application and the moral 
 that touches us. '* The King," says the Divine Master,
 
 Buyer's Analogy. 115 
 
 "represents my heavenly Father" — "who forgave thee 
 all that debt" — why ? " Because thou desiredst ; therefore 
 shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy 
 fellowservant even as I had pity on thee ? " Pity and 
 compassion were words which the hearers could not be 
 mistaken about ; the compassion toward the fellow- 
 servant was parallel to the pity of the King ; they were 
 not different things, but the same; the debt was not 
 released because some one else had paid it, " but because 
 thou desiredst me " — the servant is condemned because 
 he was not animated by the same feeling as his Lord : 
 "I forgave thee because thou desiredst me; shouldest not 
 thou also have had compassion ? " Compassion forgives 
 and releases the debt on account of the debtor's poverty 
 and importunity; how recklessly he may have incurred 
 the debt, how foolishly, or how dishonestly, avails not ; 
 " I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me." 
 " Hath not the potter power over the clay ? " The 
 King does not ask this question ; he doesn't meet the cry 
 for mercy by reminding his unhappy debtor that he is 
 but a piece of unorganised clay. Whatever may be 
 the force of this comparison, these common people, who 
 heard gladly, heard nothing of it, and they probably never 
 heard of it : they never saw the Epistle to the Romans, 
 they never saw the written Gospels, they heard certain 
 kindly words, and no doubt felt they were consistent with 
 their unsophisticated feelings ; it seemed to them con- 
 siderate and compassionate that a man should forgive his 
 debtor when he was in the unhappy condition of having 
 nothing to pay. " I will arise and go to my father and say 
 I have sinned " — am unworthy. " But the father put the 
 best robe on him," acting like a father, and not like a mere 
 potter moulding clay. Such conduct was natural — accord- 
 ing to the constitution and course of nature as it becomes 
 developed under humane treatment ; and the human 
 images the Divine, whatever learned arguments theolo- 
 gians may frame to prove that debts cannot be forgiven 
 
 without payment. 
 
 S ^
 
 ii6 _ Essays and Papers. 
 
 These words teach another lesson, which the theologians 
 would do well to ponder ; their meaning seems plain, and 
 one would think that He who uttered them knew more of 
 the subject than the theologians. These men despise the 
 revelations of science, the knowledge that comes of com- 
 paring and reasoning. Whilst they seek to build up a 
 science of theology, and reason about abstractions 
 which have no existence and no relation to the actual 
 constitution and course of nature, they confound moral 
 distinctions, " calling evil good and good evil, putting 
 sweet for bitter and bitter for sweet " (Isaiah v, 20). 
 Bitter and sweet are not hard to distinguish by plain men, 
 and it is by a human taste only that they can be judged. 
 Man's faculties and powers are the sole instruments by 
 which he can determine the qualities of things ; and what 
 their quality is to him is for all practical purposes their 
 real quality ; but then a man's taste may be vitiated by a 
 " false philosophy," by science falsely so called, which is 
 the precise organ that has been employed to create the 
 metaphysics of theology; abstract reasoning derived from 
 and combined with the method of Aristotle. The science 
 which discovers the constitution and course of nature 
 is despised and contemned ; but the pseudo-science of 
 St. Thomas Aquinas is the supreme arbiter of earth and 
 heaven ; in the hands of these reasoners the Divine 
 Father became indeed a " hard master." but then they 
 kept in their own hands the means of conciliating Him, and 
 unhappy men were bound to resort to them for the medicine 
 to cure their misery. The system has tinctured the entire 
 substance of the subsequent theology ; a few men threw 
 off a portion of the yoke, but the system is concatenated 
 by an iron logic: it hated reason, which it enslaved, and 
 was then enslaved by it. What is there which deserves 
 the name of " science falsely so called " if it be not the 
 metaphysics incorporated with Christian belief from the 
 bottomless philosophies of ancient times ? The current 
 moral reasoning ignores the actual condition of the world, 
 and is built upon abstractions which contravene the con-
 
 Butler's Analogy. I17 
 
 stitution and course of nature. "The moral sense grows 
 but by exercise." * " Can the Ethiopian change his skin, 
 or the leopard his spots ? " (Jeremiah xiii. 2). Surely not, 
 and are the Ethiopian and the leopard blamable because 
 they cannot do so ? Is a man blamable in the sense of 
 being punishable for ever, because he was created under 
 a law of habit which imperceptibly and irresistibly binds 
 him, or because he is influenced by example, by precept, 
 by the make of his mind and the taint of his blood ? 
 If so he is equally punishable for lameness, for imbecility, 
 and for scrofulous tendencies. The constitution and 
 course of nature brings him into the world, and the world 
 has a constitution and a course to which he must adapt 
 himself, and he is hurt that he may learn, though he may 
 have been so badly placed that he could not learn. But 
 is it probable that the opportunity will be never afforded 
 to him ? It never was afforded here ; traditions and 
 abstractions and perversions maycondemn him to everlast- 
 ing torrrient, but analogy does not support the conclusion; 
 and human feeling — by which only we can interpret the 
 Divine — cannot receive it. 
 
 " How can they believe in Him of whom they have not 
 heard ? " There are those who have not heard, and who 
 are therefore unable to believe, — how can they believe ? 
 and is there no impossibility but that of not having heard? 
 Surely there are other impossibilities as great as this. 
 There is the impossibility of believing what is taught and 
 described as a Gospel of good tidings, which might have 
 been believed in days when men were silenced by an 
 argument that put moral agents on a level with inert clay, 
 but which is incredible now. Moral agents have risen in 
 the world ; the things of the middle ages — racks and thumb- 
 screws — are obsolete ; the new conditions and relations 
 which have sprung up will sweep away and destroy other 
 inhumanities of the past ; and it will not much longer be 
 believed that moral agents who are born blind and deaf 
 
 '■h^ 
 
 * Robert Browning.
 
 ii8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 and mute are therefore doomed to endless and unutterable 
 woe because of something they had nothing to do with, 
 and a constitution of things they had no control over. 
 " How can they believe " this ? " God made the country 
 and man made the town,'" says Cowper ; God also made 
 man and nature, but man wrote and interpreted and 
 translated the Book ; we can go to the original, the book 
 of nature, and read there, and compare the results with the 
 manuscript of man. Put the authority of the Book as high 
 as you please : it was written with hands and expressed in 
 human language ; the language "graven with an iron pen " 
 in the living facts of nature, is less liable to be corrupted. 
 
 A writer in the " Conternporar}^ Review" has recently 
 written several prolix and dreary articles in support of the 
 old theology, in which he lays great stress upon the words, 
 " Without holiness no man shall see the Lord." This 
 abstract proposition is more to him than all the facts and 
 analogies to be found in the world and the Book ; as if the 
 same Book had not in it the words — " He dwelleth in the 
 light to which no man can approach, whom no man hath 
 seen or can see ; " and as if all such phraseology was not 
 an accommodation to the circumstances of men. 
 
 Lo ! the poor Indian, whose untutored mind 
 Sees God in trees and hears him in the wind. 
 
 Hamlet. My father, — methinks I see my father. 
 
 Hor. O, where, my lord? 
 
 Hamlet. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 And thus it is that men see God. That they should see 
 Him after a bodily fashion is a gross materialism ; they 
 see Him when they see His work and His moral govern- 
 ment ; when they discern His operations on the platform 
 of this earth — "through a glass darkly "^ — and then more 
 and more perfectly — or as we may say, face to face : 
 
 O Thou, — as represented here to me 
 In such conception as my soul allows, — 
 Under Th}- measureless my atom width.* 
 
 * Robert Brown in"\
 
 BuUcr^s Analugy. 119 
 
 Theology of old entered into an unfortunate alliance with 
 metaphysics, and has bequeathed to us, in consequence, 
 interminable discussions respecting the bondage of the 
 will and other kindred subjects. If we get rid of the 
 implications involved in the word " will," and speak of 
 man as a moral and rational being, acted upon by motives 
 and improved by cultivation, we have a definite subject 
 before us. We have grounds for believing that, furnished 
 with proper knowledge and swayed by reasonable 
 motives, man would act suitably to his condition ; 
 that it is possible to furnish him with knowledge and to 
 influence him by motives ; that he goes wrong from 
 bad teaching and training as often as from any other 
 cause ; and therefore that in the main his state is one 
 calling for compassion more than for vengeance. Pain is 
 the instrument by which he is taught pleasure ; the 
 instrument by which he is moved. To this view of the 
 case corresponds the statement contained in the iith 
 chapter 'of Matthew — where it is said of Chorazin and 
 Bethsaida, " If the mighty works, which were done in 
 you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have 
 repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes ;" and of 
 Sodom that " it would have remained until this day ;" and 
 that it shall be more tolerable for Sodom in the day of 
 judgment than for one of the Jewish cities. Now, what 
 is implied in this ? How can there be more or less toler- 
 ableness where all are reduced to one unvarying level of 
 everlasting torment — wheie there are only sheep and 
 goats, and nothing intermediate ? or how— if men would 
 have repented, — the information and the motives being 
 offered to them — can " compassion and pity " leave them 
 for ever in the " outer darkness" because they had the 
 misfortune to be born where and when they could not see 
 the light ? What we call compassion would not act thus ; 
 and if there be a thing called compassion which is not 
 what we know by that name, then it is " a delusion and 
 a snare " to apply to it the same word : the thing meant
 
 120 Essays and Papers. 
 
 by the word is a certain frame of feeling and mode of acting 
 under given circumstances ; if the feehng and the action do 
 not correspond with the circumstances something different 
 is meant and should be indicated by another word. " How 
 can they believe in Him of whom they have not heard ?" 
 and to believe in something of which we have never 
 heard and have had no knowledge, is not a greater 
 impossibility than to believe in what contradicts our 
 knowledge and confounds our moral perceptions. 
 
 Men often perplex themselves with abstract reason- 
 ing upon plain questions, and thus involve themselves in 
 endless difficulties. Evidence is always a matter of degree ; 
 one sort of evidence is more to be relied upon than 
 another ; and the written words of men who were not 
 eye witnesses or who might have been imposed upon by 
 the imperfection of their faculties or opportunities is not 
 equal to the evidence which is original and present and 
 capable of being now handled and tested. Herbert 
 Spencer says,* " The astronomer who has, through the 
 elaborate quantitative reasonings which we call calcula- 
 tions, concluded that a transit of Venus will commence 
 on a certain day, hour and minute, and who on turning a 
 telescope to the sun at that time sees no black spot 
 entering on its disc, infers an untruth in his calculations — 
 not an untruth in those relatively brief and primitive acts 
 of thought which make up his observation." And just 
 so the simple problems worked out by common and real 
 analogies are more to be trusted than elaborate reasonings 
 based upon transcendental and unfathomable mysteries. 
 
 Once more the question presents itself, and cannot be 
 shut out — Is the history of man current in theological 
 circles, or his history as disclosed by the constitution and 
 course of nature, the true one ? Is the history of creation 
 in the Book of Genesis a true history, or a mythical one ? 
 Are the facts, the bones, the implements, the handwriting 
 upon the wall — are these so many impositions, tricks 
 * Principles of Psychology, vol. ii.— General Analysis.
 
 Biitle/s Analogy. 121 
 
 palmed off upon man to mislead and to mystify him ; or 
 is it true that men lived upon the earth millions of years 
 ago, and did not arrive here in the mode and manner 
 that theology has taught ? Upon the answer to these 
 questions many present and past systems of theology 
 depend : upon which side does the evidence preponderate ? 
 The Book has been written by men under circumstances 
 not known now, and may be misunderstood by us ; the 
 facts of nature may also be misunderstood ; but their 
 language is less ambiguous, less liable to misconception, 
 and is absolutely without any bias ; it is "without par- 
 tiality and without hypocrisy :" can we say the same of 
 transcribers and interpreters ? Words, moreover, are 
 opaque bodies which only shine as light is reflected upon 
 them from some other quarter ; the constitution and 
 course of nature must be their interpreter, as it speaks a 
 language that is " incorruptible and undefiled." The 
 evidence of a book is what the lawyers call hearsay 
 evidence : the evidence of facts is original evidence at 
 first hand, and is the highest and most unimpeachable 
 that the human mind can be influenced by. Experience 
 has taught men what sort of evidence can and ought 
 to be relied on in conducting the business of the 
 world ; and such as the evidence is in these practical 
 affairs such it is in all affairs. Errors may be propa- 
 gated everywhere ; men may fall into them however 
 careful they may be ; but they are safer in one road 
 than another ; we are safest when dealing with " that 
 which we have heard, which we have seen with our 
 own eyes, which we have looked upon and our hands 
 have handled " (i John i. i). Men may seek to discredit 
 this sort of evidence, but when they do so it is mostly 
 because the evidence discredits some theory of their own. 
 Butler accredits a revelation in proportion as its words 
 correspond with the constitution and course of nature ; 
 when this continuity is broken, when they do not adjust 
 themselves to each other, the evidence grounded upon
 
 122 Easays and Papers. 
 
 words is pro tanto weakened. If the world was not fabri- 
 cated in six days according to the Book of Genesis, but 
 by the slow and gradual operation of causes now at work 
 around us ; if the men and things upon the world came 
 there by a process never thought of by those who looked 
 only at the words ; if the facts as disclosed by one kind of 
 evidence are incompatible with the facts as set forth by 
 another ; — the facts supported b}' the strongest evidence 
 must prevail. And if the facts be as they are told by the 
 rocks and strata of the earth, then the Book has misled 
 or men have erred in their interpretation of it. If an 
 exposition can be suggested that harmonises the words 
 and the things, it is not the less true that the words in 
 their plain and natural signification have propagated a 
 delusion, have been by generations of men — learned and 
 unlearned — misunderstood, have been misapprehended, 
 and have originated inferences which were not justified 
 and were not true ; and the right reading of the words 
 has only been discerned by the light of facts which have 
 shone upon us from the page of nature. If the plain 
 words which describe the creation of the world and the 
 fall of man need to have a gloss put upon them before 
 they will square with the record of the rocks and the 
 strata and the tools and the organic remains embedded in 
 them, what must be said of the language which describes 
 events and conditions that have never been bro-ught 
 within the range of human intelligence except by the 
 shadowy instrumentality of words ? The things repre- 
 sented by the words have never been realised, only 
 idealised ; and experience tells us that ideals which have 
 no reals to rest upon may vary indefinitely from the 
 truth. The ideal history of the creation, history delineated 
 in words — that which no human eye had seen and no 
 human hands had handled — can only have a visionary 
 existence, may appear to the mind in forms and colours 
 wholly unlike the reality. To create and to make, are 
 operations essentially unlike ; and yet if a mind is to be
 
 Butler i Analugy. 12 j 
 
 informed of a creation it can only be in some terms or 
 words that are familiar to it, by some analogies that it is 
 acquainted with ; its own work must represent, however 
 inadequately, what has to be presented for its appre- 
 hension ; and then as apprehension becomes clearer, as 
 the intellectual faculty becomes acquainted with facts, it 
 grows more and more conscious of the dimness and 
 indistinctness of its original vision, and so revises its 
 conceptions and substitutes new ones — a process which 
 the mind must pass through while it exists, and is a 
 growing and expanding intelligence. If in this world man 
 is at the head of a hierarchy of intelligence and moral 
 feeling, it is probable that another hierarchy is beyond and 
 above him, into the ranks of which he will one day be 
 transported, and commence a new career of progress, 
 casting off at every step, but by infinitely slow degrees, 
 the lower elements of his antecedent state. " That is not 
 first which is spiritual, but that which is natural and 
 afterwards that which is spiritual" (i Cor. xv. 46). We 
 are now in the region of the natural — law and sequence 
 gradually discerned rule our nature, and we have within 
 narrow limits a power of reaction ; but hereafter that 
 which is spiritual will come — of its how and its where 
 we know nothing, and we may err very egregiously in 
 assimilating it to the past or the natural. 
 
 It is not easy to attach any meaning to the word 
 "spiritual" as opposed to the word "natural;" the 
 latter word implying, according to Butler and also in 
 accordance with exact usage, that which is settled and 
 constant. Then, if we go back a single step, and ask by 
 whom the course of things has been thus settled, we can 
 only give one answer. The Creator of the world is the 
 Author of Nature ; its constitution and course have been 
 settled by Him, and He has given to man the faculties 
 by which he can unravel its tissues, and interpret their 
 working. Whatever other communication He has made 
 to man, or may make, this must be evermore the one
 
 124 Essays and Papers. 
 
 from which real and rehable instruction can be gathered. 
 So long as man can know his Creator's designs by the 
 exercise of his own faculties so long it would seem the 
 opportunity wall be afforded, and the results may be 
 depended upon. The Creator's works, subjective and 
 objective, are correlatives ; by whatever means the 
 objective is brought within the circle of man's observa- 
 tion, the subjective bodies it forth, and giving to it form 
 and colour apprehends it truly or not according as it 
 uses rightly or otherwise the methods to which it is 
 restricted. Man is not mechanically compelled to discern 
 truly, but as his nature is cultivated he becomes a lover 
 of truth, and seeks earnestly to overcome his inherited 
 prejudices, his misconceptions and his mistakes ; and 
 his most hopeless condition is that of a self-satisfied, 
 self-righteous Pharisee, who has " already attained, and 
 is already perfect " (Phil. iii. 12) perhaps not in action, as 
 he may confess, but assuredly in thought and in belief; 
 his creed at any rate needs no repentance and no 
 rectification. 
 
 The popular notions of the future life of man are of the 
 most vague and unreal kind : everlasting happiness and 
 rest, music and singing and emotional enjoyment, exalted 
 to the highest state— this is what is depicted to Christian 
 congregations, and is the staple of Christian expectation 
 where any defined expectations are formed. But let us 
 turn to the sober pages of Butler ; he asserts that it is 
 "just to argue from such facts as are known, to such as 
 are like them ; from that part of the Divine Government 
 over intelligent creatures which comes under our view, to 
 that larger and more general government over them 
 which is beyond it ; and from what is present, to collect 
 what is likely, credible or not incredible, will be here- 
 after." 
 
 Now, at " present " the foundation of moral life is the 
 family ; out of the social relations spring all that gives 
 worth and dignity to human beings ; " if any provide not
 
 Butler's Analogy. 125 
 
 for his own, . . he hath denied the faith and is worse 
 than an infidel " (i Tim. v. 8). Provide — what things 
 should he provide ? Not food only and shelter ; but what- 
 ever makes these things worth having — love, culture, 
 training, family affection. Well, and are these things as 
 nothing hereafter ? having been the framework of the 
 earthly fabric, are they to be thrown away as useless ? 
 The Creator now governs and regulates the world by 
 family affections, by the love of brothers and sisters and 
 husbands and wives, by their nmtual support and mutual 
 stimulus ; this is " that part of the Divine government 
 over intelligent creatures which comes under our view at 
 present ; " and we are entitled, according to Butler, to 
 argue from the state of things here presented, and to 
 collect from it, "what is likely, credible or not incredible, 
 will be hereafter." It is not to be denied that on the 
 other side this family relationship produces to us a 
 grievous crop of sorrow and misfortune ; we inherit the 
 bad examples, the follies, and the disgrace of those who 
 have gone before us ; we bear a burden of disease which 
 they have bequeathed to us, it circulates in our veins, it 
 poisons and embitters our lives, and brings us to prema- 
 ture decay and death ; but this also is natural. 
 
 Now, it would seem that a relationship such as this, 
 felt everywhere, and binding together every member of 
 the human family, can hardly have finished its course and 
 completed its work within the limits of this world. And 
 yet what is said of it in popular pulpits, or what place 
 has it in any scheme of the region beyond ? Again, it 
 comes under our notice now, that men are possessed with 
 an unquenchable energy, which grows and spreads from 
 year to year, to help forward the fortunes of their less 
 favoured fellows ; a deeper and wider sympathy is being 
 continually felt and manifested for the fallen and the 
 forlorn. Is this altogether unknown in the world beyond ? 
 Family affection, has it there altogether failed ? and 
 man's love of his kind, is it, too, decayed and dead ?
 
 126 Essays and Papers. 
 
 And the self-sacrifice that was ready to relinquish ease 
 and enjoyment here, has it there forj^otten all its ancient 
 anxieties and yearnings ? 
 
 There is the Throne of David, 
 
 And there from care released, 
 The shout of them that triumph, 
 
 The song of them that feast. 
 
 The " spirit of power and of love and of a sound mind " 
 — has it evaporated and left only such a residuum as this ? 
 or rather is it not "likely " and " credible" that the dis- 
 tinguishing characteristics of humanity will remain for 
 ever active and indelible ? Otherwise, what becomes of 
 personal identity ? How is a man to know himself, 
 when he has lost the base and substratum of his being? 
 Is it not far more " likely" that the discipline undergone 
 here is a process which forms dispositions and habits that 
 will hold dominion, and shall have a congenial employ- 
 ment, so long as there is in God's universe aught to be 
 recovered or reclaimed ? The human race has a " last 
 enemy," and it shall be " destroyed." (i Cor. xv. 26.) 
 
 " They ivoiild have repented." And of whom may this 
 not be said ? Who is there that would not be happier 
 than he is if he knew how — if his organisation and his 
 surroundings had been other and better than they were ? 
 What man by taking thought can add one cubit to his 
 stature ? His physical stature is strictly limited by his 
 nutritive system and his constitution ; and his moral and 
 mental stature----can he add a cubit to this ? Physical 
 impediments of some sort may be overcome, moral 
 obstacles are more untractable ; and it is easier — though 
 it does not seem very easy — for a camel to go through the 
 eye of a needle than for a rich man to escape the wither- 
 ing influence of his riches. If so, what is the parallel 
 impossibility, and what the comparative hindrance, that 
 besets the ignorant and friendless whom no man hath 
 cared for ? Good men " here " do their best to lighten 
 the sore burdens that afflict mankind ; they do not merely
 
 Butlers Analogy. 127 
 
 deal out punishment and death. And is it " Hkely " or 
 "credible," — having regard to Butler's rule, — that what is 
 "beyond" and "hereafter,'^ will be so utterly repugnant 
 to what " now comes under our view," — what is " pre- 
 sent " and " known "? How say you, Robert Browning ? 
 
 After death 
 Life ; man created new, ingeniously 
 Perfect for vindictix-e purpose now, 
 That man, first fashioned by beneficence, 
 Was proved a faiktre ; intellect at length 
 Replacing old obtuseness, memory 
 Made mindful of delinquent's bygone deeds. 
 Now that remorse was vain, which lifelong lay 
 Dormant when lesson might be laid to heart ; 
 New gift of observation up and down 
 And round man's self, new power to apprehend 
 Each necessary consequence of act 
 In man for well or ill — things obsolete — 
 Just granted to supplant the idiotcy, 
 Man's guide while act was yet to choose, 
 And ill or well momentously its fruit : 
 A faculty of immense suffering 
 Conferred on mind and body, — mind erewhile 
 Unvisited by one compunctious dream 
 During sin's drunken slumber, startled up, 
 Stung thro' and thro' by sin's significance, 
 Now that the body was abolished — just 
 As body which, alive, broke down beneath 
 Knowledge, lay helpless in the path to good, 
 Failed to accomplish aught legitimate, 
 Achie\'e aught worthy — which grew old in youth, 
 And at its longest fell a cut-down flower, — 
 Dying, this too revived by miracle 
 To bear no end of burden now that back 
 Supported torture to no use at all. 
 And live imperishably potent — since 
 Life's potency was impotent to ward 
 One plague off which made earth a hell before. 
 This doctrine, which one healthy view of things, 
 One sane sight of the general ordinance — 
 Nature — and its particular object — man — 
 Which one mere eye-cast at the character
 
 128 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Of Who made these and gave man sense to boot, 
 Had dissipated once and evermore, — 
 This doctrine I have dosed our flock withal. 
 Why ? because none believed it. They desire 
 Such heaven and dread such hell, whom every day 
 The alehouse tempts from one, a dog fight bids 
 Defy the other.
 
 THE UTILITARIAN THEORY OF MORALS. 
 
 A COLLOQUY. 
 
 Scene. — The Grounds at Wellesley House, Arkdale. 
 TJie Persons. — Mr. Locksley and Mr. Tudor. 
 
 Mr. Tudor. I didn't see you on the moor this morning. 
 
 Mi\ Locksley. I am afraid, in the first place, that I was 
 rather lazy; and then I met Miss Hope in the garden, 
 and was detained until it was too late to attempt the 
 moor. 
 
 Mr. T. I fancy the detention was not disagreeable, for 
 Miss Hope is a bright lively girl, and seems to be a 
 favourite of yours ? 
 
 Mr. L. I don't deny that she is a pleasant companion 
 on these bright summer mornings, as she possesses both 
 taste and enthusiasm. 
 
 Mr. T. I thought her taste in poetry rather question- 
 able ; for she tells me she prefers Longfellow to Tennyson. 
 
 Mr. L. Her reading of Tennyson has not been exten- 
 sive, and at her age the superficial beauties of Longfellow 
 may be more attractive than the subtler ones of Tennyson, 
 She says that she often doesn't quite understand Tenny- 
 son ; but I have read poems of his to her which she 
 thoroughly appreciated. 
 
 Mr. T. Which is not surprising, as you probably selected 
 what girls of her age would be sure to admire ; but do 
 you know that by the ladies of her acquaintance she is 
 considered fickle and frivolous ? 
 
 Mr. L. I am sorry to hear it ; though I might perhaps 
 venture to suggest that there are ladies in the world who 
 
 9
 
 130 Essays and Papers. 
 
 are not perfectly generous and just to the vivacity and 
 warmth of feeHng that are characteristic of — say sweet 
 seventeen. 
 
 Mr. T. But it is precisely real warmth of feeling that 
 is not conceded to her, they say she has no heart, 
 
 Mr. L. I thought I was a tolerable judge, but one 
 may be deceived, for I must admit that if the ladies are 
 sometimes sharp in their criticism of each other, they are 
 mostly discriminating. Miss Hope asked some one a while 
 ago to write out a list of her faults, and the enumeration 
 commenced in this fashion — 
 
 " I only note sweet gentle ways 
 And winning grace." 
 
 So that I am not the only person who has been blind 
 to her faults ; but, after all, a very moderate amount of 
 culpability may make up what is called in some quarters 
 fickleness and frivolity. 
 
 My. T. Yes ; the lines of demarcation are not always 
 very clear, nor is it easy to say where what is blameless 
 passes into what is blamable. 
 
 Mr. L. The names by which we distinguish objects 
 serve well enough for common purposes, but the finer 
 shades of meaning are not discriminated by them. 
 
 Mr. T. This is a defect of language for which allow- 
 ance is seldom made, and yet it is at the root of our 
 disagreements on many subjects. 
 
 Mr. L. It was pointed out plainly by Locke, in what 
 remains the most interesting part of his " Essay." The 
 chapterson the "imperfection of words, "and on the "abuse 
 of words," are not less important now than when they were 
 written. He says, " in the interpretation of laws, whether 
 human or divine, there is no end ; comments beget com- 
 ments, and explications make new matter for explications ; 
 and of limiting, distinguishing, varying, the signification of 
 these moral words, there is no end. These ideas of men's 
 making are, by men still having the same power, multi-
 
 I'tilitayian Theory of Morals. 131 
 
 plied in injinituin."* This may still be said of the same 
 subjects ; our differences are as great as ever, and are 
 likely to continue, so long as we do not mean the same 
 thing by the same word. 
 
 Mr. T. When we speak of a visible or tangible object 
 we can guard against any mistake in our meaning by pro- 
 ducing the object and naming it, but when we speak of a 
 thing which has only a mental existence, our ideas about 
 it may differ without our knowing it. 
 
 Mr. L. Locke goes so far as to say "that morality is 
 capable of demonstration as well as mathematics, since the 
 precise real essence of the things moral words stand for 
 may be perfectly known, and so the congruity or incon- 
 gruity of the things themselves be certainly discovered, in 
 which consists perfect knowledge." f So little progress has 
 been made in this "demonstration" since Locke wrote his 
 " Essay," that one might be inclined to believe the prospect 
 he holds out is chimerical, if one did not recollect how 
 long it usually takes to realise the ideals of sagacious and 
 farseeing men — 
 
 Deep in Nature's undrain'd cornucopia 
 Every good that man seeks he shall find ; 
 
 And to fools, only fools, is Utopia 
 
 The abode of the hopes of mankind.. | 
 
 Mr. T. How far the evils that afflict mankind are 
 inevitable, and how far they are preventible^ is not clear; 
 the hopes of man, and the ideals that have glittered before 
 him, have often enough been Utopian ; but, on the other 
 hand, he has realised very much which ignorance would 
 have looked upon as mere folly, and there may be in store 
 for him greater conquests than the most sanguine have 
 ever anticipated. The results of real science transcend 
 the dreams of imagination. 
 
 * Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book 3, chap. ix. 
 
 f Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book 3, chap. xi. 
 
 X P^pilogue by Owen Meredith. 
 
 9 *
 
 132 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. L. And is moral evil one of the things that will 
 be diminished by the material and mental progress pre- 
 dicted for mankind ? 
 
 Mr. T. A certain amount of moral evil is the product 
 of ignorance, and may be expected to disappear as know- 
 ledge increases. 
 
 Mr. L. We were speaking yesterday of Mr. Lecky's 
 book on European Morals, which you were reading — how 
 do you like it ? 
 
 Mr. T. Very much, but I have been puzzled with the 
 first chapter, in which he discusses the Utilitarian Theory 
 of Morals. 
 
 Mr. L. His treatment of the subject is not to me at all 
 satisfactory. 
 
 Mr. T. I wish we could read a few passages together. 
 
 Mr. L. If you will bring the book into the lower arbour 
 we will do so ; we shall probably not be interrupted there, 
 and if you have nothing else to do, it will be a good 
 morning's work. 
 
 Mr. T. Or unless the white dress I see fluttering 
 yonder should raise thoughts of Tennyson, and attract 
 you to something more fascinating, for I thought I heard 
 you promise Miss Hope to read Tennyson's " Love and 
 Duty " to her this morning. ' 
 
 Mr. L. And you probably think that a duty one loves 
 is not likely to be neglected ; the fact is, however, that 
 the duty stands over until to-morrow, for they are all 
 going to Ilkwood to-day, and neither the white dress nor 
 its wearer will interrupt our discussion. 
 
 Mr. T. Well, then, I will fetch Lecky's first volume, 
 and your commonplace book, which may throw some 
 light on the subject. [Mr. Tudor returns with Lecky's 
 " History of European Morals from Augustus to Charle- 
 magne.'") To start from Mr. Lecky's plainest and most 
 unquestionable proposition will enable us to get at his 
 meaning. He says, " Some qualities, such as benevo- 
 lence, chastity, or veracity, are better than others, and
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 133 
 
 that we ought to cultivate them and repress their oppo- 
 sites." 
 
 Mr. L. One can have no difficulty in agreeing with 
 this statement, but then one wants to know why these 
 qualities are better than others ; what is it that makes 
 them better, and gives to them their superiority ? This 
 is the essence of the controversy ; they are better, as I 
 believe, for the definite reason that their results are 
 more beneficial to mankind. Experience has proved 
 that they conduce to the happiness and advancement of 
 the race, and this it is which entitles them to the name 
 of good. Mr. Lecky says that " right carries with it a 
 feeling of obligation ; " which is true when the word has 
 got a recognised place in human affairs. The domain of 
 obligation grows from generation to generation, as the 
 knowledge of right is ascertained and enlarged. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " By the constitution of our nature the 
 notion of right carries with it a feeling of obligation. To 
 say a course of conduct is our duty, is in itself and apart 
 from all consequences an intelligible and sufficient reason 
 for practising it, and we derive the first principles of our 
 duties from intuition." 
 
 Mr. L. If Mr. Lecky had said that this was an analysis 
 of his own consciousness, it might have been unobjection- 
 able, but we are dealing with a historical inquiry that is 
 very much confused by the introduction at every turn of 
 the personal pronoun — -we. At a certain stage of moral 
 progress, when defined notions of duty, and obligation, 
 and right, have been acquired, and when men understand 
 the consequences of actions, it is easy to assert that they 
 should pursue duty and right " apart from all conse- 
 quences," for the word duty implies the existence and 
 knowledge of relations which make a particular course of 
 conduct due and desirable. But this is not the question ; 
 the notions of duty and right flow from the antecedent 
 facts and information, but previous to this state of things, 
 — before this light was struck out — we ask how men knew
 
 134 Essays and Papers. 
 
 actions to be right and wrong ? The question is not to be 
 decided by abstract arguments, without reference to facts. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " It is easy to understand that experi- 
 ence may show that certain actions are conducive to the 
 happiness of mankind, and that those actions may be 
 regarded as supremely excellent. The question still 
 remains, why are we bound to perform them ? " 
 
 Mr. L. Actions that conduce to the happiness of 
 mankind will get performed because mankind have an 
 interest in their performance, just as plants which are 
 useful to mankind will be grown because of their utility. 
 Why does a man do any act that is agreeable to him ? 
 or, to put the question in Mr, Lecky's way, why is he 
 bound to perform such acts ? His nature or constitution 
 leads or obliges him to do what, according to his know- 
 ledge, conduces to his happiness. If a man be under the 
 influence of motives that induce certain acts, he is, in the 
 literal sense of the word, obliged or bound ; the motives 
 coerce him ; and if law obliges, the law in its turn was 
 made obligatory by circumstances. If you ask w^hy a 
 man is bound to perform acts beneficial to society, I 
 answer, first, because society can compel the performance 
 of them ; and next, because man is amenable to the con- 
 stitution of things by which one set of actions is prefer- 
 able to another, and preferable is what is preferred for its 
 consequences ; the consequences being results both per- 
 sonal and public, not accidental and fortuitous, but the 
 real effects of definite and ascertainable causes. Acts 
 that have only personal consequences a man does or 
 refrains from at his peril. He is bound by his nature and 
 constitution to care for himself, and if he refuses to do so 
 he is hurt. If actions were indifferent^ and produced no 
 consequences, they might be disregarded, but not so if 
 they involve pain and peril. Butler says — " If the natural 
 course of things be the appointment of God, and our 
 natural faculties of knowledge and experience are given 
 us by him, then the good and bad consequences that
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 135 
 
 follow our actions are his appointment, and our foresight 
 of these consequences is a warning by him how we ought 
 to act."'^ We must do or bear what our nature and con- 
 stitution appoint — to this we are " bound," — we submit or 
 resist at our peril ; what pleases us we " perform " for its 
 pleasantness ; what is painful we avoid for its painfulness ; 
 and to say we are " bound " or obliged adds no force to 
 the language. 
 
 Mr. T. You would say we are " bound to perform " 
 certain actions — such, for example, as eating and drinking 
 — by the condition of things, and are bound to perform 
 others by the compulsion of law ; but in the ultimate 
 analysis we are " bound " by the desire to escape what is 
 disagreeable or to obtain what is agreeable. 
 
 Mr. L. This is certainly the real bond, both as regards 
 the individual and society. The word disagreeable ex- 
 presses perhaps too slight a feeling of aversion, and yet it 
 seems correct, for it is the want of agreement between 
 two things that is at the bottom of the question ; but 
 the disagreement must be real and radical, not merely 
 imaginary or conventional. 
 
 Mr. T. To Mr. Lecky's question — Why we are bound ? 
 you would answer that the constitution of things binds 
 us. We may create false obligations, in our ignorance, 
 but obligation itself is the force by which circumstances 
 rule our feeling and intelligence. 
 
 Mr. L. The idea of obligation undoubtedly springs 
 from the fact of being obliged, and "being obliged" 
 means " must," and " must " means the pressure and 
 compulsion of things. Society says you must do certain 
 things ; your constitution says you must not do certain 
 other things ; and when we probe it to the bottom, it is 
 because these several things are hurtful, or otherwise, 
 that we are to do or avoid them. Being " bound " also 
 implies the action of two or more persons related to one 
 
 ■* Analogy, Part I. chap. ii.
 
 136 Essays and Papers. 
 
 another, and that to which they are " bound " is the 
 fuliihTient of the relations subsisting between them — the 
 relations being a series of facts which may be perverted 
 in a thousand ways. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " A theory of morals must explain not 
 only what constitutes duty, but also how we obtain the 
 notion of there being such a thing as duty. It must tell 
 us not merely what is the course of conduct we ought to 
 pursue ; but also what is the meaning of the word ought, 
 and from what source we derive the idea it expresses." 
 
 Mr. L. Mr. Lecky finds a word existing in a compli- 
 cated and highly organised state of society, and expressing 
 deep and varied meaning ; and he appears to assume 
 that what the word represents now, it represented in the 
 beginning — which is an error. The Archbishop of York, 
 in his work, " An Outline of the Necessary Laws of 
 Thought," says on this subject, " It does not follow 
 that a word, as we use it now, bears a gross, narrow, 
 or material sense, because the root to which we can 
 refer it was connected with matter. . . . If spirit 
 meant originally no more than breath, it has so far left 
 that sense behind, that when the breath is exhaled the 
 spirit remains immortal." It would be absurd to argue 
 because the word " spirit " may now have acquired a 
 meaning beyond its original signification, that it always 
 possessed it; and it is not less absurd to assume that the 
 word "ought," with the varied associations created for 
 it by generations of writers and thinkers, was primarily 
 endowed with the entire meaning which has become its 
 later inheritance. "The value of the high-sounding name 
 Patrician, in the later Republic, must not be transferred 
 to the original Fathers of Rome."* In its primitive form, 
 with which only we are concerned, the word " ought " is 
 of no doubtful or recondite meaning; it is a part of the 
 word owe ; and the fact of owing must have existed 
 
 •'■ Long's Decline of ihc Roman Republic.
 
 Utilitaricm Theory of Morals. iJ7 
 
 before the form "ought" came into being. Chapman, 
 in his comedy of " All Fools" (1605) says — 
 
 " My father yet hath ought Dame Nature debt 
 These threescore years and ten." 
 
 The idea now represented by the word grew out of the 
 facts, and whatever aristocratic connections it may since 
 have formed, here is its ancestry ; and the word " duty " 
 belongs to the same family. " Render unto all their dues " 
 (Rom. xiii. 7) is the concrete from which the abstract 
 " duty " has been derived ; and the whole set of words, 
 "ought," "must," "debt," "duty," "bound," etc., as 
 they appear in our Enghsh Bible, are the representatives 
 of one and the same Greek word, signifying " to owe :" 
 this is the root from which they have sprung, and the 
 sap of it runs through them all. That they should have 
 had so humble an origin may seem improbable — as to 
 the unlettered man hstening to the music of the Homeric 
 verses, — 
 
 "Thoupfhts that breathe, and words that burn/' 
 
 it might be inconceivable that such glorious sounds could 
 be woven out of the few insignificant scratches that make 
 up an alphabet. 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky puts it, that, according to Utilita- 
 rianism, " no character, feeling, or action is naturally 
 better than others, and, as long as men are in a savage 
 condition, morality has no existence." 
 
 Mr. L. What does Mr. Lecky mean when he says 
 morality has no existence ? Does he mean Christian 
 morality. But translate the word morality into moral 
 actions, and I say that wherever men have learned to 
 discriminate between voluntary actions that in their 
 nature are hurtful or beneficial, they have got a rudimen- 
 tary notion of what is moral ; and, far from contending 
 that " no character, feeling, or action is naturally better 
 than others," I should affirm there is the greatest difference 
 between one set of actions and another ; and that the
 
 138 Essays and Papers. 
 
 difference consists in the one being hurtful and the 
 other beneficial — a distinction broad and plain, and of 
 all others the easiest to discover ; and, if it be sometimes 
 difficult to apply, it is a test than which none else can be 
 so safe and certain. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " The distinctive characteristic of the 
 inductive school of moralists is an absolute denial of the 
 existence of any natural or innate moral sense or faculty 
 enabling us to distinguish between the higher and lower 
 parts of our nature, revealing to us either the existence of 
 a law of duty or the conduct that it prescribes." 
 
 Mr. L. Whoever affirms the existence of an " innate 
 moral sense " must prove it, and account for the present 
 and past condition of mankind upon this hypothesis. 
 Cruel and brutal acts have been everywhere sanctioned 
 and approved. The innate moral sense has had no better 
 standard than that worked out by experience or enjoined 
 by authority. There was no law to condemn notions 
 of right and wrong, which experience has unequivocally 
 found to be evil. What Mr. Lecky calls the higher and 
 lower parts of our nature have been rated differently in 
 nearly every age, and by nearly every people ; higher and 
 lower are relative terms that merge into one another, buV 
 an innate moral sense, set in motion for the purpose, 
 ought surely to give uniform decisions. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The differences between the intuitive 
 moralists and their rivals . . are of two kinds. Both 
 acknowledge the existence in human nature of both 
 benevolent and malevolent feelings, and that we have a 
 natural power of distinguishing one from the other ; but 
 the first maintain, and the second deny, that we have 
 any natural power of perceiving that one is better than 
 the other." 
 
 Mr. L. The word natural is ambiguous; but let that 
 pass. This statement, however, contradicts in some degree 
 what Mr. Lecky last said. He now says both schools admit 
 a natural power of distinguishing, but the inductive schools
 
 Utilitarian Theory uf Morals. i jg 
 
 deny that we have a natural power of perceiving that one 
 is better than the other. I do not dispute that men 
 have a natural ability, or power, or whatever you like 
 to call it, which discriminates between actions ; but I 
 contend that the discrimination is based upon the fact 
 that the actions in one case are beneficial, and in another 
 injurious, and that, for this reason, they are ultimately 
 designated right or wrong. Men find that single acts 
 are injurious or otherwise, and experience enlarges 
 their horizon ; and thus they tolerate in one age what 
 is intolerable in another, but the ground of the classi- 
 fication is primarily the consequences of the acts. A 
 false standard may prevail ; and those who make laws 
 may brand actions as unlawful which interfere with their 
 rights or dignity, and opinion, ill-informed or interested, 
 may support them, and a public conscience be created to 
 which private ones conform. It might be said that the 
 Supreme Ruler of the world has so constituted things that 
 "to do justly and to love mercy" is beneficial to every one, 
 that right actions are always in their consequences good, 
 and that they are right because they are good. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " When moralists assert that what we 
 call virtue derives its reputation solely from its utility, and 
 that the interest of the agent is the one motive to practise 
 it, our first question is, naturally, how far this theory 
 agrees with the feelings and the language of mankind. 
 But if tested by this criterion, there never was a doctrine 
 more emphatically condemned than utilitarianism. In all 
 its stages and in all its assertions it is in direct opposition 
 to common language and to common sentiment. In all 
 nations and in all ages the ideas of interest and utility on 
 the one hand, and virtue on the other, have been regarded 
 by the multitude as perfectly distinct, and all languages 
 recognise the distinction." 
 
 Mr. L. Now, first of all, the common language of 
 mankind is not a standard to which such a question 
 can be referred. Language conforms more or less accu-
 
 140 Essays and Papers. 
 
 lately to the superficial appearance of things, and hears 
 upon it the impress of many errors, into which mankind 
 have fallen. I don't pretend to know what is found in "all 
 languages," "all ages," " all nations," and the many other 
 " alls" that are so confidently introduced. Language repre- 
 sents the sun as setting, and conveys the impression that 
 the earth is stationary and the sun moving ; the common 
 language of mankind contains many other such like errors, 
 and cannot be appealed to as evidence of a scientific fact, 
 which has its own method of proof ; the language of man- 
 kind can but express the notions which men have arrived 
 at upon all sorts of subjects ; and as their notions require 
 revision, the language in which they have been clothed has 
 no higher or better warrant than the things or ideas of 
 which it was the vehicle, and needs to be modified with 
 them. "What we call virtue," says Mr. Lecky ; — now 
 who is we? Pick out the best men from " all nations and 
 all ages," and let them make a list of the separate actions 
 which were called virtuous and the reverse in their time, 
 and would two of them be found to agree ? 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "If the excellence of virtue consists 
 solely in its utility, or tendency to promote the happiness 
 of men, a machine, a fertile field, or a navigable river, would 
 all possess in a very high degree the element of virtue. If 
 we restrict the term to human actions which are useful to 
 societ}^ we should still be compelled to canonise a crowd 
 of acts which are utterly remote from all our ordinary 
 notions of morality." 
 
 Mr. L. I confess that, upon a scientific question, 
 remoteness from " ordinary notions " would not concern 
 me ; nothing could be more remote from the ordinary 
 notions of men at one time than the generalisations of 
 political economy. I say that virtuous actions promote 
 the happiness of man. If it be said that a fertile field, 
 a machine, or a river does this, I grant it. I don't assert 
 that nothing promotes the happiness of mankind but 
 virtuous actions. The happiness of man fio^vs from
 
 Utilitayian Theory of Morals. 141 
 
 various sources, but the most durable and certain flows 
 from his actions. Is this true or not? because fertile fields 
 are useful, must we assert that virtuous actions are not so? 
 we don't say that all actions useful to society are virtuous, 
 but that it is the characteristic of virtuous actions to be 
 useful to society ; and they are distinguished from all the 
 other things Mr. Lecky names, as proceeding from the 
 dispositions and intentions of voluntary agents. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "No intuitive moralist ever dreamed 
 of doubting that benevolence or charity — or, in other 
 words, the promotion of the happiness of man — is a duty. 
 He maintains that it not only is so, but that we arrive at 
 this fact by direct intuition, and not by the discovery that 
 such a course is conducive to our interest." 
 
 Mr. L. This is not a fair statement of the case. At 
 what stage of man's progress does he arrive at the idea that 
 it is his duty to promote the happiness of man ? Show us 
 the nation that possessed this "direct intuition," and which 
 did not'begin by the pursuit of individual interest. Again, 
 to promote the happiness of man can hardly be called 
 a specific duty. To perform acts w^hich promote his 
 happiness is a duty, but as to what those acts are men 
 have only very partially agreed ; men have thought they 
 were promoting the happiness of mankind by doing the 
 most outrageous acts of cruelty. A " direct intuition " that 
 left them ignorant of the consequences of acts would be 
 of little service to them. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " Happiness is one of the most inde- 
 terminate and undefinable words in the language, and what 
 are the conditions ' of the greatest possible happiness ' no 
 one can precisely say. No two nations, and perhaps no 
 two individuals, would find them the same ; and even if 
 every virtuous act were incontestably useful, it by no 
 means follows that its virtue is derived from its utility." 
 (Page 40.) 
 
 Mr. L. Granted that it is not easy to enumerate all 
 the various ingredients that go to make up the complex
 
 1^2 Essays and Papers. 
 
 total called happiness, yet it is not difficult to dis- 
 cover what actions are hurtful to us and what are 
 agreeable, and thus to find the road towards happiness. 
 But is the word happiness less definite and constant in 
 its meaning than the words Mr. Lecky employs so posi- 
 tively ? Actions do unmistakably differ in their results, 
 and do influence man's happiness, and w^hat higher recom- 
 mendation can an action possess than that it promotes the 
 happiness of rational agents ? I don't speak of results 
 that are imaginary, but real — not apparent consequences 
 but actual ones. I don't reckon abnormal conditions, nor 
 should conclusions on such a subject be invalidated by 
 idiosyncrasies or aberrations from a sound state of nerves 
 and sensibilities. If a man inherits a temper and consti- 
 tution that is diseased and depraved, or a taste that has 
 been corrupted and debased, we are no more to alter our 
 general conclusions on his account than we are to deny 
 the nutritive properties of bread, because in certain states 
 of the system it is not a wholesome diet. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "On the great theatre of public life, 
 especially in periods of great convulsions, w^hen passions 
 are fiercely roused, it is neither the man of delicate scru- 
 pulosity and sincere impartiality, nor yet the single- 
 minded religious enthusiast, incapable of dissimulation or 
 procrastination, who confers most benefit upon the world. 
 It is much rather the astute statesman, earnest about his 
 ends, but unscrupulous about his means, equally free from 
 the trammels of conscience and the blindness of zeal, who 
 governs because he partly yields to the passions and preju- 
 dices of his time." 
 
 Mr.L. The language here is peculiar. "Zeal" afflicted 
 with " blindness," and a " conscience '' in " trammels," are 
 not statesman-like things at any period, and a statesman 
 who " partly yields to the passions and prejudices of his 
 time" is most likely in part under their dominion; but 
 surely the "sincere, scrupulous, single-minded enthusiast" 
 is not the ideal of humanity, for he may join to these
 
 Vtilitariun Thccry of Morals. 143 
 
 qualities a perversity of intellect, an infirmity of temper, 
 or a narrowness of vision, which may mar every good dis- 
 position he possesses; whilst the statesman— reversing the 
 picture — acting wisely in his vocation, adapting his means 
 to his ends, though with an ulterior aim to his own 
 aggrandisement, succeeds in doing the good he works for. 
 The abolition of the corn laws was a measure highly 
 advantageous to the nation, and it would have been so if 
 those who brought it about were actuated by a predo- 
 minant desire to enrich themselves; and, on the contrary, 
 many of our penal laws were unmixedly abominable, how- 
 ever sincere and single-minded the enthusiasts might be 
 who enacted them. We are not now considering the merit 
 of the agent, but the consequences of his actions. If a man 
 intends well — of which we can only conjecture — and does 
 ill — of which we are able to judge — his actions are bad in 
 spite of his intentions. If another does well, of design, but 
 with some personal qualities that are not good, his actions 
 are not to be condemned for his individual frailty. Both 
 agents may be faulty, but the actions of the one are 
 admittedly better than those of the other. To abolish the 
 corn laws from a mercenary motive was better than to 
 enact barbarous and cruel penal laws with the most excel- 
 lent intentions. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " Let us suppose an inquirer who 
 intended to regulate his life consistently by the utilitarian 
 principle. . . One of his first observations will be 
 that, in very many special cases, acts — such as murder, 
 theft, and falsehood — which the world calls criminal, and 
 which in the majority of instances would undoubtedly be 
 hurtful, appear eminently productive of good. Why, then, 
 he may ask, should they not in these cases be performed ? " 
 (Page 43.) 
 
 Mr. L. One would certainly like to see the inquirer 
 Mr. Lecky postulates, and ask him a few questions, that 
 one might know what sort of good " murder, theft, and 
 falsehood" "appear eminently productive of." Men have
 
 144 Essays and Papers. 
 
 committed these crimes, but the " .s^ood " they were in 
 search of was mostly the gratification of some bad passion. 
 If, however, any man in modern Hfe, and not in a mad- 
 house, should come to think that murder, theft, and false- 
 hood were eminently productive of good, he would in all 
 probability be put under restraint. And if he should 
 unfortunately act upon his queer notion of things, he 
 would most likely get hanged ; for the world has a very 
 clear opinion upon this subject, and will not allow it 
 to be tampered with. But assuming Mr. Lecky's in- 
 quirer to have a real existence, one might tell him that 
 if murder, theft, and falsehood did ever appear to him 
 eminently productive of good, the appearance was a 
 delusion and a snare, like many more ; that the world 
 is governed, as far as possible, by facts, and not by appear- 
 ances ; and that, as a matter of fact, it had been proved 
 in the most unequivocal manner that these crimes are 
 injurious, and that society properly puts forth all its 
 energy to stamp them out. He might also be told that the 
 question is not a new^ one, but has been settled long ago ; 
 that the first man wdio made the experiment of murder 
 not only found no good in it, but confessed that it brought 
 "punishment greater than he could bear" (Genesis iv. 13). 
 If, notwithstanding such lessons, Mr. Lecky's inquirer 
 persevered in preferring appearances to realities, he must 
 meet the consequences of his actions, which are those parts 
 of them not to be evaded by simulation or sophistry. 
 
 Mr. T. And one fails to see how an innate moral sense 
 w^ould mend the matter, or answer so eccentric an inquirer. 
 Why should he abandon what appears eminently good, 
 because the innate moral sense of another man condemns 
 it ? The penal consequences of an act, which are part of 
 the constitution of things, may reasonably operate as a 
 deterrent ; but what rightful power has the innate moral 
 sense of A to overrule that of B ? 
 
 Mr. L. If it has such a right, it must be grounded 
 upon some reason ; and why, as you ask, is a man to
 
 Utilitarian Tlieory of Morah. 145 
 
 abstain from what is eminently good at the bidding of 
 another ? If Mr. Lecky says it is not good, there is 
 an end of his objection. He started the hypothesis that 
 the thing seemed good — to a villain perhaps it might ; 
 but men's acts in the region of morals have distinct 
 consequences that make them good or evil — 
 
 " Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not ' seems.' " * 
 
 Mr. T. And as the crimes Mr. Lecky enumerates 
 destroy happiness and create distrust and hatred, men 
 denounce and punish them as evil. 
 
 " Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time. 
 Ere human statute purged the g-entle weal." f 
 
 The " human statute " embodies human experience, and 
 arrests the bloodshed of the " olden time " in the interest 
 of the " gentle weal," regardless of the "intuitions" of 
 fantastical inquirers. 
 
 Mr. L. The standard of right has relation to things 
 as knowa and understood. A man's conception of duty 
 and right is not an abstraction worked out of his own 
 consciousness, but something put into his mind by instruc- 
 tion and experience, which continually modify men's 
 conclusions, and these modified conclusions become the 
 starting point of a new generation, which again transmits 
 to its successors a larger inheritance, — an organisation to 
 which a truer and more trustworthy apprehension of 
 things is possible. 
 
 Mr. T. {rends). " That the present disposition of affairs 
 is in many respects unjust, and that suffering often attends 
 a course which deserves reward^, and happiness a course 
 which deserves punishment, leads men to infer a future 
 state of retribution. Take away the consciousness of 
 desert, and the inference would no longer be made." 
 
 Mr. L. This argument is, I am aware, a popular one; 
 but how can Mr. Lecky use it? What is meant by desert? 
 " A course which deserves reward " must mean certain 
 
 » Hamlet. t M;ul)rlh. 
 
 10
 
 146 Essays and Papers. 
 
 actions which deserve it, and why do they deserve it ? 
 Their proper result is assumed to be happiness. Why, 
 unless it be the common characteristic of right actions ? 
 And then, by the bad arrangements of society, by unjust 
 laws, or by the force of adverse circumstances, the doer of 
 right actions is robbed of his reward, and thence men infer 
 a state of retribution. The man has been deprived of what 
 was due to him, and it is concluded that he will be recom- 
 pensed hereafter; or, on the other hand, by the possession 
 of power and influence he has been able to counterwork 
 the natural consequences of bad actions, and has appeared 
 to escape the pain which was their due ; yet it is inferred 
 he has only escaped for a time, and that his vv^rong- 
 doing will be ultimately avenged. The issue of certain 
 conduct is assumed to be happiness, but the disorder in 
 the world disappoints it ; observing which, mankind 
 conclude that the balance will be adjusted in the world 
 to come, and that the real consequences of actions 
 cannot finally be frustrated or defeated. The whole 
 force of the argument lies in the fact that virtue and 
 happiness are believed to be at one ; or why should the 
 balance be adjusted ? Why should there be a day of 
 reckoning unless actions are expected to work out a 
 certain result- the result of distributing their real con- 
 sequences? Mr. Lecky asks — ^" What is the whole 
 history of the intellectual progress of the world but one 
 long struggle of the intellect of man to emancipate itself 
 from the deceptions of nature ?" and affirms that " only 
 after ages of toil did the mind of man emancipate itself 
 from those deadl}^ errors to which, by the deceptive 
 appearances of nature, the long infancy of humanity is 
 universally doomed." Are the laws of conduct less 
 "deceptive" in their "appearance"? If "intellectual 
 progress " has been retarded by " deceptions of nature," 
 has not moral progress been equally checked ? And 
 what are appearances but the superficial and apparent 
 consequences of thmgs and actions which have to be
 
 Utilitariau Tlicnry of Morals. I47 
 
 corrected by experience and reason ? If society has 
 been obstructed by deadly errors in matters intellectual, 
 it has not been less so in whatever relates to the conduct 
 of life ; as Shakespeare says, man is always 
 
 " Most ignorant of what he's most assured, 
 His glassy essence." — * 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " The intuitive moralists . . maintain 
 that without natural moral perceptions we never should 
 have known that it was our duty to seek the happiness 
 of mankind when it diverged from our own; and they 
 deny that virtue was either originally evolved from, or is 
 necessarily proportioned to, utility." 
 
 Mr. L. To seek the happiness of mankind is a large 
 phrase, and finds no place in primitive codes. But how 
 do the " intuitive moralists," know that it could not be 
 found out by experience ? If it is known now and 
 was once unknown, the presumption is that facts have 
 brought \i to light, as they have brought other things to 
 light ; but, again, why may not one man's happiness be 
 an effect of which other men's happiness is the cause ? 
 Is there any intuition on this point ? Moral perceptions 
 men have, or they could make no moral distinctions. 
 The question is. Of what do the perceptions inform 
 them ? what is the thing perceived ? That an act is 
 right? Where does the notion of rightness come from, 
 as applied to an action ? and what is its rightness, as 
 distinct from its beneficialness ? Men perceive that 
 certain actions are hurtful to them ; a rule is then laid 
 down, conformity to which is — right. 
 
 Mr. T. But you wouldn't consider that the conclu- 
 sions of a few lawmakers, or even of a "tyrant majority," 
 constitute right ? 
 
 Mr. L. Certainly not ; both may be utterly mistaken. 
 What I mean is, that the notion of right implies con- 
 formity to some rule. The rule itself may not be a law 
 
 * Meas-ure for Measure. 
 
 10 *
 
 i^S Essays and Papers. 
 
 of life which experience eventually approves, but, being 
 the best attainable at the time, it serves as a standard or 
 measure, and the word right expresses the idea of agree- 
 ment with it. Hooker says, " Goodness in actions is like 
 unto straightness ; wherefore, that which is done well we 
 term righf.''* Straightness is ascertained by comparison 
 with some objective standard, and rightness by the same 
 method. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). "Justice, humanity, veracity, and 
 kindred virtues, not merely have the power of attracting 
 us — we have also an intellectual perception that they are 
 essentially and immutably good ; that their nature does 
 not depend upon, and is not relative to, our constitu- 
 tions ; that it is impossible and inconceivable that they 
 should ever be vices, and their opposites virtues. They 
 are, therefore, it is said, intuitions of the reason." 
 
 Mr. L. These are large words — " essentially and 
 immutably good " — " not relative to our constitutions," 
 though how we are to become acquainted with what is 
 not relative to our constitutions Mr. Lecky does not 
 inform us. No one dreams that at the same time and 
 place, to the same persons, the words virtue and vice 
 meant the same things ; but it is equally clear that at 
 different times these and similar words have been applied 
 to dissimilar actions. The abstract word — justice, has 
 conveyed to men's minds opposite ideas. Acts have 
 been thought just, and by a generalisation from such 
 acts the notion of justice has been formed ; but apart 
 from the acts, the notion is a myth. The acts first 
 existed, their qualities w^ere observed, and the word 
 justice expressed that which they were thought to have 
 in common. As men's relations towards each other 
 came to be more correctly appreciated, their notion of 
 justice changed ; the acts of one age to which the word 
 has been applied are repugnant to those of another. 
 
 ■* Kcclesi.-istirnl Polity, Rook I. rli. .S. 
 
 I
 
 Ulilitariiin Theory uf Murals. 149 
 
 There has been a dupHcity in the thing represented by 
 the word ; the constituents of the notion have not been 
 the same, A man had a notion of justice — the identical 
 word that Mr. Lecky uses — and he had in his mind also 
 the remembrance of acts of real cruelty, oppression, 
 and selfishness, and he saw nothing in these acts incon- 
 sistent with his notion of justice — he was conscious of 
 no antagonism between them. To argue as if there were 
 somewhere a concrete thing called justice — like a footrule 
 — is an illusion. A footrule that was six inches long at 
 one time and twelve at another, would create inextric- 
 able confusion, its length being altered and not its name ; 
 and exactly such a footrule is the word justice, as used 
 by Mr. Leek}'. The word has a meaning in relation to 
 human conduct ; and as men's estimate of human con- 
 duct has varied, the rule by which they have measured it 
 has varied also. The word, if it so pleases any one, may 
 be called immutable ; the thing signified by the word has 
 been mittable enough. 
 
 Mr. T. In any intelligible sense justice must mean the 
 regulation of human affairs according to some standard 
 which shall correctly estimate the rights and interests of 
 the individual and the community — rights and interests 
 which are the ultimiate facts of man's nature. Provide 
 for these in their order and proportion, and you will do 
 justice. If by justice Mr. Lecky means this, he may say 
 it is immutably good. 
 
 Mr. L. That such a rule of action is good cannot be 
 denied, but it is one related entirely to man and his 
 affairs, whereas Mr. Lecky asserts that justice is not 
 relative to our constitution, and is an intuition of the 
 reason; but your description of it involves an acquaintance 
 with actions and their consequences — not only a disposi- 
 tion to deal equally, but a knowledge of what constitutes 
 equality. Look at the ethical notions of some leading 
 men of the past. When the Israelites were threatened
 
 150 Essays and Papers. 
 
 with a great calamity, Moses is reported to have said, 
 ** Shall one man sin, and wilt Thou be wroth with all the 
 congregation?" (Num. xvi. 22) — as much as to say such a 
 rule of action would be unjust ; and yet to others it has 
 not seemed so. Again, the Israelites, reading erroneously 
 the signs of things, had framed this proverb — " The 
 fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth 
 are set on edge " (Ezek. xviii. 2) ; but they were reproved 
 for entertaining the notion. Such a method of dealing 
 was affirmed to be " not equal," although it had probably 
 many advocates, and some apparent sanctions. Then, 
 again, justice has been satisfied to allow one set of human 
 beings to have unlimited power over another, and then 
 she has pronounced this arrangement to be utterly bad 
 for both parties. In all these cases, and they might be 
 multiplied indefinitely, there has been no uniform and 
 abiding notion of what constituted justice. 
 
 Mr. T. One may say that, the circumstances of society 
 being different, the methods of dealing would vary also ; 
 a rude people would bear rude methods, and so on. But 
 the passages you quote from the Bible involve large 
 general principles, and if men disagree upon these they 
 cannot have within them any common and primitive 
 notion relating to them which could properly be called an 
 intuition of the reason. The remonstrance of Moses 
 which you have quoted, is it formed upon principles of 
 justice or is it not? Until we know all that is involved 
 in the circumstances, our conceptions must be inadequate. 
 One can imagine a set of circumstances that would lead 
 us to approve the principle indicated in the question; 
 and, again, we can imagine another set from which we 
 should unhesitatingly conclude that it was a profoundly 
 unjust principle. The word equality, made use of by 
 Ezekiel, expresses the clearest and plainest notion of 
 what satisfies the mind ; but then, what is equality when 
 principles are unfixed, where knowledge is partial, and
 
 Utilitarian Theory uf Morals. 151 
 
 the instruments both of judgment and action are im- 
 perfect ? Mr. Lecky says, " No one ever contended that 
 justice was a vice or injustice a virtue." (Page 80.) 
 
 Mr. L. Nevertheless, it has often been contended that 
 unjust actions were virtuous, and just ones vicious. " An 
 eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" was in "old time" 
 reckoned to be a rule of justice : it would now be regarded 
 as the opposite. The justice, therefore, which exacted it 
 at one era is named cruelty, and at another a legal and 
 legitimate retaliation. We have to deal with concrete 
 actions — an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth — does 
 it engender cruel and revengeful feelings or not? if it does 
 it is evil. A bad thing may be made use of to drive out a 
 worse, and harsh methods may be needed to uproot 
 confirmed brutishness ; but then we are not to confound 
 good and bad, nor to disguise under a good abstract 
 name a thing that is evil. 
 
 Mr. T. Military law and strait-waistcoats are defensible 
 things against anarchy and madness ; but whether the 
 justice they distribute is to be called vice or virtue will 
 depend upon circumstances. 
 
 Mr. L. In former times men and women who did not 
 believe what the Church required were subjected to griev- 
 ous penalties, and so badly were they thought of that the 
 word which expressed misbelief was applied to the vilest 
 characters, and a miscreant — though his creed might be 
 unimpeachable — was a name for the lowest wretch ; and 
 men of the calmest minds discovered no injustice in burn- 
 ing alive a person whose belief in certain points diverged 
 from their own. The men of this order had notions 
 of "justice," and feelings of " humanity " — so called, and 
 yet, without any provocation, and with perfect equanimity, 
 they did diabolical deeds. By-and-by it was recognised 
 that belief was a state of mind, the product of evidence 
 and association, and that where neither the proper evidence 
 nor the fitting associations had been brought to bear upon 
 the mind, the product was not to be looked for ; and
 
 15-2 Essays and Papers. 
 
 then it was felt there was some force in St. Paul's 
 question, " How can they believe in Him of whom they have 
 not heard ?" and in the corollary, How can they believe 
 what is to them, from any cause, incredible ? And so it 
 became clear that to burn a living man on account of his 
 belief was not just. Nay, it became conceivable that the 
 men who did the burning were, by reason of it, the greater 
 criminals ; inasmuch as it was more plainly and patently 
 wicked thus to burn a fellow-creature, than it was to mis- 
 believe transubstantiation or the creed of St. Athanasius. 
 
 Mr. T. To burn a man to death because he thought 
 the evidence for certain propositions insufficient was — 
 though the world applauded — a mockery of justice. 
 
 Mr. L. And the world now thinks so, though the 
 burning disposition may survive. Another old notion of 
 justice is thus dissected by Robert Browning: — 
 
 " They were wont to tease the truth 
 Out of loath witness (toying, trifling time) 
 By torture : 'twas a trick, a vice of the age, 
 Here, there, and everywhere, what would you have? 
 Religion used to tell Humanity 
 She gave him warrant or denied him course, 
 And since the course was much to his own mind, 
 Of pinching flesh, and pulling bone from bone. 
 To unhusk truth a-hiding in its hulls, 
 Nor whisper of a warning stopped the way. 
 He, in their joint behalf, the burly slave, 
 Bestirred him, mauled and maimed all recusants. 
 While, prim in place, Religion overlooked ; 
 And so had done till doomsday, never a sign 
 Nor sound of interference from her mouth, 
 But that at last the burly slave wiped brow. 
 Let eye give notice as if soul were there, 
 Muttered, ' 'Tis a vile trick, foolish more than vile, 
 Should have been counted sin ; I make it so : 
 At any rate no more of it for me — 
 Nay, for I break the torture engine thus ! ' 
 Then did Religion start up, stare amain, 
 Look round for help and see none, smile and say, 
 ' What, broken is the rack ? Well done of thee !
 
 Utilitarian Thcury of Morals. 153 
 
 Did I forgel to abrogate its use ? 
 
 Be the mistake in common with us both ! 
 
 One more fault our blind age shall answer for, 
 
 Down in my book denounced though it must be 
 
 Somewhere. Henceforth find truth by milder means ! ' 
 
 Ah, but, Religion, did we wait for thee 
 
 To ope the book, that serves to sit upon, 
 
 And pick such place out, we should wait indeed ! 
 
 That is all history : and what is not now, 
 
 Was then, defendants found it to their cost." * 
 
 Mr. T. Thus complacently did justice torture and 
 burn, and see in it neither evil nor incongruity. To imagine, 
 as Mr, Lecky puts it, that in this world there is somewhere 
 a concrete thing or conception which is immutable, whose 
 name is justice, is an illusion. Actions called just have 
 been largely leavened with qualities that were unjust, and 
 the abstract notion in men's minds participated in the 
 defectiveness. 
 
 Mr. L. The word has played a great part in human 
 affairs, but the smallest amount of information that can be 
 given about it is contained in Mr. Lecky's propositions — 
 that it is an " intuition of the reason," and " is not relative 
 to our constitutions." Rather, does it signify such a mode 
 of dealing with the world's business as approves itself 
 to the world's consciousness ; but the world's conscious- 
 ness is a fluctuating element. At all times it recognises a 
 better and a worse, a justice and injustice ; but the better 
 of one era is the worse of another, and the justice of this 
 period the injustice of that. 
 
 Mr. T. Intuitions, however, should be fixed, and are 
 not things to be mended ; and knowledge that is original 
 and primitive is not to be corrected by what is secondary 
 and derived. There is another question — the words in 
 what Browning calls Religion's book have been much 
 the same at all times, but they have stood for very 
 different sets of ideas ; how is this to be explained ? 
 
 * The Ring and the Book.
 
 15+ Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. L. Torture must be denounced somewhere in 
 her book, Religion says, but she didn't find it out. The 
 words were there, but not the meaning. Isn't it Carlyle 
 who says, we see only what we bring eyes to see ? 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " There are many cases in which 
 diversities of moral judgment arise from causes that are 
 not moral but purely intellectual, as in the case of 
 usury, which obviously arose from a false notion of the 
 uses of money." 
 
 Mr. L. So it may be said now% but such cases once 
 involved moral delinquency ; they were not reckoned 
 intellectual errors by those whose conscience they offended. 
 The reference to usury as one of this class of errors is 
 especially unfortunate. In the first place, the Israelites 
 were permitted to take usury of strangers (Deut. xxiii. 
 20), but so profound a moral feeling had been created 
 on the subject that Ezekiel enumerates amongst the men 
 who are "just," and shall "live," him "who hath not 
 given forth upon usury," and abstinence from this offence 
 he classes with abstinence from adultery, robbery, and 
 oppression of every kind (Ezek. xviii. 8) ; and a devotional 
 writer in the 15th Psalm, asking — " Lord, who shall 
 abide in th}' tabernacle ? who shall dwell in thy holy 
 hill ? " replies — he " that putteth not out his money to 
 usury ; " so that here is an action having in it, as Mr. 
 Lecky admits, no moral quality, which had come to be 
 regarded with the deepest moral disapprobation. I don't 
 care to follow Mr. Lecky into his argument on the subject 
 of abortion, but one may well ask, What is the value of an 
 innate moral sense which mistakes usury for a crime, and 
 is doubtful as to the moral character of abortion ? Mr. 
 Lecky separates " moral judgment "and " moral feeling," 
 and there is a difference, but not such a one as he points 
 to. Moral feeling gradually but certainly follows moral 
 judgment. Convince the judgment that an action is 
 hurtful, and a moral feeling may be excited to condemn 
 it. Associate the idea of sin with the practice of usury.
 
 Utilitarian Tlicury of Morals. 155 
 
 and abstinence from it is immediately rewarded with 
 moral approbation ; and if usury were, in fact, as perni- 
 cious as stealing, it would deserve similar condemnation. 
 Men were mistaken about it, but their innate moral sense 
 did not help to reheve them of the error. It was political 
 economy that banished this form of evil-doing from the 
 province of morals, and destroyed a superstition so wide- 
 spread and venerable. 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). "The iniquity of theft, murder, falsehood, 
 or adultery, rests upon grounds generically distinct from 
 those on which men pronounce it to be sinful to eat meat 
 on Friday, or to work on Sunday, or to abstain from 
 religious assemblies. The reproaches conscience directs 
 against those who are guilty of these last acts are purely 
 hypothetical; conscience enjoining obedience to the Divine 
 commands, but leaving it to reason to determine what 
 those commands may be." 
 
 Mr. L. The answer to such a statement is furnished by 
 a historical example. In the 15th chapter of Numbers it 
 is recorded that an Israelite was found gathering sticks on 
 the Sabbath day, and for this offence he was put to death; 
 and it is hard to believe that the persons who inflicted 
 the punishment regarded the offence as " generically dis- 
 tinct " from theft or murder; and it is the judgment 
 of people upon actions of their own time that must 
 determine what their moral standard was. How is a 
 man to know the generic difference between commands, 
 when they are presented to him with the same sanctions ? 
 The punishment of two crimes being equal, what is the 
 generic distinction between them if it be not the amount 
 of hurtfulness which each of them is calculated to produce? 
 Then the " reason " of mankind can do little to determine 
 what are Divine commands ; it takes them mainly on 
 authority ; and conscience "reproaches " men for breaches 
 of commands said to be Divine which were never entitled 
 to such distinction. Assuming, however, two Divine 
 commands, the one not to kill and the other not to work
 
 15^^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 on the Sabbath-day, why should the breach of one produce 
 reproaches of conscience merely hypothetical or generi- 
 cally distinct from the other ? The argument of St. Paul, 
 in the 14th chapter of Romans, proves that the breach of 
 ceremonial and "hypothetical" commands burdened the 
 mind and kindled remorse as grievously as the infraction 
 of real obligations " generically distinct." 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). "What transubstantiation is in the order 
 of reason, the Augustinian doctrine of the damnation of 
 unbaptized infants and the Calvinistic doctrine of repro- 
 bation are in the order of morals. Of these doctrines it 
 is not too much to say that in the form in which they 
 have often been stated they surpass in atrocity any tenets 
 that have ever been admitted into any Pagan creed, and 
 would, if they formed an essential part of Christianity, 
 amply justify the term ' pernicious heresy,' which Tacitus 
 applied to the faith. That an all-righteous and all-merciful 
 Creator, in the full exercise of those attributes, deliberately 
 calls into existence sentient beings whom He has from 
 eternity irrevocably destined to endless, unspeakable, 
 unmitigated torture, are propositions which are so 
 extravagantly absurd, and so ineffably atrocious, that 
 their adoption might well lead men to doubt the univer- 
 sality of moral perceptions." 
 
 Mr. L. The propositions here so energetically con- 
 demned have been believed explicitly or implicitly by 
 many men. Why they have so believed is for our purpose 
 immaterial ; if, in morals, authority or argument can 
 generate belief that is " extravagantly absurd," or appro- 
 bation of what is " ineffably atrocious/' then innate moral 
 perceptions must be a poor protection against error ; if a 
 moral sense cannot set down and settle the elementary 
 notions of what is good, or save man from approving 
 what is " ineffably atrocious," its verdict must be of little 
 worth ; if it can mistake moral ugliness for moral beauty, 
 or " palter with us in a double sense," how can we rely on 
 it ? Mr. Lecky and many more, denounce as " ineffably
 
 rUlitarian TJicory of Morals. 157 
 
 atrocious"" what Augustinians pronounce to be divine and 
 true ; and yet both parties are said to possess a moral 
 sense, the precise and proper object of which is to discri- 
 minate moral qualities. If the Creator of the world be 
 " such an one " as Augustinianism depicts, Mr. Lecky 
 would regard it as the chaos of morals ; but the two beliefs 
 do co-exist, and render his theory inexplicable. 
 
 Mr. T. Augustinianism involves problems stretching 
 beyond the range of human knowledge, and if the whole 
 of it were known it might not deserve Mr. Lecky's 
 denunciations. 
 
 Mr. L. But he and others believe that it does, which 
 is enough. The beliefs in question are fundamental and 
 irreconcilable — positive and negative poles ; if the one 
 is good the other is evil, and the moral sense is totally 
 incompetent to adjudicate between them. We are not 
 discussing Augustinianism ; it may be what Mr. Lecky 
 asserts, or it may not. We are considering the state of 
 mind that calls it good, and the other state of mind that 
 calls it evil ; and we ask which state of mind conforms to 
 the rule denominated right, and what, in this special case, 
 by Mr. Lecky's standard, the rule definitely is. That 
 which is "extravagantly absurd" contradicts some clear 
 intuition or some plain deduction from it, and that which 
 is " ineffably atrocious " is something radically cruel; and 
 it is manifestly absurd that what is thus cruel can be either 
 good or right. "The time cometh, that whosoever killeth 
 you will think that he doeth God service " (John xvi. 2). 
 Such a notion of the Divine Being we know to be false ; 
 we know He is not served by cruel acts : and we deny the 
 validity of any thinking that justifies evil deeds by super- 
 mundane considerations. Whatever may be the fate of 
 Augustinianism, and whatever the possibilities beyond 
 and above it, we refuse any approbation or any of the 
 rightful authority of this world to principles or practices 
 that are hostile to man. 
 
 Mr. T. (reach). " The insciisibilit}- of some savages
 
 15^^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 to the criminality of theft arises from the fact that they 
 are accustomed to have all things in common." 
 
 Mr. L. Were it possible to have all things in com- 
 mon there would be no theft ; the air cannot be stolen, 
 and if all things were in the same abundance, and there 
 was no need of appropriation, the law of theft would not 
 exist. There are many things now beyond its operation ; 
 and it is easy to imagine an economy where there would be 
 no criminality in theft — where, in fact, there would be no 
 such thing. The effort and self-control necessary to 
 restrain man, in the midst of an abundance that is appro- 
 priated, from taking or even coveting what is not his own, 
 may be a needful process of moral culture. In fact, all 
 self-restraint is a machinery for working out moral results 
 which elevate the character of man. He has acquired 
 slowly crude notions of right and wrong, and was placed 
 in circumstances that, by an irresistible influence, tended 
 to develop and rectify them. He has had no ready-made 
 standard by which to gauge his relations, but he soon 
 discovered what hurt or helped him. His first generalisa- 
 tions were imperfect enough, but they grow better and 
 
 truer — 
 
 " Till old experience doth attain 
 
 To something of prophetic strain." * 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " The considerations I have urged 
 with reference to humanity apply with equal force to the 
 various relations of the sexes. . . . The feeling of all 
 men and the language of all nations, the sentiment which, 
 though often weakened, is never wholly effaced, — that this 
 appetite, even in its most legitimate gratification, is a 
 thing ... to which a feeling of shame is naturally 
 attached, something that jars with our conception of 
 perfect purity, something we could not with propriety 
 ascribe to a holy being." 
 
 Mr. L. Mr. Lecky is constantly led away by a rhetoric 
 
 * Milton.
 
 Utilitarian Theuvy of Morals. 159 
 
 which is no doubt very fascinating, but sadly deficient in 
 probative force ; and one must protest against such large 
 words as the " feeling of all men and the language of all 
 nations ; " for the assertion is very much wider than any 
 proof that can be adduced in its favour ; but I should 
 answer his whole argument by the question of Eliphaz the 
 Temanite — "Shall a man be more pure than his Maker?" 
 (Job iv. 17). The "feeling of shame," said to be so univer- 
 sal, is the very thing one misses in the social ways of 
 primitive men and women ; in the comparatively recent 
 history to be found in such a book as the Bible, modern 
 ears are shocked and startled at the things they are some- 
 times compelled to listen to ; and if individuals of the high 
 moral tone delineated there did and detailed such deeds, 
 what " feeling of shame " had their lower and less refined 
 brethren ? If they did this thing in the green tree, what 
 would they do in the dry ? Mr. Lecky should leave this 
 argument to the ascetics who regard the whole func- 
 tions of the body as unclean, but whose unnatural 
 system has yielded fruits the most loathsome of all. The 
 relations of the sexes have done more to refine and 
 elevate the human race than any other single cause ; and 
 it is mere Manicheism to assert we have an " innate 
 intuitive perception that there is something degrading in 
 this sensual part of our nature." It is hardly possible to 
 frame an argument on the subject less in accordance with 
 facts than Mr. Lecky's. What " conception of perfect 
 purity " is entertained by an uncivilised people ?— and all 
 people have been uncivilised ; what, indeed, is any man's 
 ' ' conception of perfect purity " apart from his own organisa- 
 tion ? Is the " delicate Ariel " more pure than the 
 " admired Miranda" ? 
 
 "Hence, bashful cunning! 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence."* 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky's argument is an anachronism. 
 
 * The Tempest.
 
 I Go Essays and Papers. 
 
 His Creator has given to man a certain constitution, 
 the working of which, in all its parts, involves nothing 
 that is shameful, and nothing inconsistent with the 
 purity of a being so constituted. " Our conception of 
 perfect purity " may indeed be unhke that formed by 
 beings of a different order. On this subject Bishop Butler 
 writes more wisely than Mr. Lecky. In his sermon 
 " Upon Compassion," he says — " It is an absurdity 
 almost too gross to be mentioned for a man to endeavour 
 to get rid of his senses because the Supreme Being dis- 
 cerns things more perfectly without them. It is as real, 
 though not so obvious an absurdity, to endeavour to 
 eradicate the passions He has given us because He is 
 without them ; for, since our passions are as really a 
 part of our constitution as our senses, since the former 
 as really belong to our condition of nature as the latter, 
 to get rid of either is equally a violation of, and breaking 
 in upon, that nature and constitution He has given us. 
 . . . Our appetites, passions, senses, no way imply 
 disease ; nor, indeed, do they imply deficiency or imper- 
 fection of any sort, but only this, that the constitution 
 of our nature, according to which God has made us, is 
 such as to require them." 
 
 Mr. L. What we are in search of is a morality for 
 men and women as we find them in the world, endowed 
 by their Creator with feelings and passions which, in 
 their natural exercise, yield good and wholesome fruit : 
 
 " Love's a virtue for heroes ; as white as the snow on high hills ; 
 And immortal as every great soul is, that struggles, endures, and 
 fulfils."* 
 
 Mr. T. But you don't altogether identify the passion 
 of love with the sexual feeling Mr. Lecky refers to ? 
 
 Mr. L. What God has "joined" I am not careful 
 over-curiously to " put asunder." 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky argues that in distant times, and 
 
 * Mrs. lirownino-.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. i6i 
 
 in various parts of the world, higher honours have been 
 paid to virginity than to maternity ; and he impHes, if he 
 does not absolutely affirm, that this is in accordance with 
 the best and purest impulses of our nature. He speaks 
 of the "ideal wife " of the Romans ; "but above all this," 
 he says, approvingly, "we find the traces of a higher 
 ideal," the "vestal virgin." 
 
 Mr. L. Roman ideals are not usually attractive ; but 
 if this " higher ideal " be " the salt of the earth," surely 
 Mr. Lecky should be able to point out how and where 
 it has produced upon human affairs effects commensurate 
 with its pretensions. Superstition has sanctified forms 
 of folly innumerable. Men and women may remain in 
 single blessedness because matrimony is inconvenient, 
 not because there is a " higher ideal," and they are 
 worthy of honour if (although "// is not good for them to be 
 alone ") they remain unwedded in order to do some work 
 incompatible with married life ; but the superior sanctity 
 of the single state is a decaying superstition. Mr. 
 Tennyson's teaching on this topic is infinitely superior 
 to Mr. Lecky's : 
 
 " For, indeed, I know 
 Of no more subtle master under heaven 
 Than is the maiden passion for a maid, 
 Not only to keep down the base in man. 
 But teach high thought, and amiable words. 
 And courtliness, and the desire of fame, 
 And love of truth, and all that makes a man." 
 
 Nature avenges every transgression of her laws, and a 
 recent writer supplies us with a curious commentary on 
 the celibacy of which Mr. Lecky is so enamoured. " The 
 long period of the dark ages under which Europe has lain 
 is due, I believe, in a very considerable degree, to the 
 celibacy enjoined by religious orders on their votaries. 
 Whenever a man or woman was possessed of a gentle 
 nature that fitted him or her to deeds of charity, to medi- 
 tation, to literature, or to art, the social condition of the 
 
 II
 
 1 62 Essays and Papers. 
 
 time was such that they had no refuge elsewhere than in 
 the bosom of the Church. But the Church chose to 
 preach and exact cehbacy. The consequence was that 
 these gentle natures had no continuance ; and thus, by 
 a policy so singularly unwise and suicidal, that I am 
 hardly able to speak of it without impatience, the Church 
 brutalised the breed of our forefathers. She acted pre- 
 cisely as if she had aimed at selecting the rudest portion 
 of the community to be, alone, the parents of future 
 generations. She practised the arts which breeders 
 would use who aimed at creating ferocious, currish, and 
 stupid natures. No wonder that club law prevailed for 
 centuries in Europe ; the wonder rather is that enough 
 good remained in the veins of Europeans to enable their 
 race to rise to its present very moderate level of natural 
 morality.""^ 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The unchangeable proposition for 
 which we contend is this, that benevolence is always a 
 virtuous disposition — that the sensual part of our nature 
 is always the lower part." 
 
 Mr. L. A proposition may be an unchangeable one, 
 whilst the words of which it is made up have embodied a 
 variety of meaning; and an unchangeable proposition, 
 the terms of which are unstable, is a treacherous and 
 deceitful thing. We want to know whether the innate 
 moral perception of the living men and women in primi- 
 tive times, as they are depicted in history and biography, 
 taught them that particular actions were wrong and 
 hurtful— actions which experience has proved to be 
 unmistakably hurtful to the actor and to society. The 
 Bible tells us that certain evil things were permitted 
 because of the hardness of people's heart. And when was 
 the hardness abolished ? Even " the tender mercies of 
 the wicked are cruel " (Proverbs xii. lo). Now it is a 
 
 * Hereditary Genius ; an Inquiry into its Laws and Consequences, 
 by Francis Galton, f.r.s., etc.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morah. 163 
 
 mere jug<^le of words to speak of actions under abstract 
 names which have no fixed and permanent signification. 
 The chastity of one era would be an intolerable degrada- 
 tion at another, and where actions are different they 
 should not pass under the same name. Mr. Lecky's 
 benevolence, after all, is just what people think to be 
 benevolent, and chastity what they think to be chaste; 
 and his assertion that abstractions are " essentially and 
 immutably good " is devoid of meaning. Immutable 
 things cannot be made known by mutable words. We 
 need not blame the actors of a particular era, but without 
 hesitation we may assert of actions they approved, that 
 in this world of men and women they are essentially bad. 
 
 Mr. T. Looking at the matter historically, it must be 
 admitted that cruel and brutal actions mark the early 
 history of all nations. Your quotation from the Proverbs 
 meets the case exactly. The words "tender mercies" 
 may stand for sundry moral acts, and "wicked" for all 
 mankind^ and it is affirmed that things called "tender 
 mercies " have been " cruel," so that the names of acts 
 and their qualities have been the precise opposites of 
 each other, and the moral acts of one set of men the 
 immoral acts of another. The words "tender mercies " 
 have been a name for what was cruel, and all such words 
 in the lapse of time seem to have involved like contradic- 
 tions. What the innate moral sense was doing is hard to 
 say ; but when we look below the surface of words, this is 
 what we find. 
 
 Mr. L. St. Paul says, " The times of this ignorance 
 God winked at ; " but how should man be ignorant of 
 what is known by intuition ? 
 
 " What a thrice double ass 
 Was I to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool ! " 
 
 If Caliban's ignorance let him worship such a dull fool 
 as Stephano, is the ignorance greater or less which 
 
 II ->^-
 
 164 Essays and Papers. 
 
 worships a piece of wood or stone ? and if man has no 
 intuitions that keep him from such blunders, what are the 
 intuitions worth ? or is it not a solecism to apply the 
 word intuition to such flagrant misapprehensions? Man's 
 beliefs and his gods have been worthy of one another. 
 The true God is represented as winking at the times of 
 this ignorance — not as approving or justifying them ; a 
 distinction Mr. Lecky overlooks. 
 
 Mr. T. Is it not objectionable on a question of morals, 
 which should be determined by evidence, to appeal to the 
 Bible, as though it could be settled by authority ? 
 
 Mr. L. I refer to the Bible as a book of history and 
 ethics, and, whatever other authority it possesses, it is 
 available for this purpose. It contains the history of a 
 simple and primitive people under a theocracy — of a people 
 whose literature embodies a higher moral code than any 
 of their contemporaries; it furnishes evidence of what 
 such a people thought, of the kind of reasoning that 
 was addressed to them, and of the moral atmosphere in 
 which they hved. Their poetry is the expression of their 
 highest devotional feehng ; their laws of their highest 
 attainments in moral, social, and political distinctions ; 
 and their didactic books of the estimates they formed of 
 life. Now, the least acquaintance with their literature 
 will satisfy us that the considerations addressed to them 
 were always that to do good was to procure good. Mr. 
 Lecky's notion that they should do what was disagreeable, 
 without any prospect of obtaining thereby what was 
 pleasant and pleasurable, is opposed to every page of 
 ethical writing they have left behind them. Their law- 
 giver set before them " blessing and cursing," and told 
 them plainly that they must do good if they would get 
 good. Their literature contains an image in reference to 
 human actions more apt than any Mr. Lecky has adduced. 
 In the second chapter of the first book of Samuel it is 
 said — " The Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him 
 actions arc weighed." It is bv " knowledge " that actions
 
 Utilitarian 'Ilicovy of Morals. 165 
 
 are estimated, and their consequences are the weights 
 that test them. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The universal sentiment of mankind 
 represents self-sacrifice as an essential element of a meri- 
 torious act, and means by self-sacrifice the deliberate 
 adoption of the least pleasurable course, without the 
 prospect of any pleasure in return." 
 
 Mr. L. Here, again, Mr. Lecky gets into the universal ; 
 and in such cases we generally find that the matter of 
 proof is in inverse ratio to the magnitude of assertion. In 
 the next page he tells us what " all ages, all nations, and 
 all popular judgments, pronounce." The answer to such 
 sweeping declarations is contained in a few plain and pre- 
 cise words, which prove at any rate that one man, if not 
 two, had a different notion from Mr. Lecky, and dis- 
 avowed this " universal sentiment of mankind." St. Paul, 
 or whoever wrote the Epislle to the Hebrews, says, " Moses, 
 when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of 
 Pharaoh's daughter ; choosing rather to suffer affliction 
 with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin 
 for a season ; esteeming the reproach of Christ greater 
 riches than the treasures in Egypt : for he had respect 
 unto the recompence of the reward." If these words do 
 not contradict Mr. Lecky's assertion in the most direct 
 and unequivocal manner, words have no meaning. Moses, 
 — when he is come to years — refuses pleasure that is fleeting 
 and instantaneous, and chooses rather what is durable 
 and distant ; calculating, — wisely and well. How many 
 disciples would a teacher attract who taught his followers 
 that they must always adopt the least pleasurable course, 
 without the prospect of any pleasure in return ? The 
 " universal sentiment of mankind " would be apt to reject 
 the bargain. When Peter found that he and his fellow- 
 disciples had apparently adopted the " least pleasurable 
 course," he asked, with a frank simplicity, "What shall 
 we have therefor?" and he was told that hereafter 
 " they would sit upon thrones," etc., and that every one
 
 i66 Essays cvid Papers. 
 
 who followed in their steps should receive an hundred- 
 fold now, in this time, besides a future reward. The 
 question — " What shall it profit a man if he gam the 
 whole world and lose his own soul ? " proves that con- 
 siderations of personal profit and loss have been reckoned 
 fit instruments to determine men's actions. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "In exact proportion as we believe a 
 desire for personal enjoyment to be the motive of a good 
 act, is the merit of the agent diminished." 
 
 Mr. L. The merit of the agent is not an easy thing 
 to gauge. But what shall we say of the ruler who asked, 
 "Good master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" 
 And then what of the answer, " Thou knowest the 
 commandments," etc. ? Assume that the man had asked, 
 How shall I make the present life happy ? would the 
 answer have been different ? The man desired the " per- 
 sonal enjoyment " of eternal life. He inquired how it 
 was to be secured, and he was referred to the command- 
 ments. He was not informed that the desire of eternal 
 life would rob every " good act " of its merit. On the con- 
 trary, this desire of personal enjoyment might lead him 
 into the right road, and he might be kept there by the 
 actual enjoyment which his continuance in it gave him. 
 For by the law of habit — which is a law of our nature — 
 that becomes easy and pleasant which at first was hard 
 and burdensome. 
 
 " Refrain to-night, 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence ; the next more easy ; 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 And either master the devil, or throw him out 
 With wondrous potency." * 
 
 Mr. T. Mr, Lecky's theory of self-sacrifice is senti- 
 mental rather than practical. 
 
 Mr. L. And it is expressed in words marked by the 
 usual ambiguity of their class. What is meant by self- 
 
 * Hamlet. ^
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 167 
 
 sacrifice ? The predominant power in a man's liabit and 
 constitution may, without impropriety, be named self; and 
 if this be altoo^ether selfish, in the unamiable sense of that 
 word, and takes no account of the wishes and interests of 
 others, it will be wrong, and should be sacrificed ; if, on 
 the contrary, it has a due and well-regulated respect to all 
 the claims and feelings of others, it should be cherished 
 and encouraged. Moral, mental, or material considera- 
 tions may each sway the mind supremely, and constitute 
 the governing power we denominate self; and just as they 
 do so in an inordinate degree, they should be sacrificed ; 
 but that which is left will be more satisfying than that 
 which is rejected. If the gratification of sense be the self 
 that needs to be sacrificed, the mental self which takes 
 its place does so by its superior attractiveness, and repays 
 the sacrifice by a more durable and rational reward ; and 
 so, if the mental self must be suppressed for a time, in 
 obedience to considerations of a more urgent sort, these 
 again "'have their reward " (Matt. vi. 16) ; and so, in all 
 cases, the "self" that needs to be sacrificed gives place 
 to another that yields a satisfaction more commensurate 
 with the enlarging powers and necessities of a complex 
 and progressive agent like man. It is impossible to deny 
 that the scale of pleasure is thus graduated to men's 
 desires and capacities ; and just as you modify these you 
 change the character of the pleasure that is sought, but 
 pleasure of some kind it is. It is a moral arithmetic 
 which has to be learned in the school of experience ; but 
 it may be taught so as to render its acquisition easy. 
 
 Mr. T. According to such a definition, self-sacrifice 
 might mean the most productive investment of a man's 
 happiness-producing powers. 
 
 Mr. L. I don't object to your translation, though it 
 might be put into more acceptable words ; and I find in 
 the New Testament a theory of the same sort, though 
 expressed in a somewhat different manner — " If thine eye 
 offend thee, pluck it out : it is better for thee to enter into
 
 i68 Essays and Papers. 
 
 the king-dom of God with one eye, than having two eyes 
 to be cast into hell fire," etc. (Mark ix. 47). Now, drop- 
 ping the metaphors, what is this but a recommendation 
 to sacrifice the less to the greater ? And if, in this case, 
 it is "better" thus to arbitrate between the claims of 
 incompatible possessions, it will be "better " to do so in 
 all cases ; and " better " is what produces most happi- 
 ness. It wouldn't be "better" for the whole body to be 
 cast into hell fire, although this would fulfil Mr. Lecky's 
 condition of adopting "the least pleasurable course, 
 without the prospect of any pleasure in return." It is 
 " better" to sacrifice an inferior self in order to preserve 
 one of greater value ; but the converse is never true. 
 The words self-sacrifice, self-denial, and the like, have no 
 more fixed and defined meaning than the word happiness, 
 which Mr. Lecky complains of. Self-denial has meant 
 the austerities of asceticism, and the eccentricities of 
 unreasoning fanaticism ; it has canonised Simeon Stylites 
 and George Fox. 
 
 " Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, 
 In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell." * 
 
 Mr. T. But you wouldn't say that virtue and goodness 
 mean the mere balancing of self-interest ? 
 
 Mr. L. You put the matter unpleasantly, by employing 
 a sort of mercantile phraseology which creates prejudice. 
 Mr. Lecky's proposition is a broad and plain one, and 
 lies at the root of his theory, and cannot sustain itself by 
 translating the opposing argument into the language of 
 the market for the purpose of disfiguring it. The ques- 
 tion is one, however, more of things than of words, 
 although giving a bad name to a good thing is apt to 
 endanger its reputation. Let me refer you again to the 
 Bible as representing facts of human nature. Isaiah asks 
 (chap. Iv. 2) " Wherefore do ye spend money for that 
 
 * Chiklc tlaiuld.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. i6g 
 
 which is not bread ? and your labour for that which satis- 
 fieth not ? Hearken dihgently unto me, and eat ye that 
 which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness." 
 This is Oriental colouring, but it has httle resemblance in 
 form or substance to Mr. Lecky's meagre outline. And 
 if words have any meaning, these surely imply that 
 " righteousness " — right acting — which comprises all 
 moral good that man is capable of, is a means to happi 
 ness. It is not described as something added or joined 
 to it afterwards, but as its weft and warp. Man being 
 such as he is — the constitution of nature being such as it 
 is, to be ignorant of or to oppose the order of things 
 produces inevitable pain and loss. Real wrong violates 
 the law of the universe, and the pain that results is 
 evidence of evil. " That which is crooked cannot be 
 made straight" (Eccles. ". 15) ; and that which is hurtful 
 in its nature cannot be made harmless. Call it what you 
 please, if the universe is governed by law, to disregard or 
 defy it is to incur a penalty of some kind. 
 
 i\/y. T. If we are to gather our evidence from the 
 Bible we must not overlook such statements as the follow- 
 ing, in the 37th Psalm : — " I have seen the wicked in 
 great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree." 
 
 Mr. L. Certainly not, let us do justice all round; but 
 follow the simile to the end, for the conclusion would 
 probably not be very satisfactor}' to the grower of green 
 bay trees, as the writer adds, " Yet he passed away, and, 
 lo, he was not ; yea, I sought him, but he could not be 
 found." Now a green bay tree that disappeared in this 
 mysterious and unaccountable manner, like Jonah's gourd, 
 would not be a profitable tree to cultivate ; and the tem- 
 porary prosperousness of wrong-doing does not overturn 
 the theory. The world has many sources of enjoyment, 
 many " ways of pleasantness" which are not " ways of 
 wisdom." The condition of all healthy action is pleasure 
 of some sort, and that of moral action is no exception to 
 the rule.
 
 170 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. T. The argument is to me rather perplexing ; and 
 seems akin to the one carried on many thousand years 
 ago, in that far-off land of Uz, by Job and those three 
 friends of his, quaintly called comforters; and if they 
 failed to settle it, I fancy it will not be resolved by us in 
 this nineteenth century of grace, and in this pleasant 
 valley of Arkdale. Job's friends (and the word friend is 
 not the least ambiguous we have met with) argued that 
 he must have perpetrated some great crimes because he 
 suffered so severely, but they were wrong both in fact and 
 theory. 
 
 Mr. L. I don't deny that the question is a thorny one, 
 and that it needs the patience of Job to digest all that 
 has been said upon it. Job's friends appear to have 
 erred in assuming that all pain is the punishment of 
 moral wrong-doing. Now, every one of Job's calamities 
 might have happened in the ordinary course of things. 
 The Bedouins of our time plunder just as the Sabeans 
 and Chaldeans plundered Job ; and at the meridian of 
 England, the Sabeans and Chaldeans who haunt our 
 Exchanges, — -speculators and schemers,— swoop down 
 upon our possessions, and carry them off as ruthlessly 
 as their nomadic predecessors. The lightning too com- 
 mits ravages now as it did then ; the wind still prostrates 
 houses and overthrows the inmates ; and " sore boils " 
 continue to afflict mankind ; but we have learned in all 
 these cases that the persons suffering such things are not 
 to be reckoned sinners above others (Lukexiii. 2), for it is 
 possible that each one of the ills, by proper precautions, 
 might have been prevented. Despising or neglecting 
 trivial things may produce indefinite evil, and to despise 
 or defy moral conditions may be the most fatal folly of 
 all. But in such a tangled world as this, the consequences 
 of actions are not always to be traced : and yet the rule 
 that governs them is laid down with great precision by 
 that interlocutor in the Book of Job who alone escapes 
 censure. Elihu says, " If they obey and serve him, they
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 171 
 
 shall spend their days in prosperity and their years in 
 pleasures : but if they obey not, they shall perish by the 
 sword, and they shall die without knowledge." We have 
 no right to assume that these words point to any super- 
 natural consequences ; on the contrary, we may conclude 
 that they describe matters of fact which had come under 
 the speaker's own observation, or had been inculcated 
 upon him by those who had taken note of them ; for if 
 the fact be as he puts it, there is no reason why it should 
 not be observed and recorded. 
 
 Mr. T. But then there comes in the consideration of 
 a future life, where it is expected that the inequalities of 
 the present state of things will be redressed. Mr. Lecky 
 adverts to this, and we have spoken of it before. 
 
 Mr. L. The language on this subject in the Book of 
 Job is mosti}' of a gloomy character, and the meaning of 
 words is what they conveyed to those who made use of 
 them. Illuminate them by any light that has subse- 
 quently dawned, and they may develop far other meaning 
 than those who used them had any notion of ; and this is 
 an incident of language that creates much illusion. A 
 word is a stationary mark, but the tide of thought rolls 
 higher and higher ; and a careless observer, occupied 
 only with words, assumes that the old mark represents a 
 uniform and constant elevation of the water, than which 
 nothing can be more delusive. Mr. Lecky says that "the 
 present disposition of affairs is in many respects unjust ;" 
 and if we adopt this opinion, what is to prevent our con- 
 cluding that "the life to come will be of a piece with it?" 
 If, here and now, well-being and well-doing are not bound 
 together in their nature, what security is there that they 
 will be so in a future state ? If the essential characteristic 
 of well-doing is not to promote well-being, why, in the 
 infinite future, should it not be the parent of miser}'? and 
 why should the "life to come" be anticipated as a theatre 
 of action, developing more unalloNcd happiness as the 
 result of clearer knowledge and purer feeling ? If action
 
 172 Essays and Papers. 
 
 rightly regulated — extraneous causes apart — be not now 
 the condition of happiness, why should it ever be so ? 
 The words, " with whom is no variableness, neither 
 shadow of turning" (James i. 17), express one of the 
 highest ideals of Deity. Butler says, " Suppose the 
 invisible world, and the invisible dispensations of Pro- 
 vidence, to be in any sort analogous to what appears ; 
 or that both together make up one uniform scheme, the 
 two parts of which — the part which we see and that 
 which is beyond our observation — are analogous to 
 each other."* But how should this be if the prime 
 characteristic of virtue is not " uniform " here and 
 there? Butler says again, "Virtue to borrow the 
 Christian allusion, is militant here, and various untoward 
 accidents contribute to its being often overborne ; but it 
 may combat with greater advantages hereafter, and prevail 
 completely, and enjoy its consequent rewards in some 
 future states."* Rewards, be it observed, the offspring 
 of its own work, the product of its own powers, not 
 contingent benefits bestowed. Butler goes on to say, 
 " One might add, that suppose all this advantageous 
 tendency of virtue to become effect amongst one or more 
 orders of creatures, in any distant scenes and periods, 
 and to be seen by any orders of vicious creatures through- 
 out the universal kingdom of God ; — this happy effect of 
 virtue would have a tendenc}^, by way of example, and 
 possibly in other ways, to amend those of them who are 
 capable of amendment, and being recovered to a just 
 sense of virtue." Here is another passage on the same 
 subject — " Our finding virtue to be hindered from pro- 
 curing to itself such superiority and advantages is no 
 objection against its having, in the essential nature of 
 the thing, a tendency to procure them. And the sup- 
 positions now mentioned do plainly show this, for they 
 show that these hindrances are so far from being neces- 
 
 *■ Analogy, Part I. chap. iii.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morah. 173 
 
 sary that we ourselves can easily conceive how they may 
 be removed in future states, and full scope be granted to 
 virtue. And all these advantageous tendencies of it are 
 to be considered as declarations of God in its favour. 
 This, however, is taking a pretty large compass, though 
 it is certain that, as the material world appears to be in 
 a manner boundless and immense, there must be some 
 scheme of Providence vast in proportion to it.""^ 
 
 Mr. T. There is something grand in these speculations 
 of Butler, shadowed out as they are in such modest and 
 moderate words. Of course we are discussing the ques- 
 tion in the province of reason and analogy, and not in 
 that of revelation. 
 
 Mr. L. We are not encroaching upon the domain of 
 theology, but are keeping on the lower level, and what- 
 ever demands assent by methods of logical proof may be 
 tested by the same methods. Law and sequence reign 
 everywhere in the region of man's knowledge, and have 
 formed his mind to the belief of their universal pre- 
 dominance. Penetrate far as he may into the past, they 
 are never absent, and the future can only be thought of 
 as under their rule ; without them prevision and effort 
 would be unknown, they are the terms that construe to 
 his intelligence external phenomena. Applied to mental 
 phenomena, they have a deeper significance, and include 
 the moral effects produced upon sentient agents. Man 
 expects a state of more perfect happiness as the result of 
 more perfect order ; the idea is congruous with his 
 experience, and has thus established itself; but if it were 
 otherwise — if order were not progressive but fortuitous, 
 if it were the feebler force of the universe yielding up the 
 supremacy and falling back upon anarchy, if this " battle 
 of the warrior," — though "with confused noise, and 
 garments rolled in blood," — be here a random and dubious 
 conflict, man might say with Beatrice in " The Cenci " — 
 
 "* Analog}', Part I. chap. iii.
 
 1/4 Essavf' n^ui Papers. 
 
 " If there should be 
 No God, no Heaven, no earth in the void world ; 
 The wide, grey, lampless, deep, unpeopled world ! 
 
 If all thinsfs then should be — 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The atmosphere and breath of my dead life ! 
 
 Whoever yet returned 
 To teach the laws of death's untrodden realm ? 
 Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now, 
 Oh! whither, whither?" 
 
 Mr. T. To Beatrice, in her utter misery, the consti- 
 tution of tlie world seemed unjust, and she shrank from 
 the future lest it should be like the present ; and there is 
 between them a real analogy that warrants inferences from 
 the one to the other ; but then the facts must be rightly 
 apprehended, and in a serener atmosphere than Beatrice 
 was surrounded by they have another aspect, and it is 
 seen that pain is not undiscriminating and vengeful, but 
 regulated and remedial discipline. 
 
 Mr. L. And if it be discipline its successful action 
 may work its extinction. Wrong results both from 
 ignorance and ih-intention, and its consequence is pain, 
 near or remote. Again we may refer to the Bible. It 
 asserts " the servant which knew his lord's will, and pre- 
 pared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall 
 be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and 
 did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with 
 few stripes" (Luke xii. 47, 48). Now, it seems unreasonable 
 to beat a man with stripes, few or many, for that of 
 which he is ignorant, unless we take it for granted that 
 he is a rational agent, launched on a career of indefinite 
 improvement, in a world where pain is the instrument by 
 which he is taught and trained. The worth and meaning 
 of true words is their agreement with facts. " I speak as 
 to wise men ; judge ye what I say" (i Cor. x, 15) ; and 
 these words in St. Luke mean — as the facts are — that 
 stripes are administered to ignorance and to ill design,
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 175 
 
 and are few or many according to the nature of the 
 aberration they are to correct. Now, if the government 
 of the world be a moral government, it must be uniform, 
 and for the future tense of the apologue we may, in our 
 reasoning, substitute the present, and say not only that 
 he shall be hereafter beaten, but that he is so now, 
 
 Mr. T. Error can never be intentional, and yet pain 
 may be its unvarying result. Shelley says — 
 
 " If 1 have erred, there was no joy in error, 
 But pain and insult, and unrest and terror."® 
 
 But may not pain indurate the mind ? 
 
 Mr. L. To us, who only "know in part," it may 
 appear to do so. Circumstances interfere with our tests; 
 nevertheless the world is not a chaos ; pain is not pur- 
 poseless, and is not mere torment. 
 
 " This dread machinery 
 Of sin and sorrow would confound me else. 
 Devised — all pain, at most expenditure 
 Of pain by Who devised pain, — to evolve, 
 By new machinery in counterpart, 
 The moral qualities of man."t 
 
 There is a correspondence between man's subjective 
 nature and his objective circumstances, and as these are 
 well or ill adjusted to one another, he is happy or 
 otherwise, and the conditions of his life are or are not 
 attained. It matters not how this law of his life is 
 communicated to him, — whether by reason or by revela- 
 tion, — he will be right as far as he is at one with it, and his 
 capacity for enjoyment will be satisfied as he conforms to 
 and comprehends it. Once more, we have the point 
 stated in precise words in the Bible — " If ye know these 
 things, happy are ye if ye do them " (John xiii. 17). 
 Happiness is a product of the two factors — knowing and 
 doing; and is, moreover, the final cause of them, and 
 throughout their development is and should be their end 
 and aim. 
 
 * Julian and Maddalo. f The Ring and (he Book.
 
 176 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The plain truth is that no proposition 
 can be more palpably and egregiously false than the 
 assertion that, as far as this world is concerned, it is 
 invariably conducive to the happiness of man to pursue 
 the most virtuous career." (Page 63.) 
 
 Mr. L. Mr. Lecky has before said — "Happiness is 
 one of the most indeterminate and indefinable words in 
 the language." What, then, does he now mean by it ? 
 " Because sentence against an evil work is not executed 
 speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully 
 set in them to do evil" (Eccles. viii, 11). The experience 
 of Solomon — with the dimmest, if any, anticipations of a 
 future world — is at variance with Mr. Lecky's dictum. 
 The " sentence against an evil work " must be the bad 
 consequences, near and remote, that it produces ; and 
 because they are not in all cases immediate, " the heart 
 of the sons of men" foolishly assumes that it is "palpably 
 and egregiously false " to believe that the most " virtuous 
 career" is "invariably conducive to the happiness of 
 man." 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky can hardly mean, as a general rule, 
 that a virtuous career is not the most happy, but that it 
 is not invariably so. 
 
 Mr. L. We cannot dispel the ambiguity of the word 
 happiness, as Mr. Lecky here uses it ; we may say, man 
 is so constituted that his powers and functions are fitted 
 to produce more satisfaction in one way than in another, 
 and that the greatest amount of satisfaction is produced 
 by virtuous actions ; and a few exceptions would not 
 invalidate the rule. Industry is the surest road to wealth, 
 and idleness to poverty; yet, if an idle man should grow 
 rich, and an industrious one poor, we should not consider 
 the general proposition in any degree weakened. Industry 
 may be joined to foolishness, and idleness to shrewdness. 
 The law of gravity is of universal application, and yet an 
 ignorant observer might occasionally think it had been 
 suspended because it was counteracted b}' some other law
 
 Utiliiarian Theory of Morals. 177 
 
 that he was not acquainted with ; and so the law that 
 virtuous actions produce happiness may be apparently 
 thwarted by the intervention of some other law which 
 has been overlooked. 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky's proposition is a much more 
 sweeping one than we have yet noted. He asserts that, 
 so far as this world is concerned, a virtuous career is not 
 even invariably " conducive " to the happiness of man. It 
 is not single acts he speaks of, but a whole career of virtue, 
 which he says is not always conducive to happiness. 
 Surelv this is a rash assertion. 
 
 Mr. L. If he had said it was not invariably con- 
 ducive to worldly success, he might have been nearer the 
 truth, but even then he should show that a man's want of 
 success was due to his virtues and not to defects of know- 
 ledge and judgment ; he ought to prove that a man had 
 on his side all other qualities that conduce to happiness 
 and success, and that his failure resulted from his virtue ; 
 a virtuous disposition does not counterbalance every 
 deficiency of character, so far as happiness or success is 
 concerned. But, again, by what right does Mr. Lecky limit 
 the effects of a virtuous career to this world only ? is it so 
 certain that there is no other ? And are the hopes and 
 fears associated with another of no account ? do they form 
 no part of this world's retribution — increasing pleasure 
 and inflicting pain ? For, if they do, they must be reckoned 
 with, like whatever else enters into the composition of 
 happiness ; and every grain of social distrust and hatred 
 meted out to a man who injures society for his own 
 assumed interest, must be weighed and measured before 
 the final balance is struck. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The possibility of often adding to 
 the happiness of men by diffusing abroad, or at least sus- 
 taining, pleasing falsehoods, and the suffering that must 
 commonly result from their dissolution, can hardly reason- 
 ably be denied. There is one, and but one, adequate 
 reason that can always justify men in critically reviewing 
 
 12
 
 178 Essays mid Papers. 
 
 what they have been taught. It is the conviction that 
 opinions should not be regarded as mere mental luxuries ; 
 that truth should be deemed an end distinct from and 
 superior to utility, and that it is a moral duty to pursue it 
 whether it leads to pleasure or whether it leads to pain." 
 Mr. L. Mr. Lecky ought to tell us what he means by 
 the word happiness, which he uses very vaguely. It is clear 
 enough that men are sometimes under so strong a delusion 
 "that they believe a lie" (2 Thess. ii. 11) ; and the lies 
 are probably "pleasing;" and their "dissolution" the 
 cause of some " suffering." But surely no one would 
 contend that it is better, mentally or morally, to believe 
 a "pleasing" falsehood than an unpalatable truth. No 
 matter how "pleasing" falsehood may appear, a rational 
 mind prefers truth. There are in the world hosts of 
 pleasing lies, which men steadfastly believe and reluctantly 
 part with. A railway company's accounts may be pleasing, 
 while they are a heap of lies ; and it cannot " reasonably 
 be denied " that much " suffering" results from the "dis- 
 solution " of such lies. But the " dissolution " of all lies is 
 only a question of time ; and the happiness diffused 
 abroad by lies and shams nmst, sooner or later, come to a 
 painful end. Let a man entertain a sufficient number of 
 pleasing falsehoods, and let their absurdity be sufficiently 
 marked, and he will presently find himself in a madhouse ; 
 or let him manage his commercial affairs by pleasing 
 falsehoods, and his happiness will be of short duration. 
 Nor can it be supposed that in weightier matters the fate 
 of pleasing falsehoods, if less traceable, is less destructive. 
 In reference to man's condition and prospects in this world 
 it is his "moral duty" to ascertain, as far as may be, 
 what is truth, for upon the knowledge of it depends his 
 happiness and well-being. 
 
 " Seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven."* 
 
 A man engages in the pursuit of truth because he loves 
 
 * Sh.'ikcsjn-.ire,
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 179 
 
 it; he seeks to know, because " knowledge is pleasant" 
 (Prov. ii. 10). But if the condition of things were reversed 
 — if to understand the relations in which he is placed only 
 discovered and aggravated his wretchedness, and yielded 
 him no enjoyment and no aid, it would not then be 
 his "moral duty" to pursue such truth, any more 
 than it is now a moral duty to torture and torment him- 
 self without an object. He has found by experience 
 that truth and knowledge — and in this sense they are 
 convertible terms — enable him to comprehend the laws 
 and relations by which he is surrounded ; and he has 
 discovered that in proportion as he becomes acquainted 
 with them, his lot in life is ameliorated and his power 
 enlarged, and he goes forward with the firm assurance that 
 this is a condition of things stable and permanent, and 
 that truth is a possession which ever and everywhere has 
 its reward. It is not, as Mr. Lecky puts it, " an end dis- 
 tinct from and superior to utility." It is because of its 
 utility, because it is prolific of the means by which happi- 
 ness is increased and multiplied amongst men, that it is 
 worthy of being pursued. Show us a knowledge that is 
 profitless, a truth that is utterly barren of all useful con- 
 sequences — yielding and paying no tribute to man — an end 
 and not a means — and we may safely affirm that it is 
 no part of man's " moral duty " to pursue it. Mr. Lecky 
 argues that the delusions we cling to in our ignorance are 
 preferable to the doubt and the struggle which at length 
 dispel them ; as if to be " clothed and in his right mind," 
 in however lowly a garb, were not a nobler thing for a 
 man, than to be " monarch of all he surveys," in a 
 madhouse. 
 
 Mr. T. Admitting that some men mentioned in the 
 Bible have sought goodness for such rewards as it might 
 possess or promise, and admittmg that sentiments com- 
 mending this conduct are found in the Bible^ is this such 
 evidence as overturns Mr. Lecky's proposition that, ''in 
 exact proportion as we believe a desire for personal 
 
 12 "*
 
 t8o Esfiays and Papers. 
 
 enjoyment to be the motive of a good act, is the merit of 
 the agent diminished "' ? 
 
 Mr. L. It will hardly be denied, whatever Mr. Lecky 
 may say^ that a man acts from the idea of some pleasure 
 to be derived from the action. As a child, he acts in the 
 business of learning from the pleasure it gives, or from 
 the pleasure he receives from the approbation of his 
 parents or instructors, or perhaps from fear of the pain 
 they may inflict ; and the habits so formed, if wisely 
 generated, become themselves sources of pleasure. Sub- 
 sequent steps in life are made under the same influence, 
 and with the same result. 
 
 Mr. T. The motive to an action then is the idea of 
 some pleasure to be acquired by our own effort. That a 
 motive should be the desire of pain is inconceivable, 
 although Mr. Lecky asserts that the merit of an agent is 
 diminished just as the desire of personal enjoyment is the 
 motive of his act. 
 
 Mr. L. If men's actions and efforts are designed to 
 secure their own advantage, and if the motive is that 
 which moves to action, then the prospect of advantage 
 constitutes the motive. Mr. Lecky may despise personal 
 enjoyment, mankind do not ; but they do differ very 
 widely as to what constitutes it. The causes of their 
 pleasure or personal enjo3'ment are innumerable, and 
 why good actions should be excluded from the catalogue, 
 or, being sources of pleasure, why they should not be 
 desired as such, is inconceivable. 
 
 Mr. T. It is reckoned mean and unworthy to act from 
 interested motives. 
 
 Mr. L. It would be very remarkable for any one to 
 act from motives in which he felt no interest ; the notion 
 is repugnant, a man must feel interest in what moves him 
 to act. 
 
 Mr. T. The motive^ I suppose, is to be regarded solely 
 as the impulse to action ? 
 
 Mr. L. The word is used looseh-, but this seems its
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. i8r 
 
 proper signification. When Macbeth, meditating the 
 
 murder of Duncan, says — 
 
 " I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition," 
 
 he impHes that the motive which had stimulated him 
 was flagging, and another motive, which pleased him 
 better, was getting the mastery of it. He also says — 
 
 " We will proceed no further in this business. 
 He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions of all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon." 
 
 The golden opinions to be retained by loyal actions were, 
 for the moment, more pleasurable ideas than the crown 
 of Duncan to be gotten by murder. The motive to the 
 murder was not the pleasure of killing, but the pleasur- 
 able idea of wearing a crown — a thing in no wise immoral ; 
 the motive that for an instant quelled it was the pleasure 
 derived from golden opinions ; and whichever motive 
 finally prevailed, did so by its greater present pleasurable- 
 ness. He swayed backward and forward as the idea of 
 one or other pleasure acquired the ascendancy, and 
 neither of them had strictly a moral quahty : 
 
 " I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent." 
 
 It was the intent that constituted the guilt, the intention 
 to obtain by murder the pleasure of a " kingly crown." 
 Macbeth did not hke the act, it needed the "spur " of a 
 powerful motive to overcome his reluctance, and it was 
 only when the taunts of his wife were thrown into the 
 scale that the balance turned. Her contemptuous opinion 
 dashed to pieces the golden opinions that had stayed his 
 hand, and the motive of ambition did its work. 
 
 Mr. T. Each of the motives acting upon him was the 
 desire of personal enjoyment. The one motive led him
 
 1 82 Essays mid Papers. 
 
 to crime, the other to abstain from it ; and the damnin,^ 
 fact against him was that he sought personal enjoyment 
 by the injury of others. But that he should seek and 
 receive it from the honour conferred upon him by 
 Duncan, and from the golden opinions of all sorts of 
 people, could not be derogatory to him. 
 
 Mr. L. If it is the natural consequence of good acts to 
 command approbation — to win golden opinions, and if 
 the approbation of others gives personal enjoyment, can 
 it bs immoral to desire it ? or if moral approbation be 
 the effect of which moral action is the cause, and if this 
 be part of the order of things, can it be blamable in 
 striving for the cause to desire also the effect ? 
 
 Mr. T. I should say not. 
 
 Mr. L. Would you think it derogatory to a moral 
 agent that he derived happiness from moral action ? 
 
 Mr. T. Certainly not. 
 
 Mr. L. Or that, finding happiness in moral action, 
 the motives to it — by reason of their pleasurableness — 
 operated always promptly and decisively ? 
 
 Mr. T. I can see nothing derogatory in this. Delight- 
 ing in moral action as a cause of happiness is the directing 
 antecedent of delighting in it on account of its morality. 
 
 Mr. L. But its causing the happiness and wellbeing 
 of moral agents is precisely what entitles it to be called 
 moral. 
 
 Mr. T. But food and clothing do this. 
 
 Mr. L. Exactly. But then food and clothing are not 
 actions; the act of giving food and clothing to the necessi- 
 tous may be a good action, and so may the industry that 
 earns them for one's self. 
 
 Mr. T. At any rate it is clear a man may find his 
 happiness in good actions, and may come to think prima- 
 rily of their goodness, and apparently derive pleasure 
 from this source alone ; but the product is not the less 
 pleasure, and is caused by something of which it is the 
 projicr effect.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 183 
 
 Mr. L. It is a mere truism to say that if the effect of 
 moral action be pleasure, the cause of pleasure is moral 
 action ; and that if the cause be desirable it is no dis- 
 paragement to desire the effect. 
 
 Mr. T. To put the question in the shortest way, is 
 the action performed for the sake of the pleasure or for 
 its own sake ? 
 
 Mr. L. The two become so blended together by good 
 culture and habit that they are not separable, and that is 
 felt to be pleasurable which is known to be right. 
 
 Mr. T. And, under the same culture and conditions, 
 that is felt to be painful which is known to be wrong. 
 
 Mr. L. We buy such things as books and pictures for 
 the pleasure they give, and this no one disputes ; though 
 how a man should receive pleasure from a printed book 
 must, to a savage, be a mystery. Now, think of another 
 group of acts, not the mere personal class, like the buy- 
 ing of books, but acts bringing us into relation with our 
 fellow-creatures, which are to us sources of the highest 
 pergonal enjoyment. " I was an hungered, and ye gave 
 me meat : I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a 
 stranger, and ye took me in : naked, and ye clothed me : 
 I was sick, and ye visited me : I was in prison, and ye 
 came unto me " (Matt. xxv. 35). Why may not each of 
 these acts be a cause of pleasure ; and would they be per- 
 formed if they were for ever as painful as the toothache ? 
 At first they may be performed from the pleasure of 
 imitating some who are loved and admired. Then follows 
 the distinct pleasure of alleviating sorrow, and then the 
 habit of acting contributes its quota. No element may 
 be exactly discriminated, but the product is properly 
 pleasure. 
 
 Mr. T. The full consequences of habit need to be 
 recognized, not only as giving facility of action but as 
 making it pleasurable ; we desire, say, some improvement 
 in our own character, or some advancement in life, and 
 each involves effort in a certain degree painful, but the
 
 184 Essays and Papers . 
 
 pleasurable idea of what is to be gained — the motive- — 
 keeps us steady, and then the effort itself becomes 
 pleasure. 
 
 Mr. L. If the continued and persistent doing of what 
 is not at first pleasing becomes pleasant, why should 
 moral action be excluded from this law of our nature ? 
 Acting from habit in morals is not complained of, but 
 when the habit is converted into pleasure and becomes 
 a motive, it gets an indifferent name. Education and 
 training, wisely directed, may form a disposition that 
 responds promptly to the motives that produce moral 
 actions, and the process may be one of pleasure, and 
 this result seems to me the highest triumph of moral 
 training. 
 
 Mr. T. Man's activities all yield pleasure greater or 
 less. When nature wants a thing done she makes the 
 doing of it pleasant. Pleasure is not a thing to be 
 rejected, but selected. Pleasure that satisfies and stays 
 proves itself suited to our nature and constitution, and 
 may be sought without any reproach. Our literature 
 boasts of the " Pleasures of the Imagination," the " Plea- 
 sures of Hope," and the " Pleasures of Memory." And 
 though 
 
 " Pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flower — the bloom is shed, 
 Or like the snowflake on the river, 
 A moment white — then gone for ever," * 
 
 they are not all of this class. Human nature may at times 
 be content with ".husks," but it has a capacity for feeding 
 on bread, and finding pleasure in it. 
 
 Mr. L. John Howard, in his quiet home in England, 
 could not rest because of the miserable wretches immured 
 in foreign prisons, — the burden of their sorrows oppressed 
 him, and he devoted himself to their relief. His neigh- 
 bour, John Smith, had an eager desire for objects of 
 
 * Burns.
 
 L'tilitariaii TJicory of Murals. 185 
 
 beauty, — pictures, marbles, and manuscripts ; he lived 
 sparingly, he formed no family ties, he sought no society; 
 he travelled far and wide in pursuit of his objects, 
 endured many hardships, and at last, alone and in a 
 foreign land, " in the worst inn's worst room," he died. 
 Howard ameliorated the condition of some ruffians and 
 some unfortunates, and humanized men's thoughts, and 
 left a noble example. Smith rescued from destruction 
 an inestimable manuscript and a priceless picture ; by 
 the one he confirmed the hopes and by the other 
 increased the pleasures of innumerable men, but this 
 formed no part of his intention. The world rates these 
 two men differently, and their objects were greatly 
 different ; but each found a certain pleasure in his work, 
 and each sacrificed for it something he appreciated less ; 
 but the purpose of Howard was the loftier one, as the 
 pleasure received from doing good to one's degraded 
 fellow-creatures surpasses that received from acts ter- 
 minating on oneself. Howard's ambition was to do 
 something for others, Smith thought only of himself. 
 
 Mr. T. The Smiths are a large tribe, in whom the 
 instinct of doing something for themselves is probably 
 pretty well developed, but I do not recollect this parti- 
 cular one, 
 
 Mr. L. You will find a memoir of him in the Gentle- 
 man's Magazine. 
 
 Mr. T. And you say that by original constitution, or 
 by circumstances, he sought his pleasures in the way 
 you describe ; and that Howard, differently constituted, 
 pursued different objects, deriving from them the satis- 
 faction they were fitted to give ? 
 
 Mr. L. Compel John How^ard to devote his life to art 
 treasures, and existence loses its interest and pleasure ; 
 compel John Smith to explore prisons and dungeons, and 
 his life becomes joyless — unless in each case the employ- 
 ment is one needful for subsistence and is duly paid for. 
 The pay of mental gratification would keep neither at his
 
 1 86 Essays and Papers. 
 
 work ; but the ingredient of a needed and substantial 
 stipend overcomes the obstacle; the work goes on, and 
 gradually becomes pleasant. Howard and Smith, as 
 stipendiaries, are brought pretty much to the same level, 
 for their acts have little in them that is voluntary, and 
 therefore little that is moral ; each works for himself, 
 and has his reward. The work is done for the wages, 
 and has, perhaps, some meed of merit. But moral appro- 
 bation bestowed upon moral effort is also substantial 
 enjoyment to him " who can receive it ; "' and in the last 
 resort a man has his own approbation when the conditions 
 of his mental and moral constitution are satisfied, though 
 the world be against him. 
 
 Mr. T. The idea of a reward is mostly associated with 
 some extraneous thing, and the word is rather spoiled for 
 expressing more refined gratification, 
 
 Mr. L. We may get too refined in our language. I 
 know you don't like being knocked down by the sledge 
 hammer of authority, but as we are considering what, 
 after all, is only the dictum of Mr. Lecky, the dictum of 
 St. Paul may be at least worth as much, and he says 
 plainly, " So run that ye may obtain ; " obtaining there- 
 fore is to be the motive ; and he then adds, " Every one 
 that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things ; 
 now they do it for a corruptible crown, and we for an 
 incorruptible." Whatever you may think of the com- 
 parison, the meaning is not to be mistaken : the athlete's 
 object was a corruptible crown, the apostle's an incor- 
 ruptible, — such is his own confession. 
 
 Mr. T. A reward of this magnitude offers of course 
 an overwhelming motive. 
 
 Mr. L. That is not the question raised by Mr. Lecky, 
 but this — Can the motive of personal enjoyment operate 
 at all in moral action, without deteriorating the merit of 
 the agent ? And the fact overlooked by Mr. Lecky is, 
 that an incorruptible crown may be a mental state which 
 creates and controls the sources of happiness. The Ian-
 
 I'tilitarian Theory of Morals. ii\j 
 
 guage in which ideas on this subject are expressed is that 
 of man's earher and ruder notions ; but the facts of his 
 Hfe and his faculties being at one, happiness ensues, 
 larger capacities are developed, and the motives to expand 
 and invigorate them operate unceasingly, whilst at every 
 step they promote and stimulate personal enjoyment. 
 
 Mr. T. The machinery of man's nature, being adapted 
 to its work, must have its counterpart in the condition of 
 things and the rule of right under which he is placed, and 
 the harmonious interaction of these is what you mean by 
 happiness or personal enjoyment ; the desire therefore of 
 this must be the indispensable prelude of man's improve- 
 ment at every stage of his existence, from the lowest to 
 the highest. 
 
 Mr. L. If the desire of personal enjoyment does, as 
 Mr. Lecky says, deteriorate moral action, what is the 
 goal to which human nature is tending ? If conformity 
 to physical law means personal enjoyment " after its 
 kind," why should adaptation to moral law have a 
 different effect ? and if the one is desirable why not the 
 other? Mr. Lecky fails to discriminate between personal 
 enjoyment and the causes of it ; but the causes are 
 sought for their effects, and the causes may be anything, 
 from a corruptible crown of parsley to an incorruptible 
 one of power and activity and moral conquest. Of duty 
 Wordsworth says — 
 
 " Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know we anything so fair, 
 As is the smile upon thy face." 
 
 Mr. T. {reads). " Among the many wise sayings which 
 antiquity ascribed to Pythagoras, few are more remark- 
 able than his division of virtue into two distinct branches 
 — to seek truth, and to do good." 
 
 Mr. L. One scarcely sees the remarkable merit of this 
 division. To seek truth is to do good after a particular 
 manner. Doing good is the genus, of which seeking
 
 1 88 E^miys and Papers. 
 
 truth is a species. It is comprehended M'ithin it, as a 
 greater includes a less. Virtue therefore, according to 
 this definition, is doing good; but good is a relative term, 
 the boundaries of which must be settled by the condition 
 and circumstances of the beings to whom it is applicable. 
 Where " they neither marry nor are given in marriage," 
 all the good that arises here from the conjugal relation- 
 ship would be incomprehensible ; and so it might be with 
 other sorts of good. To do good we must know what it 
 is, in relation to the persons who are to be affected by it. 
 As the faculties and constitution vary, the relations may 
 vary also. Good must represent an equation. Man is 
 seeking truth when he investigates his various relations, 
 and he attains it just as his subjective ideas correspond 
 to objective realities, and he obtains good as this 
 correspondence is worked out in his life. To do good 
 needs not only the disposition to do it, but also a 
 knowledge of what it is, for the disposition without the 
 knowledge has not sufficed to keep the straight road. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " No discussions, I conceive, can be 
 more idle than whether slavery, or the slaughter of 
 prisoners in war, or gladiatorial shows, or polygamy, are 
 essentially wrong. They may be wrong now ; they were 
 not so once." 
 
 Mr. L. This is a bold assertion for an intuitive 
 moralist who maintains the immutability of moral 
 distinctions, but whose theory here has so far perplexed 
 him that the questions it ought to solve he pronounces 
 more idle than any he can conceive. According to Mr. 
 Lecky, cock-fighting and bull-baiting, though they may 
 be wrong now, were not so once ; and Mr. Lecky has 
 here grown particularly cautious in his language ; he 
 does not positively assert that these things are wrong 
 even now, all that he says is, they may be. Slavery may 
 be wrong now — it was not so once ! One would like to be 
 informed when the transition from right to wrong took 
 ])lace. Cowper imbibed his hatred of slavery whilst it
 
 Utilitarian Tlicory of Morals. i8g 
 
 had a most respectable name, just when his future friend 
 John Newton of Ohiey was a slave trader ; and Clarkson 
 denounced it in the face of hostile Courts and Parlia- 
 ments. Was it the Emancipation Act that made it 
 morally wrong to hold slaves, or was the Act passed 
 because it had been discovered that, economically and 
 morally, slavery was a bad institution ? If this latter 
 were the fact, then slavery was always evil, unless the 
 constitution of things has changed, and unless it was 
 once good for men to possess absolute and uncontrolled 
 power over other men and women. If neither of these 
 propositions be true, then slavery was always one of 
 those clumsy contrivances which, as producing a plentiful 
 crop of evil — moral and material — is "essentially wrong; "- 
 If Imperial Rome possessed a Clarkson or a Granville 
 Sharp, who deplored the fallen condition of his countr}', 
 and knew that — 
 
 " Self-abasement paved the way, 
 To villain-bonds and despot sway " — 
 
 he might have seen in the barbarities of the arena both 
 a cause and an effect of the evil ; but we learn from 
 Mr. Lecky that he would have been mistaken. The 
 Roman aristocracy, for their own purposes, pandered to 
 the vile taste of the Roman populace ; and Mr. Lecky 
 tells us that these Roman holidays were not wrong. 
 The indestructible interests of human nature have better 
 interpreters than Mr. l^ecky. Prejudices may warp men's 
 mind, and ignorance may cloud them, but a remnant 
 remains (like the seven thousand in Israel) who refuse 
 to bow the knee to the Baals of the period, and who 
 are not imposed upon by falsehoods and shams. Power 
 and wealth may dazzle the multitude, and win a slavish 
 applause to e^'il deeds, but the day of reckoning comes, 
 and a solitary Elijah is seldom wanting to brave the 
 tyrant of the hour — 
 
 " And tell him that 
 His evil is not <jood."
 
 igo Essays and Papers. 
 
 The hand that chiselled the dying Gladiator might have 
 been that of a contemporary, instinct with all the indig- 
 nation which glows in Byron's immortal stanzas, for Byron 
 does but translate into words the feelmgs and conceptions 
 which he finds in the sculptor's work — 
 
 " I see before me the Gladiator lie ; 
 He leans upon his hand, his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
 And thro' his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
 Fire ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
 who won. 
 
 He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
 
 He reck'd not of the life he lost, nor pri/;e : 
 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
 
 There were his young barbarians all at play ; 
 
 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
 
 Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — 
 
 All this rush'd with his blood ; shall he expire. 
 
 And unavenged ? Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! " 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky actually extenuates the " gladiato- 
 rial shows," by alleging that they "were originally a form 
 of human sacrifice adopted through religious motives." 
 
 Mr. L . This sort of apology only adds to the confusion ; 
 if we assume that the gladiatorial shows were thus insti- 
 tuted, does religiousness of motive cure the "deep damna- 
 tion " of an evil deed ? Wholesale slaughter was not a 
 whit the less devilish because it was done to propitiate a 
 devil who had usurped the place and name of a god. A 
 thing utterly evil, notwithstanding what Mr. Lecky calls 
 the "religious motives " in which it originates, remains 
 evil ; roasting a man for his belief or disbelief is unalter- 
 ably evil, though it ma}' be done imder the influence of
 
 Utilitarian Tlico)'}' of Morals. 191 
 
 motives the most religious. Things are what they are, be 
 the superstitions of men never so abject — 
 
 " Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not the devil's crest." * 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Leckyfits into his system another piece of 
 barbaric virtue. He says, "The rude nomadic Hfe.of 
 savages rendering impossible the preservation of aged 
 and helpless members of the tribe, the murder of parents 
 was regarded as an act of mercy both by the murderer 
 and the victim." 
 
 Mr. L. The exigencies of Mr. Lecky's theory must 
 have pressed him very hard before he could have advanced 
 such arguments in support of it. Men with an innate 
 moral sense, it seems, regarded murder as mercy, and 
 the murdered participated in the mistake ; but after all 
 they were perhaps not mistaken, and the brutal starvation 
 to which the " helpless " were subjected, might advanta- 
 geously be exchanged for the repose of death; which means 
 that the morality of "savages" made life less desirable 
 than death. What a mystification comes of these abstract 
 words. " Benevolence," Mr. Lecky tells us, " is always 
 a virtuous disposition/' and sureh' " mercy " is not less 
 so, and when it leads to systematic murder we must 
 conclude that murder is a virtue ; the murder of 
 Napoleon's soldiers at Jaffa was accounted by him an act 
 of mercy, when their preservation became impossible. 
 What an admirable disguise words furnish for all manner 
 of h3'pocrisies. Instead of Mr. Lecky's word "impossible," 
 read " inconvenient," and the argument falls to the ground. 
 There are in civilized life " noTiadic savages," who 
 assure Boards of Guardians that it is " impossible " for 
 them to provide for their " aged and helpless " parent, 
 as the law requires, and as killing them is no longer 
 reckoned an "act of mercy," these savages are obliged 
 either to undergo some privation themselves, and thus 
 
 * \Ieasiire for Measure.
 
 192 Essays and Papers. 
 
 contributes to the "preservation" of their helpless 
 parents or they are made to expiate the " impossible " 
 condition of their affairs by a few months' residence, with 
 hard labour, in one of her Majesty's gaols. If Mr. 
 Lecky's " nomadic savages," taking stock of their food, 
 and finding not enough of it for all, quietly murdered the 
 helpless — young or old — the act was a fiendish one ; for 
 those who in this fashion murder to-day will to-morrow 
 as ruthlessly do it again for any cause or for none. But 
 there was no calm inquiry and judicial murder, the 
 "helpless" were the weak, whose labour no longer left 
 the strong leisure to loaf about, and weakness had the 
 misfortune to consume food instead of producing it ; the 
 cupboard of the savage was bare, his appetite fierce, his 
 passion unrestrained, and his " helpless " parent or 
 partner paid the penalty, and then — ■ 
 
 " You might see 
 The longings of the cannibal arise." 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " Nearly all moralists would acknow- 
 ledge that a few instances of immorality would not pre- 
 vent the excursion train from being on the whole a good 
 thing. All would acknowledge that very numerous in- 
 stances would more than counter-balance its advantages. 
 
 . The impossibility of drawing in such cases a distinct 
 line of division is no argument against the intuitive 
 m.oralist, for that impossibility is shared to the full extent 
 b}' his rival." 
 
 Mr. L. As Mr. Lecky cannot determine the question 
 by an intuitive standard, but is compelled to calculate the 
 balance of advantages, he conforms to the rule I contend 
 for. Some cases are easier of determination than others, 
 and the process by which the conclusion is arrived at 
 may often be overlooked, but if we are ever compelled to 
 balance good and evil to get at a result, why is the method 
 not always available ? One man will tell you shortly that 
 to work on Sunday is to break the Sabbath, and there is
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 193 
 
 an end of it ; but even he is obliged to discriminate 
 between work of different kinds — allowing one sort, 
 and forbidding another ; so that his ultimate standard 
 must be authority or utility ; and words of authority 
 must be measured by their agreement with things, which 
 are the final, most cogent, and inflexible of interpreters. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). "The moralists I am defending assert 
 that we possess a natural power of distinguishing between 
 the higher and lower parts of our nature." 
 
 Mr. L. In the course of Mr. Lecky's first chapter 
 he uses these words — higher and lower, as applied to 
 man's nature, some twenty or thirty times, without ever 
 explaining what he means by them. High and low 
 are but figurative words applied to moral subjects, and 
 we want to know what is the specific quality on account 
 of which they are so distinguished. To say merely of 
 man's enjoyments they are higher or lower throws httle 
 light upon them ; one sort may be more social than 
 another, they may be more durable, more under control, 
 may iiave more variety and less satiety ; they are there- 
 fore higher because they are more beneficial in their 
 consequences : 
 
 " Man might live at first 
 The animal life; but is there nothing more ? 
 In due time, let him critically learn 
 How he lives ; and the more he gets to know 
 Of his own life's adaptabilities 
 The more joy-giving will his life become: 
 The man who iiath this quality is best! " * 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky says " we possess a natural 
 power;" and "we," for the purposes of his argument, 
 must mean mankind ; but in the early stages of society 
 the muscular part of man's nature is mostly reckoned 
 higher than any other; he has certainly a natural power 
 of " distinguishing between " strength and weakness, he 
 finds it " excellent to have a giant's strength," but has he 
 
 * Cleon, by Rol.erl Browning. 
 
 13
 
 194 Essays and Papers. 
 
 primitively any notion that it is hateful and " tyrannous 
 to use it like a giant ? " 
 
 Mr. L. I should say not. But suppose we want to 
 graduate this scale of higher or lower to our own social 
 circumstances, where are we to look for the " natural 
 power ? " We may assume that what is morally right is 
 higher than its opposite, and we ask, is it morally right 
 for a man to marry his deceased wife's sister? And if we 
 cannot decide the question by an appeal to some law 
 of acknowledged obligation, we must try it by an appeal 
 to the circumstances of society, and to the various interests 
 affected by it, and we conclude it is moral or immoral as 
 one or other set of considerations preponderate. If, during 
 a lengthened period, the law has forbidden such marriages, 
 then the feeling of the people, — what would be called their 
 " intuitive perception," would pronounce them wrong ; but 
 let the law be altered under the force of discussion and 
 example, and in a certain time it will come to pass that 
 such marriages will be contracted without any conscious- 
 ness of wrong — the former " intuitive perception " not- 
 withstanding. Mr. Lecky has said that "to the great 
 majority of mankind it will probably appear, in spite of 
 the doctrine of Paley, that no multiple of the pleasure of 
 eating pastry can be equivalent to the pleasure derived 
 from a generous action. It is not that the latter is so 
 inconceivably intense. It is that it is of a higher order." 
 Mr. Lecky is sadly addicted to grand assertions. What 
 may appear to the majority of mankind is more easy to 
 affirm than to prove, and I fancy that to hungry savages 
 the eating of a quantity of pastry would be a greater 
 pleasure than remaining hungry and generously bestowing 
 the pastry upon fellow-savages. A well-regulated mind, 
 not goaded by an empty stomach, would soon decide 
 between a generous action and the pleasure of eating 
 pastry, and no doubt the former kind of pleasure is of a 
 " higher order" than the latter, but how is the comparison 
 to be made? If generous actions were always injurious
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 195 
 
 in their operations and their results, who would perform 
 them ? Just as, if eating pastry invariably produced 
 disease and death, no one would touch it. 
 
 Mr. T. The eating of pastry is a solitary pleasure, the 
 doing a generous act a social one, and the social is worth 
 more than the solitary, as " two are better than one " 
 (Eccles. iv. 9). But there must be a trial before there can 
 be a verdict ; the pleasure of eating, to young children, is 
 commonly greater than the pleasure of being generous ; 
 the latter has to be cultivated, and may be partially 
 inherited, but the normal instinct is 
 
 " That they should take who have the power, 
 And they should keep who can." 
 
 What affects the individual is felt first, what concerns 
 others comes into play later. 
 
 Mr. L. Generosity implies that there are in the world 
 wants and pains and the means of alleviating them, and 
 that a certain feeling is associated with the act ; cancel 
 any of the items, and generosity changes or ceases ; 
 or, if giving created positive mischief, the impulse in a 
 reasonable mind would be restrained by the same 
 principle that now forbids us to seek gratification by 
 the injury of another. A moral action is one that does 
 more good than harm, and when the pleasure of being 
 generous produces an overbalance of bad consequences 
 it is no longer a virtue but a weakness ; the experience of 
 mankind on this subject is embodied in the maxim that 
 we should be just before we are generous, which means 
 that the consequences of just actions are of more value 
 to society than the consequences of generous ones ; and 
 if we had instruments that could as accurately and 
 certainly measure other kinds of actions, we should have 
 as little doubt respecting them. 
 
 Mr. T. These two sets of actions — the generous and the 
 just — have been observed and estimated, and it has been 
 found out that the just ones are of more value than the 
 
 13 ^
 
 196 Essays and Papers. 
 
 generous ones, and the conclusion appears in the form of 
 a maxim, and you say that experience can as truly teach 
 the value of other actions, and that such value is, as in 
 this case, their utility. A moral action you say is one 
 that does more good than harm ; but then what is meant 
 by the word good ? 
 
 Mr. L. The word good, as I understand it, expresses 
 some special quality of objects affecting man's sentient 
 nature. Man onl}' knows these objects as they affect him ; 
 they do not always affect him in the same degree and 
 manner, hence the various estimates he forms of them. 
 In some departments of life the estimates are tolerably 
 constant, the relations are simple, and the results 
 uniform ; physical good is much the same to everybody. 
 But as relations become more complex differences arise ; 
 \\hen we get out of the sphere of the simply physical 
 into that where living agents act upon one another, the 
 conditions are more involved : The problem, however, is 
 still the same — to bring the relations into harmony ; or, 
 in other words, to get out of them the most of what they 
 possess which is felt to be good ; the word good here 
 standing for something more than mere physical good, 
 and comprehending whatever the profounder relations of 
 sentient minds is able to bestow. Physical good the 
 individual chooses for himself, subject to physical law ; 
 but when his actions affect the welfare of others their 
 estimates must be reckoned with, and the larger the 
 number affected the more arduous the reckoning ; the 
 problem is not altered, only complicated ; the sentient 
 nature of an ever-increasing number has to be cared for 
 and considered in its reciprocal action ; the relations 
 include new consequences, and the rules that regulate 
 them undergo a corresponding change, but the end is 
 always the same, — good, derivable from the relations ; 
 and it is found as before, in their adjustment to each 
 other ; more subtle and delicate machinery may be at 
 work, — a sentient nature of wider compass, but objects
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murah. 197 
 
 suited to it exist, which it seeks, and those which confer 
 the greatest benefits are most valuable or useful. Utility, 
 in its widest signification, becomes the ultimate law that re- 
 gulates action, and useful is a name for the cause of good. 
 
 Mr. T. So that, when Mr. Lecky objected to utility as 
 the measure of virtue, because it would imply, as he said, 
 that a fruitful field or a navigable river being useful would 
 possess the element of virtue, he might equally have 
 objected to the word good, for if a field is useful the crop 
 may be good, and if a navigable river is useful the water 
 of it may be good. 
 
 Mr. L. Certainly, the one w^ord is open to the same 
 objection as the other, for they both represent multifarious 
 things, and the things most useful as developing in their 
 order and proportion the powers and relations of a living 
 agent must be causes of his greatest good ; the same 
 things might not be the greatest good of a differently 
 organised being, for that will be its good which is adapted 
 to the organisation. 
 
 Mx. T. The word is frequently used in an abstract 
 way, as if there were good apart from good things. Mark 
 Antony says " the evil that men do lives after them, the 
 good is oft interred with their bones," and in this form 
 the word suggests the idea of good distinct from good 
 acts and their consequences. Dr. McCosh has this 
 strange proposition, " The good is good, altogether 
 independent of the pleasure it may bring."* 
 
 Mr. L. Good is a word made by man to express some 
 quality of the objects that affect him, and it is clear he 
 could not have had the word until he had the previous 
 experience of something to which he could apply it, and 
 this was of course the pleasure or feeling produced in his 
 mind. Independent of this feeling or pleasure the word 
 has no meaning; a thing may indeed be good independent 
 of the pleasure it brings to particular agents ; but it is a 
 
 * The IiUuitions of the Mind, Book IV. s. ill.
 
 ig8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 misnomer to call that good which brings no pleasure to 
 any sentient nature in the universe. In every one of its 
 phases good is a name for what brings pleasure to 
 sentient agents, and apart from or independent of such 
 agents the word would be unintelligible. It expresses a 
 relation between what is subjective and what is objective, 
 and when the relation is destroyed there is nothing to be 
 named ; if we are dealing with a perceiving ag ;nt, and 
 naming things as perceived or felt by it, when the per- 
 ception is abolished nothing can be predicated. 
 
 Mr. T. Resistance is a word that expresses the feel- 
 ing received from an object we call hard ; annihilate the 
 feeling, and the word hard would have no place in our 
 Vocabulary. 
 
 Mr. L. So far as we know good, it is an attribute of 
 things as they affect sentient agents, using the word in its 
 largest meaning. Hooker says, " The end for which we 
 are moved to work is son:ietimes the goodness which we 
 conceive of the very working itself, without any further 
 respect at all, and the cause that procureth action is the 
 mere desire of action, no other good besides being 
 thereby intended. . . . All things are somewhat in 
 possibility, which as yet they are not in act. And for 
 this cause there is in all things an appetite or desire 
 whereby they incline to something which they may be, 
 and when they are it they shall be perfecter than they 
 now are. All which perfections are contained under the 
 general name of goodness. And because there is not in 
 the world anything whereby another may not some way 
 be made perfecter, therefore all things that are, are 
 
 TOod."^ 
 
 8^ 
 
 Mr. T. They are good as satisfying some part of 
 man's nature, and whatever does so, high or low, he calls 
 good. 
 
 Air. L. And moral good is this particular relation at 
 
 * Kcclesiaslical Polity, Book I.
 
 Utililarian TJicory of Morals. igg 
 
 its best, bestowing the most good, through the appropriate 
 means ; we become acquainted with moral good mainly 
 through laws and rules which experience has discovered 
 and enjoined, and the reason or foundation of them is 
 the well-being of those who are affected by them. 
 Hooker calls his great work, " Of the Laws of Eccle- 
 siastical Polity," and though so limited in subject, it opens 
 with the discussion of the nature of good, tracing law to 
 the desire of good. He says, " To return to our former 
 intent of discovering the natural way whereby rules have 
 been found out concerning the goodness wherewith the 
 will of man ought to be moved in human actions ; as 
 everything naturally and necessarily doth desire the 
 utmost good and greatest perfection whereof nature hath 
 made it capable, even so man. Our felicity, therefore, 
 being the object and accomplishment of our desire, we 
 cannot choose but wish and covet it. All particular 
 things which are subject unto action the will doth so far 
 forth incline unto, as Reason judgeth them better for us, 
 and, consequently the more available to our bliss. If 
 Reason err, we fall into evil, and are so far forth deprived 
 of the general perfection we seek ; seeing, therefore, that 
 for the framing of men's actions the knowledge of good 
 from evil is necessary, it only resteth that we search h^w 
 this may be had. . . . We know things either as 
 they are in themselves or as they are in mutual relation 
 one to another. The knowledge of that which man is, 
 in reference unto himself and other things in relation 
 unto man, I may justly term the mother of all those 
 principles which are as it were edicts, statutes, and 
 decrees, in that law of nature whereby human actions 
 are framed. . . . Good doth follow unto all things 
 by observing the course of their nature ; and, on the 
 contrary side, evil by not observing it." 
 
 Mr. T. Our friend Dr. Twilight has some supersensitive 
 idea of good which is offended at this sort of definition, 
 although he does not contest the assertion that " every
 
 200 Essays and Papers. 
 
 creature of God is good " (i Tim. iv. 4), and that creature 
 here is a very wide word. 
 
 Mr. L. Like many others, Dr. TwiHght seems to think 
 that the abstract is something more than man's method 
 of manipulating the concrete, and that the abstract 
 contains some ingredient not to be found in the concrete, 
 but no such thing can be known. Hooker, you will 
 observe, applies the word g'ood to whatever is desirable, 
 and the abstract is goodness — which is therefore desirable- 
 ness ; and, if we are consistent in our language, moral 
 good is desirable for the same reason that other good is 
 so — because it conduces to the wellbeing of sentient 
 agents. 
 
 Mr. T. Things then are good or evil as sentient agents 
 perceive them to be so ; but the perception does not 
 constitute them good or evil. It is only the means of 
 becoming acquainted with it. Actions, for example, have 
 the quality of doing good or harm, and are named 
 accordingly ; but the naming may be done loosely and 
 ignorantly, and the sentient agent, properly instructed, 
 finds by degrees a true standard ; the alteration is on the 
 side of the sentient agent, and is brought about by the 
 teaching of facts, by the 
 
 "Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
 Mr. L. What the sentient agent means by the words 
 good or evil, can only be known as we know the particular 
 things the words represent to his mind. When St. Paul, 
 arguing for the existence of a supreme ruler of the world, 
 said, " He left not himself without witness, in that he did 
 good," he explained the word by the fact that " He 
 gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our 
 hearts with food and gladness" (Acts xiv. 17). This is 
 tangible good, to be appreciated by the senses ; other 
 good, to be otherwise appreciated, reveals itself by 
 appropriate consequences. If, as Hooker argues, man 
 may be the pcrfccter by whatever good is to be found in
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 201 
 
 the world, moral g^ood is that by which he is made most 
 perfect, and therefore most happy, and for this reason 
 only it is entitled to the name of good. 
 Mr. T. 
 
 " There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would man observingly distil it out."* 
 
 This sentiment does not confuse the two things together ; 
 but points to that chemistry of mind by which helps are 
 distilled from impediments and hindrances — things in a 
 certain sense evil ; the word evil includes so large a class 
 of objects that when it stands alone it is not always easy 
 to say which sort it refers to. 
 
 Mr. L. The fundamental notion conveyed by it is of 
 something antagonistic to human interests ; whatever be 
 the form, this is the substance. "Things evil" may be 
 anything which man's nature finds to be injurious. 
 Hooker says " man's observation of the law of his nature 
 is righteousness ; " and the term law of his nature, taken 
 comprehensively, and including every subordinate rule, 
 furni^shes a standard of right, the disregard of which, 
 sooner or later, brings evil of every sort. 
 
 Mr. T. Dr. Twilight has a violent antipathy to such 
 words as law and nature, when they assume any relation- 
 ship to a word like righteousness. 
 
 Mr. L. Dr. Twilight is rather narrow and technical, 
 and is apt to be " mastered by a modern term,'' and I 
 prefer Hooker, who further says, " The nature of goodness 
 being thus ample, a law is properly that which reason in 
 such sort defineth to be good that it must be done. And 
 the law of reason or human nature is that which men by 
 discourse of natural reason have rightly found out them- 
 selves to be all for ever bound unto in their actions." t If 
 this be true of moral good, it is not less true of other 
 good ; each has to be found out by natural reason, which 
 herein has final jurisdiction. 
 
 * King Henry \'. f Ecclesiastical Polity, Book I.
 
 202 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. T. And in many cases the "wayfaring man, 
 though a fool, cannot err therein." What is good he 
 knows to be so, and what is evil is equally plain. 
 
 Mr. L. This is true in the limited sense we have 
 remarked before ; for man has drugged and sophisticated 
 his mind until he has mistaken the plain qualities of 
 things — -he has called evil good, and good evil ; he has 
 put darkness for light, and light for darkness; he has put 
 bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter (Isaiah v. 20). The 
 things had these palpable properties, they were injurious 
 or they were beneficial, and he dealt with each as he 
 should have dealt with its opposite ; what was bitter he 
 pronounced to be sweet, and cherished with a fanatical 
 zeal. To an uncorrupted sense the bitterness was patent 
 and the darkness too ; an opinion or a belief that hindered 
 his good he has clung to with a blind devotion ; his 
 theories have been at war with facts, but he has disregarded 
 the facts; he has even fed on ashes (Isaiah xliv. 20), 
 protesting they were a wholesome and succulent food. 
 
 Mr. T. And the men who asserted that they were arid 
 and indigestible were persecuted, and made to expiate 
 their temerity " in dens and caves of the earth," and in 
 dungeons and fetters. 
 
 Mr. L. As if the world were already so full of know- 
 ledge and happiness that it needed no more ; whereas, 
 generation after generation, it has been amenable to the 
 reproach of Isaiah, — " they have not known nor under- 
 stood " (chap. xliv. 18). 
 
 Mr. T. The men of whom this was written were 
 makers of wooden idols, who were distinctly derided for 
 their work, which was proved, moreover, to be palpably 
 absurd ; yet the logic may not have convinced any of 
 them, for delusions of this sort lose no credit with their 
 votaries because they are proved to be unreasonable. 
 
 Mr. L. Nay, they often enough induce an incompe- 
 tence to deal with facts, and this seems to have been 
 their effect on the persons Isaiah describes, for he affirms
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 203 
 
 they had " neither knowledge nor understanding to say 
 Is there not a he in my right hand ? " (Isaiah 
 xhv. ig, 20). Now a he is just a vital disagreement be- 
 tween some fact and some representation of it. 
 
 Mr. T. And though the representation should be 
 believed by all the world, it would not, according to your 
 definition, be the less a lie ; the universal belief of the 
 immobility of the earth would thus be believing a lie; and 
 though the word is often applied more restrictedly, the 
 writer whom you have quoted evidently uses it with a 
 large signification. 
 
 Mr. L. The word commonly means a representation 
 intentionally false ; but this is not the whole of its mean- 
 ing, for we have before seen that men are sometimes in 
 the mental condition of believing a lie (2 Thess. ii. 11), 
 which must be the believing what is contrary to fact and 
 truth. Any belief, therefore, of this kind, is not inappro- 
 priately called a lie. 
 
 Mr. T. Even though the means may not exist of 
 proving it to be so, nor the attitude of mind be formed 
 which could apprehend the truth ? 
 
 Mr. L. Until the facts were reasoned out the idea of 
 the earth's form and motion could not be entertained, 
 and what would be called the common sense notion 
 would universally prevail, until new and better evidence 
 displaced it. 
 
 Mr. T. And if the new and better evidence had not 
 been forthcoming, the false representation must have 
 continued to be the common belief; and so the large 
 mass of men's ideas, which cannot be brought into 
 contact with the objective existence they are assumed to 
 represent, may very widely diverge from the reality. 
 
 Mr. L. And there is no guarantee against this, except 
 in the prevalence of the "knowledge and understanding," 
 appealed to by the writer we have quoted ; for knowledge 
 is acquaintedness with facts, and understanding the 
 power of construing them. It is not necessary to suppose
 
 204 Essays a)id Papers. 
 
 that the men who put darkness for light and Hght for 
 darkness did so of evil design ; it has often enough been 
 done " ignorantly," and the means did not exist of 
 knowing better, which is just saying, intuitive knowledge 
 did not exist, for means are the processes and steps by 
 which man arrives at knowledge, whilst intuitions are 
 direct and immediate. 
 
 Mr. T. St. Paul asserts of certain men that they were 
 " without excuse," because that which it behoved them 
 to know might be " clearly seen " and " understood by 
 the things that are made " (Rom. i. 20) ; moral inform- 
 ation for the guidance of their lives was to be gathered 
 by observation and inference, and to be understood, and 
 the implication is, that if information and intelligence 
 were not in equilibrium, the men would stand "excused." 
 
 Mr. L. And this is the universal postulate underlying 
 every real notion of moral blame — 
 
 " Call ignorance my sorrow, not my sin."* 
 
 But if "the things that are made" have given to man an 
 uncertain sound, the words, which so poorly adumbrate 
 the things, increase the liability to error ; 
 
 " Art may tell a truth 
 Obliquely, do the thing- shall breed the thought, 
 Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word." * 
 
 Man often wrongs the thought, missing the mediate v^-ord, 
 and has probably done so when most fiercely anathema- 
 tising whoever has distrusted the particular mediate word 
 by which he has designated some specially intangible 
 thought. 
 
 Mr. T. We have now some idea how the strata of the 
 earth were deposited and dislocated, but to speak of 
 them as " things that are made," gives no information as 
 to the method ; if we would learn how they came into the 
 present state we are not helped at all by the words "they 
 
 * The King and the Book.
 
 Vtililarian Theory of Morals. 205 
 
 were made," which are indeed an answer to another 
 question. The word " made " does no doubt convey the 
 idea of something put together as it stands, and not the 
 idea of a lengthened process, such as there is reason to 
 beheve the earth has undergone. The facts must be 
 disclosed before we can know them, and the words 
 which antedate the revelation of the facts are mostly 
 mere symbols, conveying no real ideas. 
 
 Mr. L. The idea represented by the word "made," 
 could only be such an idea as the facts they were 
 acquainted with enabled the men who used it to express, 
 and just in so far as the idea differed from the form of 
 the fact it was erroneous. A recent writer says, " a true 
 proposition is one which excites in the mind thoughts or 
 images corresponding to those which would be excited in 
 the mind of a person so situated as to be able to perceive 
 the facts to which the proposition relates."* The man 
 in whose mind a proposition does not produce this effect 
 is, so far as the variation exists, in error, and a word that 
 excites an idea unlike the reality, is also a source of 
 error. Those who called evil good, and good evil, might 
 at some time be corrected, but there are words that can- 
 not be compared with what they stand for, and which 
 in different minds may always represent divergent ideas. 
 Mr. T. 
 
 " In the corrupted currents of this world 
 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 
 And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
 
 Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 
 
 There is no shufHing- — there the action lies 
 
 In his true nature." f 
 
 An action then has a true nature, call it what you will, 
 and does not depend, as Mr. Lecky puts it, on chronology ; 
 and the question is, Can it even here act contrary to its 
 true nature by any amount of shuffling ? Being bitter, 
 
 * Indian Evidence Act, Introduction, 
 f Hamlet.
 
 2o6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 can it have the property of what is sweet ? And what 
 
 are its properties but its effects upon the condition of man? 
 
 Mr.L. . 
 
 " Man's mind— what is it but a convex glass 
 Wliercin are gathered all the scattered points 
 Picked out of the immensity of sky ? " * 
 
 The scattered points, the phenomena of hfe reflected in 
 his mind, are the materials of his knowledge ; they are 
 the causes, of which his feelings and thoughts are the 
 effects; they may not create feehng and thought, but 
 awaken and fashion them ; and if there be any contrariety 
 between the two sets of things, feeling and thought must 
 modify themselves, for the phenomena will not alter to 
 accommodate them. Man's business is to ascertain what 
 the phenomena mean, and from the individual facts to 
 work out a theory that corresponds with them ; to look 
 below the surface into their real import ; to "judge not 
 according to appearance ; " and in morals appearance is 
 no more to be depended upon than in other things. 
 
 Mr. T. We often speak of the mind as though it were 
 a congeries of faculties, not a homogeneous power working 
 upon different materials, according to their nature and 
 properties. It is necessary to have names for the 
 different operations of the mind, but not to suppose that 
 the mind itself is divided into separate faculties ; in the 
 acquisition of knowledge different processes are required. 
 Tiie constant use of language implying that the mind is a 
 cluster of faculties is no doubt misleading ; and the words 
 moral sense and common sense, though capable of an 
 intelligible meaning, are often employed in a loose way, 
 as if there were some department in the mind correspond- 
 ing to them. 
 
 Mr. L. The simplest and truest expression is that the 
 man does this or that, — he reasons, imagines, or feels ; 
 the compound nature of man does the work, but the facts 
 
 * The Ring and the Book.
 
 Utiliiarian I'hcory of Morals. 207 
 
 present themselves under different aspects, and so are 
 handled in different ways. Common sense, one would 
 think, should mean the common agreement upon some 
 subject by a number of men having equal opportunities 
 and means of judging. Take any large number of men 
 possessing the same endowments, which they have 
 exercised under the same circumstances, and their agree- 
 ment on any subject may properly enough be called their 
 common sense — the common conclusion they have 
 arrived at ; but words like these, originally ambiguous, 
 pick up new meanings as they go along, and so common 
 sense, in common language, becomes a faculty or depart- 
 ment of the mind ; and the words moral sense may have 
 had their si^^nification similarly modified. 
 
 Mr. T. But neither such common sense nor moral 
 sense ensures rectitude of judgment. Men's common 
 sense assured them that the earth was stationary and flat, 
 and their moral sense (in your application of the term) 
 has been equally misled. 
 
 Mr> L. No one supposes that the common sense or 
 agreement of mankind respecting the figure or motion of 
 the earth is of any value, and their notions in morals have 
 often had no better foundation. In her conversation 
 with Emilia, Desdemona says — 
 
 " Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 
 For the whole world." 
 
 To which Emilia replies — " Why, the wrong is but a 
 wrong i' the world ; and having the world for your labour, 
 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly 
 make it right." So long as right is only convention, 
 Emilia's conclusion is just; but if this be a world 
 governed by law, things cannot be dealt with in so 
 arbitrary a fashion. 
 
 Mr. T. And the proofs which alone are admissible are 
 the results dominant in the world. 
 
 Mr. L. " By their fruits ye shall know them ;" prin-
 
 2o8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ciples that produce good fruits are good principles, and 
 good fruits are the dispositions and deeds which bring 
 durable and controllable happiness. If some men deny 
 that such dispositions and deeds yield happiness, we 
 cannot help it — they may also deny the figure and motion 
 of the earth, but it moves notwithstanding; and is it less 
 certain that well-being is the final cause of well-doing, or 
 that the law which enjoins well-doing can only vindicate 
 itself by producing fruits of well-being ? 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky's argument reminds me of one or 
 two extracts from Butler which I found in your common- 
 place book. He says — " Were treachery, violence, and 
 injustice, no otherwise vicious than as foreseen likely to 
 produce an overbalance of misery to society, then, if in 
 any case a man could procure to himself as great advan- 
 tage by an act of injustice as the whole foreseen inconve- 
 nience likely to be brought upon others by it would 
 amount to, such a piece of injustice would not be faulty 
 or vicious at all, because it would be no more than in any 
 other case for a man to prefer his own satisfaction to 
 another's in equal degrees." * What do you say to this ? 
 
 Mr. L. One differs from Bishop Butler with very 
 great hesitation, because he is so cautious and profound 
 a thinker. But the argument he puts here seems seriously 
 defective ; first, we have a right to ask, as a matter of 
 fact, Whether it has not been proved that injustice is 
 distinctly injurious to men ? For, if so, the " misery " it 
 is "foreseen likely" to "produce" in some particular case, 
 though apparently less than usual, would not justify its 
 performance, because experience has proved in reference 
 to it not only what is " likely " but what is. Then, 
 " the whole foreseen inconvenience " of injustice may be 
 but a small portion of what is foreseeable if our informa- 
 tion were more extended and more perfect. Again, who is 
 to determine whether " the whole foreseen inconvenience 
 
 * The Introduction to the Analocfv.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 2og 
 
 of an act of injustice" will overbalance or not the " misery 
 to society " ? Is it to be the man who desires to 
 perpetrate the injustice or the man who is to suffer it, 
 or is it to be some impartial spectator whose verdict 
 is already upon record ? And, as the question is to 
 depend upon what is " foreseen likely," suppose the 
 likelihood is falsified — what then ? The experiment has 
 been often tried, and the result is no longer doubtful. 
 Butler says elsewhere — " We conclude that virtue must 
 be the happiness, and vice the misery of every creature."* 
 His present hypothesis is inconsistent with this con- 
 clusion. If a poison in some particular case did not 
 cause death, should we therefore be entitled to argue 
 that was not poisonous ? and if the experience of 
 mankind has proved that the whole " foreseen incon- 
 venience " of acts of injustice does overbalance the 
 advantages, any man who proceeds upon an opposite 
 theory does so at his peril, and acts as wisely as he who 
 should choose to disregard some other well ascertained 
 law. Men do injustice and are punished, and men do it and 
 apparently escape, but they may be deteriorated and hurt 
 by it, though it may be an unobserved process to those 
 who look on, as Macbeth's mind was " full of scorpions," 
 though they were visible to no one. Butler says — " The 
 constitution of nature is such that delay of punishment 
 is no sort nor degree of presumption of final impunity." t 
 What then becomes of " inconvenience " " foreseen 
 likely" to occur? Is "the constitution of nature" to 
 determine our actions, or ill-regulated desire of what is 
 fancied or " foreseen likely"? And, as we are constituted, 
 what is "punishment" but the consequence of ante- 
 cedent wrong ? Why is the vanity or egotism of one 
 man, with no more faculty than his fellows, to reverse 
 the plain and unambiguous verdict of generations of 
 
 * Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue, 
 f Analog-y, Part 1. chap. ii. 
 
 14
 
 2IO Essays and Papers. 
 
 men ? Butler's case breaks down. The " whole fore- 
 seen inconvenience likely to be brought upon others" by 
 Jacob's treachery to Esau, might seem to be over- 
 balanced by the advantage he. procured to himself. But 
 it was not so. As Macbeth says — 
 
 " In these cases 
 We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor ; this even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips." 
 
 Mr. T. Butler goes on to say — " The fact then 
 appears to be, that we are constituted so as to condemn 
 falsehood, unprovoked violence, injustice ; and to approve 
 of benevolence to some preferably to others, abstracted 
 from all consideration, which conduct is likeliest to 
 produce an overbalance of happiness or misery." 
 
 Mr. L. Man is so constituted that he comes to con- 
 demn and approve what was once indifferent to him, 
 and, I assume it is the hurtfulness or advantage of the 
 things that has excited the feelings. Is not this plain 
 matter of fact? Men, as represented to us in history, 
 have approved falsehood, and many other such like 
 things, which seemed profitable to them. Their succes- 
 sors, better instructed, have condemned them, and this 
 better instructedness is mainly the net result of the 
 interaction between the faculties of man and the facts 
 of his position, or of the relations in which he is placed. 
 The relations are permanent, and produce results tending 
 towards stability. Relations have been perverted and 
 misunderstood, and have needed rectification ; the 
 lesson has been slowly learned by what Butler calls the 
 "inconvenience" of ill-adjusted relations. What legis- 
 lators find to be hurtful they pronounce to be wrong; 
 what man has partially done for himself they do for 
 society, adding to acts which are hurtful the opprobrium 
 of wrong. Butler's statement should be transposed thus
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals, 211 
 
 — We have come to know what conduct is HkeHest to 
 produce an overbalance of happiness or misery. False- 
 hood, unprovoked violence, and injustice, are of the 
 class which produce misery, and benevolence of that 
 which yields happiness ; and on this account we approve 
 or condemn, and by all the means in our power prevent 
 or promote such actions. From the antecedent of their 
 hurtfulness follows (in speculation) the consequent of 
 their wrongfulness. So long as certain relationships 
 have existed or continue to exist, the actions which are 
 in antagonism to them are and have been evil. It is 
 a question of fact to be determined by evidence ; and all 
 the apparatus of man's emotional nature is quickly 
 excited against an act that is proved by appropriate 
 evidence to hurt individuals and communities — moral 
 disapprobation is created by evidence of moral injury. 
 Butler says in the same dissertation — " Our sense or 
 discernment of actions as morally good or evil implies in 
 it a sense or discernment of them as of good or ill 
 desert."" But good or ill desert is the subjective feeling 
 which is the counterpart of the good or ill consequences 
 of our acts. The ill desert is what they deserve, or 
 rather the ill consequences which the ill-doer has earned. 
 Desert belongs to the agent, and not properly to the 
 act. The act is a bad one, and the agent deserves, as 
 we judge, a certain quantity of pain on account of it. 
 The existence of a well-ordered community is incom- 
 patible with unchecked injustice, and its felt ill desert or 
 ill reputation is the measure of the injury it inflicts, 
 according to the standard which happens to prevail. 
 Now, if society would be disintegrated and broken up 
 in presence of universal injustice, single acts of injustice 
 must carry within them the seeds of ultimate mischief; 
 and what is thus pernicious to society is so because 
 of its ill consequences to individuals, both agent and 
 patient. What is detrimental to all cannot be advan- 
 tageous to any. 
 
 14*
 
 212 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. T. Butler has another statement bearing on the 
 subject which is worth considering. He says — " Perhaps 
 Divine goodness, with which, if I mistake not, we 
 make very free in our speculations, may not be a bare, 
 simple disposition to produce happiness ; but a dis- 
 position to make the good, the faithful, the honest man 
 happy." * 
 
 Mr. L. I always hesitate in differing from Butler, 
 but I think it a more correct representation of the fact 
 to say, a disposition to make men happy by making 
 them good, faithful, and honest. The road to intelligent 
 happiness is by the way of confirmed goodness, faithful- 
 ness, and honesty. First by obtaining a clear appre- 
 hension of what the things are, and then by a well- 
 directed and steady pursuit of them. Man has a threefold 
 nature — physical, intellectual, and emotional. A dis- 
 ordered physical nature may mar the working of both 
 the intellectual and the emotional, and so destroy or 
 diminish his happiness ; but if the whole three are in 
 full and harmonious action, happiness must be the result. 
 
 Mr. T. You say that hurtfulness is the mark of 
 wrongfulness, that intellectual blunders produce penalties 
 corresponding to their nature and character, and that 
 Ignorance and pervertedness in morals are even more 
 destructive of the happiness of men. 
 
 Mr. L. There can, I think, be no doubt of this. What 
 criterion of the wrongfulness of an act can be more con- 
 clusive and deterrent than that it is productive of present 
 pain, or burdened with the future prospect of it ? The 
 existence of a moral and beneficent Governor of the 
 universe is hardly conceivable if this condition of things 
 were reversed. Butler postulates the possibility of some 
 act of injustice producing more profit than pain, but then 
 the balance must be truly adjusted, the injustice must be 
 a real and not merely a conventional thing, and in 
 
 * Analog}-, Part I. chap. li.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 213 
 
 estimating it the disposition must be taken into account, 
 and every consequence, near or remote, that springs from 
 it. Besides, at what stage of the world's history are we 
 to appraise unjust actions ? When society, well knowing 
 what is evil, and well armed against it, makes every 
 culprit feel, with unfailing certainty, not only the weight 
 of its moral indignation but the legal penalty that must 
 be endured ? Shall we make the calculation at this 
 juncture, or must we cast up the account in a state of 
 general lawlessness, "when every man does whatsoever is 
 right in his own eyes " ? (Deut. xii. 8.) 
 
 Mr. T. The words you have quoted are prefaced 
 by a command that every man should not do what was 
 right in his own eyes. Now, this may mean his own 
 conception or thoughts, or, as Mr. Lecky puts it, his 
 intuitions ; and he was instructed in his actions not 
 altogether to follow his own eyes, or notions, or intuitions. 
 
 Mr. L. This is quite true; and wherever this form of 
 words is found, it is in connection with some lawless and 
 immoral act which had been done, the explanation of 
 which is, that every man did what was right in his own 
 eyes, — not what was wrong, but what was right accord- 
 ing to his own idea ; and the consequence was that the 
 country was in a state of moral anarchy. 
 
 Mr. T. Suppose it should be said that in this case 
 what is right in a man's own eyes means whatever his 
 inclination leads him to, and does not imply moral judg- 
 ment at all. 
 
 Mr. L. I know that words of this kind may be made 
 to take almost any shade of meaning that suits the ruling 
 theory of a man's mind ; and it is hardly possible to fix 
 them to a strict and determinate signification when they 
 are closely interrogated. 
 
 Mr. T. In a note in his Sermon, " On the Love of our 
 Neighbour," Butler says, " There are certain dispositions 
 of mind, and certain actions, which are in themselves
 
 214 Essays and Papers. 
 
 approved or disapproved by mankind, abstracted from the 
 consideration of their tendency to the happiness or misery 
 of the world ; approved or disapproved by reflection, — by 
 that principle which is the guide of Hfe, the judge of right 
 and wrong ; numberless instances of this kind might be 
 mentioned. There are pieces of treachery which in them- 
 selves appear base and detestable to every one." This is 
 something like what Mr. Lecky says, except that with 
 Butler the things are " base and detestable to everyone," 
 whilst with Mr. Lecky they may be right and approved 
 at some periods of the world's history. 
 
 il/r. L. This statement is much the same as the other, 
 but then what is meant by " approved or disapproved 
 by mankind " ? Does it mean all mankind, or a select 
 portion of them ? Plainly the latter, for the verdict of all 
 mankind is not attainable ; and the proposition is thus 
 reduced to a very insignificant one, for select portions of 
 mankind have approved and disapproved the most con- 
 tradictory things. The next question would be, — Are the 
 dispositions and actions referred to in fact baneful or 
 beneficial ? have these consequences been felt, and known, 
 and registered, among the experiences of men ? and if so, 
 is it not on this account that they have been approved 
 or disapproved ? Solomon asks, Is there any taste in the 
 white of an egg ? and we may ask is there any moral 
 flavour in an act which is neither hurtful nor beneficial ? 
 Society finds certain acts to be hurtful, and makes them 
 unlawful ; but the generations which grew up under the 
 notion of their unlawfulness may not carry their view 
 backward to that of their antecedent hurtfulness ; just so 
 the " dispositions and actions " to which Butler alludes, 
 having been found good or bad in their consequences, 
 come to be designated right or wrong, and approved or 
 disapproved ; — right or wrong, in relation to a rule which 
 has for its object human happiness. Is not this a fair 
 representation of the matter ? For we cannot get away
 
 Uiilitarian Theory of Morals. 215 
 
 from the notion that wrong impHes the infraction of a 
 rule, and rules regarding human conduct are or ought to 
 be framed with a view to human happiness. 
 
 Mr. T. Butler adds, " that numberless instances of 
 this kind might be mentioned. There are pieces of 
 treachery which in themselves appear base and detestable 
 to every one." It is a pity that out of the numberless 
 instances he thought of he did not furnish us with a few. 
 
 Mr. L. But you notice that he picks out "pieces of 
 treachery " as such instances. Now, I ask you to recollect 
 the special " piece of treachery " perpetrated by Jael, and 
 recorded in the 4th chapter of Judges ; a " piece of 
 treachery " as " base and detestable " as is to be found in 
 history. Observe, there was no feud or hostility between 
 Jabin and the house of Heber, to which Jael belonged ; 
 hotly pursued by his enemies, Sisera passed near her 
 tent ; she came out to him, and with flattering and 
 hypocritical words inveigled him in ; with a lavish and 
 ostentatious hospitality she sought to allay any lurking 
 suspicion ; and when her confiding victim, overpowered 
 with weariness, was " fast asleep," she foully murdered 
 him ; and for this deed of blood she received the unbounded 
 approbation of Deborah, who is called a prophetess, and 
 who was manifestly a woman of great intelligence and 
 power. We have here, then, a " piece of treachery, base 
 and detestable " enough, one which, according to Butler, 
 ought to have appeared so to every one, and yet it was 
 regarded by Deborah as a noble and virtuous act, over 
 every step and incident of which she gloats and exults. 
 I am not blaming her, I only summon her into court that 
 she may tell us what her opinion is of a certain " base 
 and detestable piece of treachery." Butler does not say 
 that when men have been taught and trained they approve 
 or disapprove particular dispositions and actions, he 
 asserts broadly and universally that they do so, and he 
 selects pieces of treachery as the sort of actions that 
 " appear base and detestable to every one "; and yet here
 
 2i6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 are two leading women of an age, the one of whom 
 betrays and slays in cold blood, and the other, in the 
 most glowing and devotional language, extols the deed. 
 Butler's allegation is, that things "appear" in a certain 
 aspect, which is exactly what the}' do not. Doubtless 
 Deborah had in her mind an abhorrence of something 
 she called treachery, and the treacherous act by which 
 her enemy was destroyed she contemplated under another 
 name ; but acts don't change their nature to suit the 
 names men happen to give them. If treachery is hateful, 
 here it ^^•as full blown, and yet it awakened no note of 
 disapprobation. Jabin could not have injured Israel more 
 than the King of Prussia has injured France ; besides, it 
 is said that Israel was "sold" to Jabin for her sins. Now, 
 a Frenchwoman who should avenge her country's wrongs 
 by murdering Moltke or Bismark a la Jael would very 
 properly be put to death with universal execration ; and 
 why this difference ? treachery and murder are always 
 the same, — base and detestable, — but at one time the 
 Deborahs applaud them, and at another none can be 
 found to justify them. It is not, therefore, as Butler puts 
 it, that the acts in themselves, and at first sight, are 
 approved or disapproved ; it is the acts felt and appreciated 
 in their results when the " reflection " he appeals to has 
 had time and opportunity to do its work. For what is 
 reflection but thought, occupied with actions in their 
 multifarious relations and tendencies ? 
 
 Mr. T. But then Butler immediately gives it another 
 name, calling it " a principle " and " a judge " ; it is hard 
 to get any precise idea of a thing that is distinguished by 
 so many and such different names. 
 
 Mr. L. What has a clear and unambiguous existence, 
 known and ascertained, it is not difficult to mark by a 
 definite name, but when there is indistinctness in the 
 thought there is usually a corresponding vagueness in the 
 language ; to call the same thing, in the same sentence, 
 reflection, a principle, and a judge, leaves it in a haze.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 217 
 
 Mr. T. That men's minds work in the same way is a 
 reason for giving to the operations a common name. Man 
 reasons and reflects — but these processes have led to the 
 most motley results, and except through certain primitive 
 data no agreement can be arrived at. The verdict of 
 mankind, therefore, as you say, though so often invoked, 
 is in reality a myth, except in matters of the simplest sort, 
 — those for instance to be determined by the senses, and 
 where only one determination is possible. Men meet here 
 upon an equality, their means and materials of judgment 
 are about the same, and their conclusions vary but little. 
 To Jael the external world was much what it is now ; 
 innumerable properties of it were hidden from her, but its 
 great features, — above all, its externality, appeared to her 
 as it appears to us. But can we put actions into the same 
 category? do they- appear in the same guise to different 
 generations? Surely not. The actions, however, are not 
 altered ; it is the way of looking at them that has undergone 
 a change, and we ask, what has wrought the change? Why, 
 as the lawyers say, do men approbate what they afterwards 
 reprobate ? Why, unless they have found out what at first 
 did not " appear " ; and if a thing does possess latent 
 properties that are bad, is it unlikely that at some time 
 they will "appear"? And the bad property, inherent in 
 bad actions, as w^e infer, is their injuriousness to man, 
 individually, socially, or politically. 
 
 Mr. L. This seems to be the abiding characteristic, 
 and it is one that sooner or later will make itself felt. 
 Actions may for a long time pass under false names and 
 colours, but as they work after their kind — doing good or 
 harm — one day or other their quality is revealed ; men's 
 opinions of them, as we see, undergo a change, because 
 their experience of them is enlarged and corrected. Ex- 
 ternal things do profoundly modify internal thoughts, and 
 human character is what it is by the combined operation 
 of the one upon the other ; it is the friction of these two 
 forces that brings out the new light which shines upon
 
 2i8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 man's life, and reveals latent deformity in many old things 
 of good name. 
 
 Mr. T. We may not individually be better than our 
 fathers, whatever that may mean, but certainly we know 
 more, and can do more, and the accumulated wisdom of 
 society is greater, and its conclusions are truer and surer, 
 standing upon a larger base of experience; and experience 
 is not less available for actions than for other phenomena. 
 Nature has deceived man as actions have deceived him, 
 and the instrument that rectifies the one and the other is 
 the same. At first, and in all things, he sees "through a 
 glass darkly," by-and-by more clearly; and it is impossible 
 to believe as regards the human race that there is any 
 arrest of this progress. The individual in his lifetime 
 may gain but little, the generations acquire much ; and 
 while experience shall continue to -teach and human 
 intellect has faculty to learn, there can be no pause. The 
 vocabulary of man's " dispositions and actions " may 
 remain steadfast, but the meaning of the words fluctuate ; 
 new knowledge and feeling may find expression in the old 
 forms, the new wine may be put into the old bottles, but 
 as the old things pass away, the unchanged abstracts will 
 be derived from varying concretes. As Browning says ; 
 
 " Man must pass from old to new, 
 From vain to real, from mistake to fact, 
 From what once seemed good to what now proves best." * 
 
 " What once seemed good " has got put into another 
 category, and now seems " base and detestable " ; the 
 change is subjective not objective. What " every one " 
 may think respecting particular acts a thousand years 
 hence we cannot predicate, what they thought of them 
 ten thousand years ago may be equally indeterminate ; 
 and so Butler's proposition — prospective and retrospective, 
 and universal as it is — collapses. 
 
 * A Death in tlie Desert.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 219 
 
 Mr. L. It needs qualification if it is to square with 
 the history of the world. We quoted Macbeth just now, 
 and one cannot help remarking how anxiously he weighed 
 and measured the results of the crime he was contem- 
 plating. 
 
 " If the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here ; 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
 We'd jump the life to come." 
 
 Macbeth is ready to jump the life to come, but he has a 
 firm conviction that he cannot " trammel up the conse- 
 quence — here — upon this bank and shoal of time." He 
 has no notion that " such a piece of injustice, and 
 violence, and treachery, may not be faulty or vicious 
 at all, if the whole foreseen inconvenience likely to be 
 brought upon others is less than the advantage procured to 
 himself. Macbeth was well aware that the act he had in 
 view would produce fruit internal and external, which he 
 was in dread of. There was nothing else that held back 
 his hand; if "this blow" might be the be-all and the 
 end-all, it would be struck without hesitation. It was the 
 consequences that made him pause. He knew there 
 were evil results to be encountered, and he quailed before 
 them. It was not artificial laws that he was afraid of, 
 but the down-right pain and danger that followed such 
 wrong-doing. 
 
 Mr. T. If an ordinary observer were treating of Mac- 
 beth's career it might be represented that his treachery 
 was successful, that he obtained the crown and the power 
 for which he plotted, and was an example of prosperous 
 villainy ; but Shakespeare lets us into his secrets, and 
 shows how soon his worst anticipations were realised. 
 He speaks of " terrible dreams that shake him nightly " ; 
 and he exclaims —
 
 220 Essays and Papers. 
 
 " Better be with the dead 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie. 
 In restless ecstasy." 
 
 And then — 
 
 " Oh, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! " 
 
 And at last the confession is wrung from him, 
 
 " I'm sick at heart — 
 I have lived long enough ; my way of life 
 Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf ; 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have ; but in their stead, 
 Curses not loud, but deep." 
 
 The things he had lost were honour, love, obedience, 
 troops of friends, and he had got in exchange " curses not 
 loud, but deep," " torture," " terrible dreams," and 
 " scorpions." 
 
 Mr. L. When Macbeth paused on the brink of the 
 precipice, and allowed his better nature for a moment 
 to sway him, it was his relations with Duncan that 
 furnished the restraining motives, — no abstract consider- 
 ations, but certain concrete facts. 
 
 " He's here in double trust : 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject. 
 Strong both against the deed : then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door — 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking-off." 
 
 It may not be a very noble kind of virtue that Macbeth 
 displays in this soliloquy, but, at a certain point of moral 
 progress these are perhaps the only incentives that
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 221 
 
 operate, and when they have done their work they give 
 place to others that are worthier. 
 
 I Iiold it truth with him who sinsTS 
 To one clear harp, in diverse tones, 
 That men may rise on stepping'-stones 
 Of their dead selves to higher thin<rs."* 
 
 »■ 
 
 And if men — -then mankind ; the " dead selves " are the 
 inferior motives and dispositions which may have been 
 for a while the only influential ones ; the" higher things" 
 are the products of better training and culture, of a truer 
 estimate of human life, of a more genuine sympathy, 
 and of more real regard for the rights and feelings of 
 others ; at every stage irritation and selfish passions 
 may be allayed, and more reasonable and healthy satisfac- 
 tion acquired ; and the progress of the individual is a 
 type of that which marks the species. This is simple 
 matter of observation, but when applied to the growth of 
 moral sentiment in the human race something more 
 mysterious is sought for, and plain matter-of-fact is not 
 reckoned sufficient. 
 
 Mr. T. It was Macbeth's conscience that made this 
 misery for him. He had violated the laws of God and 
 man, and suffered the pangs of remorse. 
 
 Mr. L. The laws of God and man are enacted for 
 some reason ; they either suit man's condition or they 
 are supposed to do so. Man's law-making is often 
 enough radical blundering, and yet the infringement of it 
 may be the cause of pain ; much more must the breach of 
 laws, having a real foundation in things, produce pain. 
 Man's law Macbeth did not care for, and God's law he 
 was ready deliberately to defy, and "jump the life to 
 come." Law, except that of things maintained by force, 
 he set at naught, and he dared even that for the sake of 
 
 * In Mcmoriam.
 
 222 Essays and Papers. 
 
 some present good. But as black will not be made into 
 white, nor two and two into five, neither will actions 
 produce pleasant consequences which nature has made to 
 yield painful ones ; and Macbeth's actions of this sort did 
 in due time produce the harvest that was proper to them. 
 The best laws are the interpreters of nature's intentions, 
 and nature holds in her own hand the rewards and 
 penalties, " whether we hear, or whether we forbear." 
 
 Mr. T. Butler points out another fact which is often 
 overlooked. He says — '^ If the pain which we feel upon 
 doing what tends to the destruction of our bodies, 
 suppose upon too near approaches to fire, or upon wound- 
 ing ourselves, be appointed by the Author of Nature to pre- 
 vent our doing what thus tends to our destruction, — this 
 is altogether as much an instance of his punishing our 
 actions, and consequently of our being under his govern- 
 ment, as declaring by a voice from heaven that if we 
 acted so he would inflict such pain upon us, and inflicting 
 it whether it be greater or less." '^ 
 
 Mr. L. Postulating with Butler an Author of Nature, 
 we cannot escape his conclusions. A voice from Heaven, 
 as a method of communication, seems more authoritative 
 and clear ; but as it must be conveyed by words, which 
 are fluctuating and unstable, the evidence of things, 
 where it can be obtained, is less open to dispute. That 
 actions do harm is unequivocal evidence of their being 
 evil in some sort, and words can hardly make it plainer. 
 The intentions and design of the author of nature are to 
 be made out by what he docs as well as by what he says, 
 for in either case the meaning has to be sought out and 
 construed, and where there is an apparent conflict, facts 
 may be more intelligible than words. 
 
 " Conjecture of the worker by the work."-]- 
 
 Mr. T. Butler's argument is a very sweeping one. 
 
 * Analogy, Part I. chap, ii, f The Ring and the Book.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 223 
 
 He says — " Vain is the ridicule with which one foresees 
 some persons will divert themselves upon finding lesser 
 pains considered as instances of Divine punishment. 
 There is no possibility of answering or evading the 
 general thing here intended without denying all final 
 causes. For final causes being admitted, the pleasures 
 and pains now mentioned must be admitted too, as 
 instances of them. And if they are, if God annexes 
 delight to some actions and uneasiness to others, with an 
 apparent design to induce us to act so and so, then he 
 not onl}^ dispenses happiness and misery, but also rewards 
 and punishes actions,""^" 
 
 Mr. L. Inducing us to act by pleasure and pain is 
 just what I contend for, with this addition, that the 
 uneasiness or delight (to use Butler's words) annexed to 
 actions is an inherent property of them, in relation to a 
 creature having the attributes and the surroundings of 
 man. The pain and pleasure are not accidents, just as it 
 is not an accident that fire burns ; and if its burning us 
 when we come into contact with it is notice to us not to 
 do so, then if Butler's reasoning be true, other pain is 
 of similar import ; and an action, the product of which, 
 soon or late, is preponderant pain, must be in a normal 
 state of things unmistakably evil. 
 
 Mr. T. Not, of course, necessarily wrong, in a moral 
 sense. 
 
 Mr. L. No ; just as it may not be morally wrong to go 
 too near the fire, although if you do so, you are, as Butler 
 puts it, punished by being burnt. Butler in this case 
 gives the word punish an enlarged signification. It is 
 not a word easy to define, but if it is made to include all 
 sorts of pain, it must modify some current opinions very 
 considerably. 
 
 Mr. T. The law of things, as you call it, in relation to 
 actions, is difficult to discover, although it may be as 
 
 * Analogy, Part I. chap. ii.
 
 224 Essays and Papers. 
 
 certain as the law of fire ; but it is not so apparent nor so 
 urgent. 
 
 " Break fire's law, 
 Sin against rain, although the penalty 
 Be just a singe or soaking? No, he smiles ; 
 Those laws are laws that can enforce themselves." * 
 
 Mr. L. If the laws of our moral nature are laws at all, 
 if they are determined b}- the constitution of man and 
 the world, then the law of fire may be more patent and 
 prompt, but the others will be not less sure. They may 
 seem to fail and to be evaded, but our observation may 
 be at fault, or we may have discriminated erroneously. 
 
 Mr. T. The results of mere carelessness are sometimes 
 as hurtful as the worst kind of wrong-doing, and although 
 there may be sorrow for it, there may not be that kind of 
 pain which we call remorse, and which is the peculiar 
 concomitant of what is accounted guilt. 
 
 Mr. L. There is this distinction undoubtedly; ignor- 
 ance and negligence are hardly less mischievous than 
 direct evil-doing. Mankind visit with greater disappro- 
 bation the one set of acts than the other, and rightly so ; 
 a disposition to do harm, an intention to injure, has in 
 it more evil consequences than the mere errors and 
 mistakes. 
 
 Mr. T. Practical and intellectual blunders may some- 
 times produce as much misery as is the product of crime. 
 A man who, by miscalculation, causes the loss of a ship 
 and crew, does as much harm as he who should wilfully 
 sink the same ship ; but the disposition to do harm is 
 absent in the one case, and this is all the difference ; the 
 experience of mankind has taught them that the design 
 or determination to do harm is more injurious than mere 
 negligence, and on this account it is visited with more 
 pain and disapprobation. If the factors of moral arith- 
 metic are subtle and hard to fix, the general results are 
 
 * Robert Browning, Bishop Blougram's Apology.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 225 
 
 so clear that we may predicate special effects without any 
 great uncertainty. Evil flows from carelessness, and from 
 ill design, and occasionally the directly hurtful con- 
 sequences of the first may be more than of the second ; 
 but upon the whole this is reversed. Man also puts his 
 weight into the scale against wrong, and the penalty and 
 the fear go to make up a total of pain on the side of 
 moral wrong which is not to be mistaken. 
 
 Mr. L. From the first, men find some things pleasant 
 and others injurious. Those are called good, and these 
 evil. By-and-by these notions come respectively under 
 the dominion of authority, and codes of law and of 
 morals are called into existence, and fluctuate as the real 
 character of actions is more clearly ascertained. It is 
 incredible that an intuitive perception should report so 
 variously of the phenomena with which it had to deal ; 
 but postulating the faculties and feelings of men, the 
 necessities of their existence, the circumstances of their 
 habitation, and the results are consistent and compre- 
 hensible. If I refer again to the Bible it is not 
 dogmatically, but to remind you of a phrase which 
 expresses our view with great precision. In the 5th 
 chapter of Hebrews persons of " full age " are said to be 
 " those who by reason of use have their senses exercised 
 to discern both good and evil." This language implies 
 all we require. The " senses " are the various percipient 
 powers of man. By " use " and " exercise " they discern 
 or discriminate both " good and evil " — not by intuition, 
 but by "use," which is "experience"; and the verdict 
 of experience is determined by the consequences which 
 have been observed to flow from actions. Those not of 
 "full age" are easily deceived; and the human race in 
 its infancy, before its senses had been duly exercised or 
 its experiences carefully checked and compared, was 
 misled in its moral reckoning, and has been ever since 
 correcting or attempting to correct its judgments. 
 
 Mr. T. Assuming that government is a natural and 
 
 15
 
 226 Essays and Papers. 
 
 necessary complement of society, which is mainly em- 
 ployed in restricting individual action as hurtful to the 
 community, it will undoubtedly give force and intensity 
 to notions of right and wrong in general ; it is in fact 
 the great authority for constituting things right or wrong 
 which were thought to be indifferent, and in this way it 
 must have had an immense influence in creating a sense 
 of obligation. 
 
 Mr. L. It is not possible to say how much a people's 
 notions of right and wrong have been directly and 
 indirectly derived from the fact that they have been 
 moulded by the heavy and coercive power of govern- 
 ment ; that governments have always acted for the good 
 of the governed is unfortunately not true, but that they 
 have in some sort meant to do good by their laws is 
 hardly to be doubted ; but the good aimed at has often 
 resulted in positive injury. To legislate for the good of 
 all was too large a problem to be entertained in early 
 times. What was due to man as a sentient being — duty 
 — was not (and perhaps is not now) understood. 
 
 " Yet I doubt not thro' the ai^es one increasing purpose runs, 
 
 And the thoughts of men arc widen'd by the process of the suns." * 
 
 The one object of government should be to make the 
 condition of human life more agreeable, and in what 
 other way can government justify the restraints it enjoins 
 except by proving that in some manner they promote, or 
 are believed to promote, the good of the governed ? 
 Richard Hooker, whom all the world have agreed to call 
 " the judicious," in the 8th book of his Ecclesiastical 
 Polity, lays down this proposition — " The end whereunto 
 all government was instituted was bomiui piiblicinn, the 
 universal or common good." This dictum of Hooker did 
 little to influence the affairs of the world for many years, 
 and when Bentham resuscitated it in his celebrated 
 formula of '* the greatest happiness of the greatest 
 
 * 'J"rnn\'S()n.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 227 
 
 number," it was looked upon with as much curiosity and 
 surprise as Rip Van Winkle, when he descended into his 
 native village after his twenty years' slumber among the 
 Katskill Mountains. But whether government should 
 aim at anything less than the good of the governed is 
 not now a debateable question; — all our legislation is, 
 theoretically at least, referred to this standard, so that 
 what is right in law may be in its operation good — • 
 to the utmost possible limit ; and if this be the highest 
 ideal of law making, if laws are to be judged "by their 
 fruits," can we conceive any other standard to which 
 actions lying beyond the reach of human laws can be 
 more appropriately conformed ? 
 
 Mr. T. If, in his legislative capacity, man can frame 
 no worthier purpose than to promote the happiness of 
 the commonwealth, is there any higher object than 
 happiness to be obtained in his social and individual 
 sphere ? That is your question, and I must say I think 
 not. Looked at in this light, happiness would involve 
 the harmonious working of all the internal and external 
 machinery within and around us, and what more can be 
 accomplished ? By ignorance and by passion it may 
 be marred, but it looks more like an ultimate test than 
 anything else. If it could be known beforehand what 
 actions would in all cases infallibly produce the largest 
 amount of well-being, might we not with certainty 
 pronounce them to be right ? 
 
 Mr. L. So far as we are acquainted with the physical 
 laws of the world they are uniform and constant in their 
 operation. Is there any reason to believe that there are 
 in the universe moral laws, or that they are less strict 
 and unbending than physical ones ? Moral laws are the 
 laws of man's life and conduct. Is it conceivable that 
 they are without order and design ? and what design is 
 more palpable and obvious than that of making them 
 conduce to the happiness of rational agents, and that the 
 obligation to obey them should be the pain which the 
 
 15*
 
 228 Essays and Papers. 
 
 breach of them sooner or later involves ? But then this 
 is not the whole account of the matter. It is the raw 
 material out of which whatever relates to human action 
 is fashioned, but the passions and emotions, the ima- 
 gination and the reason, oftentimes give to things forms 
 and colours which are as unlike the original in appearance 
 as the roots of a tree are to the leaves and flowers and 
 fruit, from which their beauty and nourishment are 
 derived. The most disinterested action that can be 
 performed, the one that is externally the least self 
 regarding, contributes to the performer's happiness, and 
 would not otherwise get performed. It is the charac- 
 teristic of such actions to yield satisfaction, the absence 
 of which is painful ; and pain is voluntarily endured only 
 in the pursuit of some good which is thought to be more 
 than commensurate. No profitless pain is, if possible, 
 incurred. The circumstances of his life 
 
 " Knable man to wring, from out all pain 
 All pleasure, for a common heritage, 
 To all eternity." * 
 
 Mr. T. Pain, as we have seen before, is the obvious 
 result of wrong-doing, and you infer that there is no 
 exception to this rule, though for a time it may be 
 counteracted, and though we may not always be able 
 to trace its operation or to explain its meaning. The 
 correlative of error, and folly, and wrong, is pain, and 
 this is the constitution of things. 
 
 Mr. L. We must of course acknowledge that all the 
 pain existing in the world is not to be traced to the 
 personal wrong-doing, moral, intellectual^, or physical, of 
 the sufferer. It must, however, be reckoned a means of 
 teaching and reformation, and whatever has no purpose 
 beyond mere hurting and harming is to be regarded as 
 cruelty ; but pain is a special product of the wrong-doing, 
 not something added to it afterwards. As Butler says — 
 
 * The Rino ar.d the liook.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 229 
 
 " Whether the pleasure or pain which thus follows upon 
 our behaviour be owing to the Author of Nature's acting 
 upon us every moment which we feel it, or to his having 
 at once contrived and executed his own part in the plan 
 of the world, makes no alteration as to the matter before 
 us. For if civil magistrates could make the sanction of 
 their laws take place without interposing at all after they 
 had passed them, without a trial, and the formalities 
 of an execution ; if they were able to make their laws 
 execute themselves, or every ofl'ender to execute them 
 upon himself, we should be just in the same sense under 
 their government then as we are now, but in a much 
 higher degree and more perfect manner."''^ Governments 
 punish actions exclusively as detrimental to society. 
 Acts are legally wrong because they are politically or 
 socially assumed to be injurious. What may be called 
 moral law gives notice to intelligent agents, by painful 
 consequences, that actions are wrong. They prove 
 themselves to be wrong and out of harmony with the 
 constitution of things by producing pain. The pain is 
 the evidence of their obliquity ; and if we cannot trace 
 the connection in all cases, we have proof enough to 
 justify the general conclusion that pain and wrong are 
 two phases of the same fact. 
 
 Mr. T. It is not by personal acts alone that man 
 makes acquaintance with pain ; he derives good from 
 those who have gone before him, and he inherits evil, 
 but it was never uncaused, though its genesis be not 
 discoverable ; it may have been transmitted — his ances- 
 tors laboured and he entered into their labours ; they 
 transgressed, and he was born blind (John ix. 2), 
 physically, morally, or mentally. 
 
 Mr. L. The constitution of things links man indis- 
 solubly, for better or worse, with what has gone before 
 and what comes after, and though this may perplex us 
 
 * Analogy, Part I. chap. ii.
 
 230 Essays and Papers. 
 
 in the analysis of individual fate, we assume it is an 
 arrangement that will eventually justify' itself by a pre- 
 ponderance of good ; it foils us in attempting to mete 
 out to individuals their exact share of blame-worthiness, 
 and it should therefore moderate our censoriousness both 
 in matters of belief and practice. 
 
 " Then at the balance let's be mute, 
 We never can adjust it ; 
 What's done we partly may compute, 
 But know not what's resisted." * 
 
 Mr. T. Look at it as we may, this aspect of things is 
 perplexing ; the bonds that bind us to the past are not to 
 be broken, and the burden laid upon us must be boine, 
 hard and heavy though it be ; the compensations which 
 it brings we take as matters of course, but in particular 
 cases the pressure is terrible, though to the race 
 eventually there may be a balance of good. Shelley 
 looked at the dark side of the problem : he says, 
 
 " What power delights to torture us ? I know- 
 That to myself I do not wholl}' owe 
 What now I suffer, though in part I may. 
 Alas ! none strewed fresh flowers upon the way 
 Where wandering heedlessly, I met pale Pain, 
 My shadow, which will leave me not again." f 
 
 Mr. L. We are not to take for granted that men have 
 as yet interpreted truly what is involved in this question, 
 nor yet that they have put such real knowledge as they 
 possess into transparent words. 
 
 Mr. T. This is the stumbhng-block we are constantly 
 met by ; what is the precise meaning in morals of the 
 words made use of ? What was the meaning attached to 
 them in past times ? We say a man is selfish, and we 
 know in general what is meant by it ; but then systems of 
 ethics are designated by the same word, though they 
 may do no more than apply the maxim of doing to others 
 
 * Burns. f Julian and Maddalo.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 231 
 
 as we would they should do to us, and this is a computa- 
 tion not reckoned selfish in the ordinary sense of the 
 word. 
 
 Mr. L. Hume says — " In my opinion there are two 
 things which have led astray those philosophers that have 
 insisted so much on the selfishness of man. They found 
 that every act of virtue or friendship was attended with a 
 secret pleasure, whence they concluded that friendship and 
 virtue could not be disinterested. But the fallacy of this 
 is obvious. The virtuous sentiment or passion produces 
 the pleasure, and does not arise from it. I feel a pleasure 
 in doing good to my friend because I love him ; but do 
 not love him for the sake of that pleasure."'^ "Disin- 
 terested" and "selfish," are words, the meaning of which 
 we fancy ourselves perfectly acquamted with, but when 
 we ask what are the precise facts they represent we don't 
 find it easy to determine. A recent writer on this subject 
 says — " When we consider how far the development of 
 knowledge depends upon full and exact means of express- 
 ing thought, is it not a pregnant consideration that the 
 language of civilised men is but the language of savages 
 more or less improved in structure, a good deal extended 
 in vocabulary, made more precise in the dictionary defini- 
 tion of words ? The development of language between its 
 savage and cultured stages has been made in its details, 
 scarcely in its principle. It is not too much to say that 
 half the vast defect of language as a method of utterance, 
 and half the vast defect of thought as determined by the 
 influence of language, are due to the fact that speech is a 
 scheme worked out by the rough and ready application of 
 material metaphor and imperfect analogy, in ways fitting 
 rather the barbaric education of those who formed it 
 than our own. Language is one of those intellectual 
 departments in which we have gone too little beyond the 
 savage state, but are still, as it were, hacking with stone 
 
 * Hume's Essays — " Dignity or Meanness of Human Nature."
 
 232 Essays and Papers. 
 
 celts, and twirling laborious friction fire. Ethnography 
 reasonably accounts at once for the immense power and 
 the manifest weakness of language as a means of express- 
 ing modern educated thought, by treating it as an original 
 product of low culture, gradually adapted by ages of 
 evolution and selection to answer more or less sufficiently 
 the requirements of modern civilisation.""^ 
 
 Mr. T. The things and thoughts that we name must 
 have existed before they could be named, and the names 
 they received represented such appearance as the things 
 put on ; but a name which has been long associated with 
 an idea imposes a special meaning upon it, and if the 
 meaning was at the first a misconception, it may remain 
 uncorrected for many generations, and, though the ideas 
 of men may gradually be modified, the yoke of the words 
 is hard to throw off. 
 
 Mr. L. The names by which men have distinguished 
 actions have too often been egregiously false and mis- 
 leading, popular objects of admiration have appropriated 
 to themselves epithets of which they were wholly unde- 
 serving, and it has needed all the force of reason to 
 correct the fallacious impression. In our own commercial 
 age actions of the most flagrant dishonesty are called by 
 conventional words which imply misfortune rather than 
 fraud, and the most shameful actions escape the moral 
 indignation which they merit. The man who cannot pay 
 his debts by reason of extravagance and speculation looks 
 with disdain upon the man who fails to pay in consequence 
 of gambling upon the turf, though the former may do 
 most mischief; a man who purloins some trifling article 
 is a degraded thief, and expiates his offence in a gaol, 
 whilst the one who appropriates in a wholesale way 
 the property and earnings of others makes what is called 
 a composition, frequents a church, and holds himself as 
 high as ever. If society made a righteous estimate of 
 
 * Edward B. Tylor, " Primitive Culture."
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 233 
 
 actions, and judged of them according to the mischief 
 they entailed, these men might change places ; but the 
 respectable man who has robbed his creditors of thousands 
 would feel grossly humiliated if he had to share the cell 
 of the miserable wretch who stole half-a-crown. 
 
 Mr. T. The very word that distinguishes the system 
 of morals we have been discussing is a source of prejudice. 
 Utilitarianism is a word which, when fairly interpreted, 
 is altogether irreproachable, but it has been associated 
 with what is " common and unclean," until it is difficult 
 to introduce it to better society. To love one's neigh- 
 bour as one's self is reckoned a good rule, and yet by a 
 change of words it gets the bad name of selfishness. The 
 darkest deeds of the Inquisition were clothed in venerable 
 and devout phrases, and this pious and plausible language 
 imparted such a iiavour to the bad work that its 
 perpetrators probably thought it was good. 
 
 Mr. L. If unctuous words disguise evil deeds, printed 
 words, with their hard and fast lines, take altered 
 impre5.sions very slowly ; the new wine of a fresh 
 experience is poured into the old bottle of an ancient 
 word, and so the new wine acquires the flavour of the 
 old bottle. 
 
 Mr. T. Need we then wonder that the old ideas retain 
 
 their dominion ? 
 
 Mr. L. Nor should we repine, so long as the new are 
 put on their trial. That man does move forward we 
 admit, though at a rate and after a fashion baffling our 
 computation, especially as estimated by the old chrono- 
 logies. Geology, however, has furnished better data and 
 more authentic evidence. The strata of the earth bear 
 witness to the enormous periods of time that were 
 necessary for the production of the phenomena they 
 disclose ; and the mind, proceeding by inferences which 
 are elsewhere valid and irresistible, confides in its inter- 
 pretation of the facts as firmly as in its reading of 
 inscriptions upon pillars or upon parchment. The detail
 
 234 Essays and Papers. 
 
 of events which human eyes did not see, and which 
 imagination only has depicted, can never become truly 
 intelligible or conceivable by the instrumentality of mere 
 words, but may be in some degree comprehended by 
 means of what is tangible and visible ; a history of the 
 earth is written in the strata of the earth, and brings new 
 light to the history of man. A finite intelligence, looking 
 at our world in its molten state, revolving for ages in its 
 desolate path, could never have dreamed that " this fiery 
 mass " would one day be adorned with the loveliness and 
 beauty that have since dwelt upon it, nor have conjectured 
 that the " fervent heat " which rendered it uninhabitable, 
 was but a phase of that evolution which was fitting it for 
 the abode of living bemgs. We are beginning to see that 
 the little drama comprised within the few and limited 
 acts recorded in our annals, represents but a very small 
 portion of the performance, and of the stage on which 
 man has hitherto played his part. That he sprang from 
 a low origin, at a remote era, may be granted without 
 fear. Fill up the interval as we may, — within the 
 periods of authentic written history (and why should 
 hard, legible, ineffaceable facts be incredible ?] — it is 
 evident that he has made vast acquisitions, and the 
 space that now separates the most advanced from the 
 most degraded of our species may be no greater than 
 that w^hich separates the lowest living races from the 
 lowest that science has brought to light, and the relations 
 of these earliest specimens of our race, founded upon 
 their wants and impulses, must have borne a certain 
 resemblance to those of their more civilised successors; 
 their morality also must have moved upon a parallel line, 
 for it must have consisted in the adjustment of inner 
 relations to external circumstances. Man — " the heir of 
 all the ages, in the foremost files of time," — is poorly 
 represented in the person of his very remote ancestor ; 
 and what he has become now, why should not the lowliest 
 become in the future ? and why should not this relative
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 235 
 
 position of the first and the last be maintained, so that 
 the noblest of our era may be the lowest of the " coming 
 race " ? 
 
 Mr. T. But what are the causes of these civilising 
 effects ? They are not accidents, but must be due to the 
 efforts and opportunities that have achieved them. Of 
 races, it is true that " whosoever hath, to him shall be 
 given . . . but whosoever hath not, from him shall be 
 taken away that he hath ; " the aborigines, who have not, 
 perish ; and the race which has qualities and aptitudes 
 that are good and useful survives and transmits them, 
 and if definite moral ideas are not inherited, the experi- 
 ences of the past get organised, and make new and higher 
 attainments perpetually possible. Locke's comparison 
 of the mind to a blank sheet of paper is not altogether a 
 happy one ; ages of contact with nature and human 
 nature have bequeathed to it— not the torpidity of paper — 
 but products of thought and feeling, which assimilate 
 with an ever-increasing facility the more elevated condi- 
 tions of its existence. 
 
 " A footfall there 
 Suffices to upturn to the warm air 
 Half-germinating spices ; mere decay 
 Produces richer life." * 
 
 Mr. L. Man's ideas and feelings are mamly the reflec- 
 tion of his circumstances and surroundings. If the 
 internal forces of nature had not broken up the surface 
 of the earth into mountains and plains, and if the effects 
 of light and shade had been other than they are, his 
 notions of beauty would have been of a different order ; 
 what he possesses is the product of his relationships, and 
 would be altered with them. 
 
 " How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 
 These boys know little they are sons to the King; 
 
 Nor Cymbeline dreams they are alive. 
 
 They think they're mine ; and though trained up thus meanly 
 
 * Sordello.
 
 236 Essays and Papers. 
 
 r the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
 In simple and low things, to prince it much 
 Beyond the trick of others." * 
 
 Hitting the roofs of palaces is just a special instance of 
 that transmitted feeling of which man's general habitudes 
 are a wider if less observed illustration. " The sparks of 
 nature" had been struck out by the collision of natural 
 objects; "these boys know little," and were "trained 
 meanly," but their impulsive acting bore witness to 
 former culture ; direct consciousness of it there was not, 
 and no imitation, but withal a distinct bias, vocal and 
 visible ; effects which nature everywhere slowly accumu- 
 lates, or as you say, organises. To the stature of the 
 generation they may add, not a cubit, but an infinitesimal 
 part of one, for things which nature approves do acquire 
 ascendancy; the conditions of life favour their growth, 
 and they grow and are indefinitely modified in their 
 progress. Causes, apparently insignificant and of almost 
 imperceptible action, by incessant and combined oper- 
 ation accomplish the results ; tendencies beneficial to the 
 world, though at first feeble and vacillating, gather to 
 themselves power and persistence, and vanquish oppo- 
 sition ; and the impulse they give does not spend itself 
 in the generation that originates them, but is carried 
 forward and consolidated, until in its turn it encounters 
 some fresh force into which it is merged. This fact then 
 meets us,— that it is conduct, intelligently directed, which 
 gets a final foothold in the world of affairs— that habit 
 may prompt it, without consciousness, and that habit 
 may be of inheritance; and the credentials of conduct 
 which are alone to be trusted are its effects in the world, 
 —happiness and well-being, — " on earth peace, good will 
 toward men." 
 
 Mr. T. To blunt the edge of Mr. Lecky's criticism 
 let us put in Hooker's definition of the word happiness, 
 
 * Cynibcline.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 237 
 
 he says, — " Happiness, therefore, is that estate whereby 
 we attain, so far as possibly may be attained, the full 
 possession of that which simply for itself is to be desired, 
 and containeth in it, after an eminent sort, the con- 
 tentation of our desires, the highest degree of all our 
 perfections." * 
 
 Mr. L. If Mr. Lecky had studied this definition he 
 need not have quarrelled with the word ; to human 
 nature certain things are always desirable, and certain 
 other things may become desirable, and in this direction 
 there is no limit, so long as the things are, by the 
 constitution of the world, adapted to the nature of man 
 and are brought to his knowledge. 
 
 Mr. T. What is ideally conceivable may be practically 
 unattainable ; our subject is man, with his powers and 
 the objects provided for them ; he is only capable of 
 such knowledge as he has instruments for, and of such 
 happiness as his faculties furnish. He cannot transcend 
 these ; if there are in other worlds means of happiness or 
 notions of rectitude which are not related to his nature, 
 they are to him non-existent. He can but know by the 
 faculties he possesses, and he can but act within the 
 limits of his function. 
 
 Mr. L. And if he pleases he may kick against the 
 pricks, and produce to himself inevitable pain. 
 
 Mr. T. Kicking against pricks, voluntarily or involun- 
 tarily, yields small returns in the shape of right feeling 
 and thinkmg. 
 
 Mr. L. Don't forget the geological eras ; and don't 
 circumscribe your ideas within the narrow^ centuries of 
 which we have written records ; build theories upon facts. 
 At present none may furnish us with an unassailable 
 scheme of the universe, nor is it necessary we should 
 have one, and it even is more needful that we should not 
 fashion one out of discordant materials. We can wait, — 
 
 * Ecclesiastical Polity, Book I. ch. xi.
 
 238 Essays and Papers. 
 
 we have seen a cosmogony founded on words displaced 
 by another founded on things ; perhaps it is inevitable 
 that such words should be misunderstood until facts 
 throw light upon them, and the fate of these words 
 should warn us how treacherous a foundation words are, 
 when the things which they stand for are unknown. 
 Remember the rudimentary intelligence and lowly con- 
 dition of the primitive man whose flint tools we have 
 handled, and compare with them the tools and books of 
 his descendant. " Look on that picture, and on this," 
 and say if the suffering has been wasted that has achieved 
 the transformation ? 
 
 " I.ife is probation, and this earth no goal 
 But starting-point of man ; compel him strive, 
 Which means in man, as good as reach the goal, — 
 Why institute that race, his life, at all ?" * 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " The basis of our conception of duty 
 is an intuitive perception that among the various feelings, 
 tendencies, and impulses that constitute our emotional 
 being, there are some which are essentially good and 
 ought to be encouraged, and some which are essentially 
 bad and ought to be repressed."' 
 
 Mr. L. Whose conception does Mr. Lecky mean, when 
 he says " ours " ? For to say that he has such a conception, 
 which he thinks to be intuitive, is not at all the question. 
 An " intuitive perception^' should be the property of all 
 mankind who are not diseased or crazy. Let us hear 
 Butler on this point. He says, " Human nature is not one 
 simple, uniform thing, but a composition of various parts 
 —body, spirit, appetites, particular passions and affections, 
 for each of which reasonable self-love would lead men to 
 have due regard, and make suitable provision," f Again, 
 " Men may speak of the degeneracy and corruption of the 
 world, according to the experience they have had of it ; 
 
 * The Ring and the Book, 
 f Sermon upon "The I.ove of Our Neighbour."
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 239 
 
 but human nature, considered as the divine workmanship, 
 should methinks be treated as sacred, for in the image of 
 God made He man. That passion from whence men take 
 occasion to run into the dreadful vices of malice and 
 revenge — even that passion, as implanted in our nature by 
 God, is not only innocent but a generous movement of 
 the mind."* And in the same sermon he says, "No 
 passion God hath endued us with can be in itself evil." 
 A much truer philosophy this than Mr. Lecky's ; " our 
 emotional nature,'^ what Butler calls passion, Mr. Lecky 
 asserts is in part " essentially bad," and known to be so 
 by an " intuitive perception." Strange that the same 
 " intuitive perception " did not discover that it was 
 " essentially bad " to sla}^ men and animals for amusement, 
 and to commit other prodigious atrocities. 
 
 Mr. T. (reads). " It is not to be expected, and it is not 
 maintained, that men in all ages should have agreed 
 about the application of their moral principles. All that 
 is contended for is, that these principles are themselves 
 the same." 
 
 Mr. L. Whether men " should have agreed " or not, is 
 a question we have no means of determining. No valid 
 expectation could be formed one way or other apart from 
 experience, and yet if one knew that men possessed some 
 " intuitive perception," one would expect them to be 
 aware of it, and to be in tolerable agreement about it ; if 
 innate and acquired knowledge be open to equal doubt, 
 what advantage has one over the other ? Facts are facts, 
 however we become acquainted with them ; but that 
 which is innate should surely be self-evident, or carry 
 with it the highest certainty. Mr. Lecky says it is m 
 " the application of their moral principles that men have 
 not agreed, but that these principles are themselves the 
 same." What does this mean ? that somewhere " bevond 
 this visible diurnal sphere " there are moral principles 
 
 * Scnnoii iipun " Resentment."
 
 240 Essays and Papers. 
 
 applicable to human affairs other than those known to 
 men ? or that the human race everywhere and at all times 
 have been in possession of the same moral principles ? 
 The first proposition is not germane to the discussion, 
 and the second is contradicted by facts. " Thou shalt 
 love thy neighbour as thyself" is a moral principle, plain 
 and perspicuous, but it formed no part of the ethical code 
 of the world for many ages, and how could men " apply " 
 it until they were acquainted with it ? When the moral 
 judgments of one age differ from those of another, we 
 conclude that the moral principles which direct them are 
 not the same. But, says Mr. Lecky, humanity was always 
 reckoned as a virtue and cruelty as a vice ; and how does 
 this help the matter? for if "humanity" ever tolerated 
 and approved the butchering of one human being to make 
 a holiday for another human being, then the word human- 
 ity at one time included as part of its meaning what it 
 excluded at another, and it is a transparent fallacy to 
 treat it as always comprehending the same things. The 
 word may be the same, but the thing or conception it 
 has stood for has been fluctuating and unstable ; what 
 men mean b}^ it we gather from their acts and their 
 reasonings ; one generation speaks of the habitable world, 
 and means some very narrow district ; another, by the 
 same word, designates the real globe, — and many of 
 Mr. Lecky's words are equally indeterminate and elastic. 
 If men have thought it a good, and pious, and possible thing 
 to propitiate their gods by human sacrifices, we conclude 
 that their moral principles were utterly at fault in the 
 primary conception of what is good; if, under the 
 sanction of law or custom, or superstition, they performed 
 acts that were cruel and hurtful, we unhesitatingly 
 denounce the acts, guided by the law and constitution of 
 things as made known by experience ; we may excuse the 
 offender, but not the offence. Nature, however, is more 
 stern and relentless for those who violate Her ordinances, 
 — " treasure up wrath against the day of wrath " (Romans
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Murals. 241 
 
 ii. 5) ; or, in other words, accumulate the bad con- 
 sequences of their acts. Things take their course, "whether 
 men hear, or whether they forbear " (Ezek. ii. 5). They 
 don't produce pleasant fruits because men give them 
 pleasant names, or because the real character and 
 tendency of them are mistaken ; man's position is much 
 the same practically, whether he is ignorant of principles 
 or of their application. Whether a mariner has a compass 
 or not matters little, if he can neither read its indications 
 nor apply them. Put a man into possession of the moral 
 principle, "thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," and 
 he immediately asks, "and who is my neighbour?" and 
 he must be informed either by authority, or by reason and 
 experience. A Roman, taking his holiday at the arena, did 
 not regard his victims as neighbours whom he should love, 
 but as things made for his gratification ; and what sort of 
 moral principles could co-exist with such a notion ? The 
 Roman poet who affected to be interested in whatever 
 belonged to man, uttered a sentiment that had no actual 
 relation to living men and women. 
 
 Mr. Lecky, indeed, asserts that killing men for amuse- 
 ment was not a crime in a Roman (page 114). If it were 
 not, crimes have been very scarce in the annals of the 
 world. If it be true that a Roman by such an act com- 
 mitted no crime against the laws of his country, against 
 human nature a great crime was committed, which was 
 amply and sternly avenged ; if such acts are not crimes 
 why do they produce the fruits of crime ? and why does 
 mankind of the " milder day " adjudge it a just and need- 
 ful retribution when " Goths glut their ire " upon the 
 profligate and base population who found pleasure in the 
 degradation and anguish of their species ? 
 
 Mr. T. A crime is technically an act injurious to the 
 community ; but its criminality is its injuriousness, and 
 not its position on the statute book. It is strange that 
 Mr. Lecky should deny the criminality of acts that 
 distinctl}' debase and brutalise mankind ; whatever does 
 
 16
 
 242 Essays and Papers. 
 
 this, in the strictest sense of the word, is a crime, and 
 will eventually be so recognised. We shall make no acts 
 injurious by declaring them to be so, and we shall make 
 none innoxious by apology or applause ; consequences are 
 not to be evaded because they are not apprehended. I 
 suppose that iilth generates fever whether men know it 
 or not, and acts that deteriorate man's moral nature as 
 certainly produce their proper fruit ; " whatsoever a man 
 soweth, that shall he also reap " (Gal. vi. 7). Is this 
 matter of fact or mere dogma ? " Sowing the wind, and 
 reaping the whirlwind " (Hos. viii. 7), is not a concatena- 
 tion, uncertain and capricious, but fixed and determinate, 
 though it should need long experience to make it out. 
 
 Mr. L. Man's relations are real and substantial things, 
 not to be thwarted or perverted with impunity ; he 
 may mistake or misinterpret them, — he may regard as 
 insignificant what is really momentous, or he may elevate 
 into importance what is trivial, but the course and 
 current of things is not altered by his estimate, and his 
 condition bears witness to the truth or error of his 
 computation. If he worships idols either of the mind or of 
 wood, his circumstances tell of the delusion, for nature 
 is not mocked or deceived, she is not imposed upon by 
 lies or shams, but appoints to each its appropriate penalty, 
 and exacts it punctually. 
 
 Mr. T. And yet men manage to live under the falsest 
 notions of things. 
 
 Mr. L. And they live badly enough, and are hurt 
 incessantly without knowing how or why. 
 
 Mr. T. Being under the dominion of laws which they 
 are ignorant of, but which are inexorable in their operation. 
 
 Mr. L. They cannot evade the physical suffering that 
 is the result of physical ignorance. Evil of this kmd may 
 be disguised, but it does not become good by assuming 
 its garb, nor is moral evil at all more accommodating ; 
 its nature is to do harm, and it does it. The moral 
 atmosphere of the Roman amphitheatre was no less
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 243 
 
 pestilential than the exhalations of the Pontine marshes, 
 and Mr. Lecky would hardly contend that these were 
 harmless because men might think them so; their 
 influences might elude observation, but they made them- 
 selves felt. 
 
 Mr. T. The subjective impressions of men are not 
 tests of truth. What they think may be material to their 
 own happiness, but has no effect upon the arrangement 
 of things ; and right and wrong are surely attributes of 
 things founded upon their relations to man, but quite 
 independent of his notions of them. 
 
 Mr. L. If actions that do moral mischief in the world 
 are not crimes we shall want another name of equally 
 bad repute to designate them, and we shall gain nothing 
 by the change. Whatever does harm in the world will 
 some time or other get abohshed, if the means exist; 
 what was said about it " by them of old time " (Matt. 
 V. 21), will be gainsaid by those who come after. The 
 history of the Jews illustrates the fact. A people at a low 
 point ef civilisation had, in many things, a low moral 
 standard to work by, "because of the hardness of their 
 hearts" (Matt. xix. 8). It was not a question of applying 
 moral principles, but of not possessing them ; and the 
 evil tolerated was evil notwithstanding, though the 
 people were not conscious of it. 
 
 Mr. T. The mind of the race, regarded historically, 
 has manifestly been more conscious of evil at one time 
 than at another, and maxims and rules have been syn-. 
 chronically made to suit it. Measured by an ideal 
 standard, or by man at his best, these have been bad, 
 and the evil was not an abstraction but a disorganisation, 
 asking compassion, not approbation ; and the thing 
 asking compassion was the state of mind that so imper- 
 fectly apprehended its relations, and consequently endured 
 so much misfortune ; but the experience that sufficed to 
 rectify what had grown complex was competent from the 
 first to teach what was simple. 
 
 16 *
 
 244 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. L. Mr. Lecky tells us "The terms 'higher and 
 lower,' 'nobler or less noble,' 'purer or less pure,' 
 represent moral facts with much greater fidelity than 
 right or wrong, or virtue or vice" (page 113). They 
 represent something to those who have a standard, but 
 then which of all the standards are we to try them by ? 
 Nobler than what ? Whose ideal shall we set up ? A 
 Jewish Pharisee's or a Roman Stoic's, a North American 
 Indian's or a Hindoo's, that of Thomas a' Kempis or 
 Thomas Huxley, Tamerlane's or Tam o' Shanter's ? 
 
 " Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them ? " 
 
 was the question that perplexed Hamlet, and has much 
 puzzled many more. "These were more noble than 
 
 those in Thessalonica, in that they received 
 
 with readiness of mind, and searched," &c, (Acts xvii. 11) ; 
 but to the majority of the Jews this disposition was not 
 noble ; on the contrary, they thought badly of it, and 
 gave it a bad name. We must not be cozened with mere 
 words, it is for some reason that acts are called noble and 
 pure, and the reasons vary. The patriarchs were not pure 
 after the pattern of the Puritans. " It hath been said, 
 thou shalt hate thine enemy ; but I say unto you, love 
 your enemies" (Matt. v. 43 — 44); love and hate, there- 
 fore, have each been reckoned noble, and there are tribes 
 of men now who think it both a folly and a crime to love 
 or spare an enemy. 
 
 " Now, who shall arbitrate? 
 Ten men love what I hate ; 
 Shun what I follow ; slight what I receive : 
 Ten, who in ears and eyes 
 Match me ; we all surmise, — 
 They, this thing, and I that ; whom shall my soul believe ? " * 
 
 Mr. T. The word noble gives us no more help than 
 
 * Rabbi Hen K/ra.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 245 
 
 other words of the same class, for the conceptions it 
 
 has held together have been composed of discordant 
 
 elements. 
 
 " What a piece of work is man ! 
 How noble in reason ? " 
 
 But this nobleness of reason has not been universally 
 acknowledged, the superstitious have denied it, and the 
 fighters have derided it ; 
 
 " Nay, if we talk of reason 
 Let's shut our gates and sleep ; manhood and honour 
 Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts 
 With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect 
 Make livers pale and lustihood deject." * 
 
 The admiration implied by the word noble has not been 
 bestowed on any settled or righteous principle. The word 
 has now a connotation that represents the culture of 
 ages ; to the man of flint implements it had little 
 meaning. 
 
 Mr. L. "The light of human minds is perspicuous 
 word's," t and the sort of words we are speaking of are 
 not perspicuous, because the ideas they stand for have 
 been unstable. The ideas are not the mintage of an 
 intuition having immediate insight, but have corresponded 
 to the condition of the world. Hero worship has set up 
 strange gods, and the litanies it has made in their honour 
 have spared no word of praise, but 
 
 " That spell upon the minds of men 
 Breaks, never to unite again, 
 
 That led them to adore 
 Those Pagod things of sabre sway, 
 With fronts of brass and feet of clay." % 
 
 Mr. T. The man of flint implements had this in com- 
 mon with his successor, that he was related to the world 
 in which he lived, and to those by whom it was in- 
 habited. 
 
 * Troilus and Cressida. f Leviathan. J Byron.
 
 246 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Mr. L. And these relations are the framework of 
 man's morality; he is a son, a father, a subject, a created 
 being, and each of these relations is a spring of action, 
 shaping and governing his moral character. There is a 
 channel of things in which his faculties and feelings are 
 fitted to i^ow ; he finds it out by observation and re- 
 flection, and it becomes known and assured to him by the 
 fertility and beauty that mark its course. 
 
 Mr. T. His relations, being what they are, have 
 correlative duties and obligations ; the one set of things 
 should be the counterpart of the other. A professor of 
 moral philosophy at Oxford, eminent in his day, the Rev. 
 W. Mills, B.D., opens a " Lecture on the Perception of 
 Moral Beauty" in these words — " I have endeavoured to 
 show, in my previous lectures, that the source and 
 foundation of morality is in the immutable relations of 
 things and persons to each other, and that the perception 
 of it is placed in reason and intelligence." His published 
 lectures accomplish this purpose imperfectly, but his 
 definition, minus the word " immutable," seems a fair, if 
 not a perspicuous one; the relation of things and persons 
 being the data from whence are deduced duties and 
 obligations which reason and intelligence approve, but 
 " immutable " is a word not to be predicated of man. 
 
 Mr. L. Think of the ten commandments, or of any 
 rule of right now regulating men's actions, as applied to 
 Adam on the primal day of his existence ; the " first 
 commandment with promise " would have had no mean- 
 ing to him. What could he covet? Against whom could 
 he be a false witness ? and so on through the decalogue. 
 Relations and duties coincide ; duties are what is due or 
 owing on account of some relation. 
 
 Mr. T. Mr. Lecky affirms that " some savages kill 
 their old parents " (page 104) from a feeling of kindness, 
 and parents, we know, have " sacrificed their sons and 
 their daughters unto devils" (Ps. cvi. 37), and Mr. Lecky 
 makes a sort of apology for such acts, as having been
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 247 
 
 prompted by religious or economic ideas ; we are not to 
 suppose that these parents or children were worse than 
 others — their actions were probably approved. There has 
 at all times been a thing called cruelty, but sacrificing 
 children to devils had another name amongst those who 
 worshipped devils. 
 
 Mr. L. And such devils were regarded with respect 
 and fear by their worshippers, and were to be propitiated 
 by self-inflicted sufferings. Bad acts were done that 
 imaginary supernatural beings might be appeased ; and the 
 acts were bad because they were stupid and degrading. 
 
 Mr. T. No acts can be reckoned good, how much 
 soever they may be applauded, which are proved to be 
 injurious to man. 
 
 Mr. L. Certainly not ; the abstract word goodness, 
 must derive its parentage from concrete acts that are 
 productive of good ; acts have been called good which 
 were mischievous to man ; they may have been done 
 "ignorantly, in unbelief," or misbehef, but this doesn't 
 change the nature of acts^" by their fruits ye shall 
 know them." 
 
 Mr. T. Our morning's talk has shown us how wide of 
 each other have been men's thoughts in morals ; and 
 this does not surprise us when the history of man is 
 known. What he has thought is what he was taught 
 by the things he has been in contact with — his fellow- 
 men being the most potent of the things ; and out of his 
 relations have grown special ideas and feelings which 
 have brought forth and nourished those human qualities 
 that have for their object the good of man — the many 
 and the one. " It is a manifest absurdity to suppose evil 
 finally prevailing over good under the conduct and 
 administration of a perfect mind." * 
 
 Mr. L. Such good being something related to man's 
 nature and faculties. He may at times have doubted 
 
 * Butler's Third Sermon on Human Nature.
 
 248 Essays and Papers. 
 
 — such has been his meanness and poverty — whether 
 good existed. " There be many that say, Who will show 
 us any good?" (Ps. iv. 6). The problem being to develop 
 intelligence, emotion, and volition, from the lowest 
 elements — (" the dust of the ground, into which had been 
 breathed the breath of life," forming the rudimentary 
 material) — who shall say by what steps and gradations, 
 through what dark and devious ways, so feeble an agent 
 would traverse the mighty space between the starting- 
 point and the goal ? Who can determine the conditions 
 most favourable for the growth of wisdom and virtue, the 
 relations most helpful to them, or, in general, the 
 activities most to be desiderated ? Who can tell, prior 
 to experience, what speculative and active processes will 
 conduce to a given end ? If — 
 
 " All the world's a stag-e, 
 And all the men and women merely players," 
 
 what sort of stage should be set up, and wliat sort of 
 play ? What qualities are wanted in the player, and 
 what performance will best bring them out ? Of what 
 objects should the universe consist, and in what subjects 
 should it be reflected ? We have no faculties that can 
 answer such questions, yet our criticisms sometimes 
 imply that we have. 
 
 Mr. T. If it be true that the evolution of intelligence 
 and feeling, as ultimate factors of the highest worth, be 
 the end and design of the universe, we are truly no 
 judges of the methods suited to produce them, and the 
 machinery around us, painful and perplexing though it 
 be, may most surely shape and mould the refractory 
 material into those higher forms it is predestined to 
 assume. 
 
 " The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small ; 
 Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness he grinds 
 all."* 
 
 * Longfellow.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 249 
 
 Mr. L. And the process is evermore subservient to 
 the product. The material fabric, by means of which 
 the transformation is carried on, may prove to be a mere 
 phantasmagoria, an "insubstantial pageant," which " shall 
 dissolve," and leave behind — to reappear under more 
 durable forms — the substantial fruit of emotion and 
 intelligence so painfully wrought out. 
 
 Mr. T. Is it possible to imagine a purpose for which 
 the machinery of life was set in motion except the 
 ultimate good of living agents ? 
 
 Mr. L. Perhaps not; the relations of man and his 
 constitution being the instruments of his good. 
 
 Mr. T. His intellectual nature fashioning itself on the 
 objects and sequences around, advances as it apprehends 
 and assimilates them. 
 
 Mr. L. And his emotional nature attaining its truest 
 and highest development as it moves in the regulated 
 orbit of its relations and affinities. 
 
 Mr. T. And right, as a rule of action, is the legis- 
 lation of the intellectual nature for the guidance of the 
 emotions and the volitions. Is it not ? 
 
 Mr. L. I should say so, — the volitional nature being 
 the controlling power of the organisation, deriving its 
 force from the emotions, and its direction from the 
 intelligence. 
 
 Mr. T. And, directed by defective or perverted intelli- 
 gence, is led astray. 
 
 Mr. L. Yes, and hence the conflicting standards that 
 have been set up ; feeling has usurped a disproportionate 
 authority and assumed a supremacy that did not belong 
 to it. The measure and value of action is not its 
 mere accordance with feeling but its outcome and 
 effect — the final product to the individual and the 
 community. 
 
 Mr. T. And a system, an institution, or a theory, is 
 properly impugned when it ceases to bear fruit — " cut it 
 down ; why cumbereth it the ground ? " (Luke xiii. 7).
 
 250 Essays and Papers. 
 
 That it once responded to men^s feelings and intelligence 
 was enough ; when it does so no longer it is doomed ; the 
 salt has lost its savour — a contingency seldom provided 
 for, and the bare affirmation of which has been too often 
 a presumption not to be pardoned. 
 
 Mr. L. And yet much of the salt that has seasoned 
 human affairs has lost its savour in the course of 
 transmission, and become unmistakably vapid and taste- 
 less, but its votaries have nevertheless preserved it with 
 a devout scrupulosity, as though it retained all its pristine 
 power. 
 
 Mr. T. The colour and appearance of salt I suppose 
 have remained, but its useful properties are beyond recall; 
 " it is neither fit for the land, nor yet for the dunghill," 
 the last and lowest of all destinies ; and therefore men 
 " cast it out " (Luke xiv. 35). 
 
 Mr. L. Figuratively, and in fact, " salt is good ; " and 
 the salt which in this economy of ours constitutes the 
 true antiseptic is utility. " What do ye more than 
 others ? " (Matt. v. 47) — is the final test of principles and 
 men ; what a thing does for mankind is that which 
 entitles and enables it to live. It may distribute its 
 benefactions in an endless variety of ways ; but that it 
 does good, that it ameliorates the lot of man and makes 
 his life happier and brighter, is what alone gives it vitality 
 and virtue. 
 
 Mr. T. " That which decayeth and waxeth old is 
 ready to vanish away" (Heb. viii. 13); and to decay 
 means to lose usefulness by losing adaptation to the 
 conditions of life. A mental conception, or a principle, 
 once representing men's feelings and aspirations, when 
 it renders no further service " vanisheth away ; " old 
 conditions are broken up, and the thoughts that re- 
 sponded to them may be picturesque but have no power. 
 
 " Another race hath been, and other pahns are won." * 
 * Wordsworth.
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 251 
 
 Mr. L. One looks with regret upon the vanishhig 
 away of what has been associated with human interest 
 and sympathies ; and we are apt to imagine that the 
 beautiful and poetic side of things is departing, leaving 
 only the dull and prosaic^ but this is a delusion. We have 
 no reason to suppose that the future will be less attractive 
 in its beauty than the past ; the ideas of a wider culture 
 may at tirst seem cold and ungenial, but they will beget 
 an enthusiasm of their own. It is not the prerogative 
 of any age to stereotype ideas for all other ages, nor to 
 hold exclusive dominion over the beautiful ; events 
 develop ideas, and yield materials of beauty, to which 
 mind gives colour and form. 
 
 " They tell us beauty born above 
 From no form or shape doth fly."* 
 
 History presents us with many experiments by which an 
 imperfect culture has sought to clothe itself in durable 
 forms ; but they " decline and fall " as they come into 
 colhsion with the constitution of things. 
 
 Mr.-T. The monastic system was such an experiment, 
 it was adapted to conditions that once prevailed, but 
 when the conditions changed it crumbled into dust. It 
 was formerly a home of hopes and fears created by the 
 circumstances of the world, but these altered, and it was 
 *' ready to vanish away." 
 
 " The old order changeth, giving place to new, 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways." f 
 
 Mr. L. And the power that built up the system, though 
 one of the mightiest the world has seen, cannot itself 
 resist the disintegrating process that brings into dust 
 whatever opposes the "constitution and course of nature"; 
 it may talk loftily in the old strain, and utter "great 
 swelling words," but they are " words of vanity," emptied 
 of their former awe and efficacy ; those who employ them 
 may be loth to admit it, but the fact is not to be gainsaid. 
 
 * Barry Cornwall. f Morte d'Arthur.
 
 252 Essays anri Papers. 
 
 The phantom at the Vatican that now fulminates so feebly 
 is not the power that ruled the middle ages. 
 
 Mr. T. The glory has departed : words and forms 
 remain ; but the power is gone, and the men who once 
 wielded it would be the first to proclaim it. The type is 
 changed, and you say that the progress of events produces 
 the change ; that things ultimately govern thoughts; that 
 men's notions, upon all subjects, get modified in a way that 
 is inconsistent with innateness. The more obvious and 
 simple relations of life, from the first, have been interpreted 
 with tolerable accuracy, and actions fitted to them made 
 out with a certain uniformity, but beyond this there has 
 been confusion and diversity. The law of the production 
 and interchange of commodities necessary for the sus- 
 tenance and comfort of man baffled and confounded him 
 for ages. The subtler law that should regulate the conduct 
 of voluntary agents towards themselves, and towards each 
 other, has even been more fatally misunderstood and 
 misapphed ; and the one and the other are alike amenable 
 to the teaching of a wider and wider experience, whose 
 final appeal must ever be, as I suppose, the condition of 
 those whom it has trained and governed, or, according to 
 your formula, " by their fruits ye shall know " whatever 
 challenges approbation or disapprobation. 
 
 Mr. L. The condition of the world is the true expositor 
 of the systems that rule the world. If the former is bad, 
 the latter are poor notwithstanding their pride. Men set 
 up theories of things based upon abstract notions, and 
 although they produce no fruit they cling to them with 
 invincible pertinacity. If they kept to the more modest 
 task of observing facts and phenomena, and marking 
 their meaning, they would get rid of some perplexing 
 dilemmas. Whether man should have been endowed with 
 a special feeling — a sort of Ithuriel's spear — which should 
 immediately discriminate right from wrong ; or whether, 
 placed in contact with the requisite materials, and fur- 
 nished with appropriate implements, he should be left to
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 253 
 
 work out the problem by means of an experience which 
 creates while it teaches, may be debateable; but when his 
 ways and his habits have been observed, when it is seen 
 that he acquires by painful effort whatever he possesses, 
 that— 
 
 "Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to 
 point, * 
 
 the conclusion is no longer doubtful. Surrounded 
 by inert matter, he must acquaint himself with its laws 
 before he can " have dominion " over its processes and 
 subdue them to his purposes. Surrounded by living agents 
 who affect him even more powerfully than the forces of 
 nature, he must comprehend and adjust himself to them 
 before he can direct his affairs with success ; and success 
 means satisfaction to his nature, which satisfaction is for 
 ever enlarging its requirements, " as if increase of appetite 
 had grown by what it fed on." f Whether ready-made 
 ideas, independent of experience, would be preferable to 
 knowledge gradually acquired and frequently superseded, 
 is a futile speculation. The constitution of man is such 
 that he will never be content with the knowledge he 
 possesses whilst his condition is improvable ; and that it 
 is to be improved by knowledge is now his irresistible 
 conviction. Wherever he is hurt or impeded he infers 
 that his information or practice is wrong. '•' We must 
 conclude the ultimate end designed in the constitution of 
 nature and conduct of Providence is the most virtue and 
 happiness possible." % Happiness as the consequence of 
 virtue, and virtue as the means to happiness. 
 
 Mr. T. And man arrives at this conclusion by observ- 
 ation of what takes place around him ; but his judg- 
 ments are provisional, and liable to be set aside on a 
 re-hearing. His instruments are fallible, and if his mind 
 mirrors the facts and forms of existence, these facts and 
 
 * Tennyson. t Hamlet. 
 
 % Butler's Analogy. — Introduction.
 
 254 Essays mid Papers. 
 
 forms may be refracted and distorted by the methods he 
 has adopted or the media to which he is hmited. 
 
 Mr. L. But we assume that his methods and media 
 are the best for the evolution and training of intelligence 
 and feeling — if indeed this be the purpose and end in 
 view. Dogmatism is always intolerant ; and is intoler- 
 able in an intelligence which cannot get beyond this con- 
 dition — " now I know in part"; for partial knowledge can 
 never be positive and absolute. Bishop Blougram's dog- 
 matism is a fair specimen of its class — 
 
 " If once we choose belief, on all accounts 
 We can't be too decisive in our faith, 
 Conclusive and exclusive in its terms " 
 
 Certainly, if the belief is proportioned to the evidence ; 
 for there is no virtue in believing nonsense, be it ever so 
 solemn. 
 
 Mr. T. Bishop Blougram's notion of choosing belief 
 is an odd one ; are we to choose without regard to the 
 evidence, or to look only for such evidence as suits the 
 belief? Belief has reference to facts or propositions for 
 which there either is or is not sufficient evidence, and 
 what is sufficient is a fact of the human mind. Man is 
 formed to believe upon evidence and not otherwise, and 
 experience teaches him to reject faulty evidence. But 
 choice would seem to be excluded. You don't choose to 
 be convinced ; you may refuse to look at the evidence, or 
 you may be mentally incapable of appreciating it, or you 
 may shut your mind against it ; but that which results in 
 such a case is only a figment, unworthy the name of a 
 belief. 
 
 Mr. L. Belief must be founded upon knowledge, the 
 knowledge that a belief asks assent upon grounds that 
 make it credible. 
 
 Mr. T. Dr. Newman, you will recollect, contends in 
 his " Grammar of Assent " that Locke's theory "of the 
 duty of assenting more or less, according to degrees
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 255 
 
 of evidence, is invalid and erroneous."'^ Locke pointed 
 out, as the mark of a sincere lover of truth, " the not 
 entertaining any proposition with greater assurance than 
 the proofs it is built on will warrant " ; and he adds — 
 " Whoever goes beyond this measure of assent, it is plain 
 receives not truth in the love of it, loves not truth for 
 truth's sake, but for some other by-end." Dr. Newman 
 quotes this statement of Locke, and, in an elaborate 
 argument, undertakes to confute it. 
 
 Mr. L. And Hooker, in his " Ecclesiastical Polity," 
 has a passage corresponding with Locke's. He says — - 
 " Now, it is not required, nor can be exacted at our hands, 
 that we should yield unto anything other assent than 
 such as doth answer the evidence which is to be had 
 
 of that we assent unto The truth is, that how 
 
 bold and confident soever we may be in words, when it 
 Cometh to the point of trial, such as the evidence is, 
 which the truth hath either in itself or through proof, 
 such is the heart's assent thereunto ; neither can it be 
 stronger, being grounded as it should be." t Locke and 
 Hook^er are at one. What Dr. Newman calls "indefectible 
 certitude," in this province of probationary knowledge is 
 not to be attained by man. We observe an intelligence 
 commencing its career in the lowliest guise, amid scenes 
 and things fitted to quicken and invigorate it, associated 
 moreover with feelings that spring up spontaneously in 
 presence of their objects, and we conclude that the two 
 sets of things were made for and balance each other ; we 
 remark also the limitations of this intelligence, and the 
 conditions under which it works, and we see no basis for 
 transcendental dicta. The platform on which we thus 
 stand may seem " common and unclean/' but there has 
 been reared up by means of it an edifice of infinite variety 
 and beauty. If "probability is the very guide of life " % 
 to such an intelligence, we conclude that the temper and 
 
 * Chapter vi. f Book II. ch. vii. 5 
 
 X Butler's Analogy.— Introduction.
 
 256 Essays and Papers. 
 
 habits it forms are the fittest for its work. The road 
 into higher states of knowledge and certitude, from 
 lower of ignorance and distrust, may for ever lie through 
 regions of doubt and difficulty — doubt and difficulty 
 being the conditions indispensable to the development of 
 a human intelligence ; and the relations of a life con- 
 stituted like ours, with its passions and its conflicts, 
 being also the fittest for arousing and cultivating 
 emotions and a will such as belong to man. At this 
 stage of his progress he may not be able to assert that 
 there is a perfect coincidence between his apprehension 
 of things and the reality, between the facts of existence 
 and his conceptions of them ; nay, as to a large class he 
 may not even affirm that the names by which they are 
 known truly represent in different minds the same 
 notions and things. But his position and his possessions 
 are not therefore to be despised ; they may be narrower 
 than he has been wont to believe, but within the region 
 of the knowable, distant alike from presumption and 
 credulity, he will find 
 
 " Ample scope and verge enough ; " 
 
 methods and materials that may enlarge the boundaries 
 of intelligence beyond any limits at present conceivable, 
 and advance in an equal degree the condition of the 
 human race. To be " destroyed for lack of knowledge " 
 (Hos. iv. 6) has been too often the lot of man ; and to 
 "seek the living among the dead" (Luke xxiv. 5), to 
 pursue the shadowy and unattainable and to neglect 
 what lieth at the door, to bewilder himself with a " know- 
 ledge that increaseth sorrow " (Eccles. i. 18), and to 
 eschew what might bring happiness and hope, — this has 
 been the way of him. But the lesson is not lost, the 
 experience has not been in vain ; the future will be better 
 than the past ; for he has learned that real knowledge is 
 not his foe but his friend, and its own " exceeding great 
 reward," delivering him from the delusion and deceit to
 
 Utilitarian Theory of Morals. 257 
 
 which he was in bonds, and giving to him — within his 
 faculty and sphere — this hope and pledge, "what . . thou 
 knowest not now, thou shalt know hereafter." 
 
 " Truth fails not ; but her outward forms that bear 
 The longest date, do melt like frosty rime, 
 That in the morning whitened hill and plain, 
 And is no more ; drop, like the tower sublime 
 Of yesterday, which royally did wear 
 His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain 
 Some casual shout, that broke the silent air, 
 Or the unimaginable touch of Time." * 
 
 * Wordsworth. 
 
 17

 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 Several months since, the Duke of Argyle, in making a 
 speech in the House of Lords, said — " I remember some 
 years ago, at a dinner party, when the conversation turned 
 upon the difficulty of defining civihzation, Lord Macaulay 
 rephed — ' Civihzation, why, there is no difficulty in the 
 least in defining it ; we are civilization, we gentlemen who 
 sit round this table.' " The anecdote is characteristic of 
 Macaulay, of whom, when quite a young man, Lord 
 Melbourne said — " I wish I was as sure of anything as 
 Tom Macaulay is of everything." The dinner party, 
 including, no doubt, men of eminence in the world, 
 thought it was not easy to define civilization. Macaulay 
 promptly and confidently asserts there is no difficulty ; 
 but even so the production of a definite piece of civiliza- 
 tion is not exactly equivalent to a definition of it. We 
 ask. What are the qualities and characteristics of 
 civilization ? and we are presented with a concrete 
 specimen — an actual portion of the thing itself; still we 
 are not told in what particulars the virtue lies. 
 
 Given a small party of men in an aristocratic dining- 
 room, in swallow-tail coats and white ties, with appropriate 
 viands and irreproachable wines, with well-appointed 
 flunkies, and all the luxurious appliances which the wealth 
 of the 19th century can lavish upon its votaries — if this 
 be all that is meant by civilization, then no doubt it was 
 to be seen on the occasion to which the Duke of Argyle 
 referred. But we are not under the spell of that confident 
 and brilliant talker, and may be permitted to doubt 
 whether the definition, as it was called, and allowing 
 much latitude for the liberty of speech which such an 
 occasion justifies, was at all an adequate one, or presented 
 
 -7 *
 
 26o Essays and Papers. 
 
 any distinct ideal of so great a conception as civilization. 
 Civilization surely signifies something more than the mere 
 varnish and lacquer which embellish the externals of 
 society, something more than what Carlyle calls clothes 
 philosophy. The dinner party, in truth, was a very small 
 affair in the concerns of even the British Empire ; and if 
 civilization is restricted to the narrow limits of such 
 dining-rooms, it also must be an insignificant matter. 
 Progress and civilization are not exactly convertible terms; 
 by real progress we understand something substantial and 
 durable, upon which, certainly, civilization may induce an 
 outside polish and refinement ; the glitter of a dining 
 table, and the conversation which enlivens it, may present 
 to us accompaniments of civilization, but do not deserve 
 to be regarded as the ultimate embodiment of it. We 
 must not forget that every age has habits and fashions of 
 its own, which it thinks well of, and contrasts to its own 
 satisfaction with what has gone before. There were men 
 before Agamemnon; there were dinner parties before that 
 which the Duke of Argyle referred to, say one hundred 
 years before, and where the guests were probably as well 
 pleased with themselves as their successors were ; and 
 there were men of genius with them too, and they flattered 
 themselves, like Macaulay, that they were civilization, for 
 were the}^ not better fed and better got up, and able to 
 talk better than the people they lived amongst ? And yet, 
 when they had well dined, they were sometimes not very 
 well able to walk away, and not unfrequently took a 
 lengthened repose under the table. Civilization with 
 them consisted very much of substantial eating and 
 drinking and carousing ; they had been brought up to it, 
 and it formed a part of their ideal of progress. When I 
 first read the Duke of Argyle's speech I was reminded of 
 a scene depicted by a modern artist with great effect, and 
 described m an ancient book m these words: "Belshazzar 
 made a great feast to a thousand of his lords, and drank 
 wine before the thousand." If Macaulay and his few
 
 Proiircss. 261 
 
 ■'tt 
 
 friends dining at a West End mansion in London were 
 civilization, what are we to say cf Belshazzar and 
 his thousand lords, with the golden and silver vessels 
 by which they were surrounded ? That a few men should 
 be able to dine together after a costly and luxurious 
 fashion, whilst multitudes of their fellow-countrymen are 
 at the same moment living in abject poverty and squalor, 
 is but an indifferent aspect of so great a thing as 
 civilization— if by civilization is intended anything which 
 concerns the general welfare of a nation and a race. If 
 civilization has no regard to these wider issues, if it does 
 not concern itself with those who 
 
 On hamely fare may dine, 
 Wear hodden grey and a' that, 
 
 then it is not what is meant by progress. But civilization 
 does look much beyond the manners and fashions of a 
 few people, and the word progress has an equally wide 
 signification. 
 
 The physical condition of society — a necessary con- 
 comitant of its mental and moral condition — has greatly 
 improved, even within the period of our own short lives. 
 The world is better supplied with many things which make 
 it a more desirable place to live m ; there are comforts 
 and conveniences attainable now-a-days which were not 
 formerly accessible to the same class of people ; more 
 people can read, and books are cheaper ; houses and 
 towns are wholesomer and cleaner — all this, and much 
 more, is visible in our own country and in others. 
 Railways and machinery have multiphed indefinitely 
 gratifications which were altogether out of the reach of 
 our ancestors ; and all this is unmistakable progress of a 
 certain kind. Bat it exists along with contrasts which 
 ought not to be overlooked. The same sort of thing, 
 moreover, has existed before ; that is, the men of one 
 generation have been able to feel that they were, in some 
 respects, better off than those who went before them. 
 Egypt and Babylon, at the zenith of their glory, could,
 
 262 Essays and Papers. 
 
 no doubt, look back upon a past which was something 
 lower and less splendid than that which succeeded it. 
 When Nebuchadnezzar contemplated what he called 
 " Great Babylon, which I have built," he, no doubt, had 
 in his mind an inferior Babylon which he had once 
 known ; and when Augustus Caesar boasted that he found 
 Rome brick and left it marble, he regarded the changed 
 circumstances as indicating an advancing civilization and 
 a forward step in the march of progress. 
 
 In his History of England, Macaulay paints a brilliant 
 picture of the condition of England as he knew it and as 
 it was known to Englishmen a few centuries before. 
 Nothing can be more attractive reading than this chapter, 
 and no evidence of progress more satisfactory and con- 
 vincing; but a Roman artist of equal skill would probably 
 have presented to the first Emperor of Rome an equally 
 gratifying contrast ; he would have depicted the rude 
 forefathers of the Roman State as leading, in every way, 
 a less desirable existence than their more literary and 
 luxurious posterity. What men have become accustomed 
 to they think essential to human life, and they regard 
 with some sort of contempt a people who have been worse 
 furnished than themselves with what they find so 
 necessary. Of the Romans under the empire, Gibbon 
 says — " In their dress, their table, their houses, and their 
 furniture, the favourites of fortune united every refinement 
 of conveniency, of elegance, and of splendour, whatever 
 could soothe their pride or gratify their sensuality ; " and 
 a party of them dining together would probably have 
 entertained the same opinion of themselves as Macaulay 
 did of his friends. 
 
 There has been again and again in the history of the 
 world the little clique of men meeting together at the 
 table of one of their order, with all the distinguishing 
 features of their era, and regarding themselves as 
 civilization. The great business of eating drew them 
 together, and whether it was at Babylon, at Persepolis,
 
 Progress, 263 
 
 at Memphis, or at Rome, they looked upon themselves as 
 the most advanced representatives of the human race — 
 and yet the civilization of which they thought so much 
 has perished, and all its pride and pomp have been 
 trampled in the dust. 
 
 This is a phase of things which has created a large 
 amount of perplexity. It has been said that " modern 
 civilization is destined to experience in full measure 
 vicissitudes of national weal and woe, periods of growth, 
 of full vigour, and of age ; the blessedness of creative effort, 
 in religion, polity and art; the comfort of enjoying the 
 material and intellectual acquisitions it has won ; perhaps 
 also, some day, the decay of productive power in the 
 satiety of contentment with the goal attained. But the 
 goal, too, will only be temporary ; the grandest system of 
 civilization has its orbit, and may complete its course, 
 but not so the human race, to which, even when it seems 
 to have attained its goal, the old task is ever set anew 
 with a wider range and a deeper meaning.""^ 
 
 Lord Byron puts it in another way ; contemplating the 
 ruins of Rome from the Capitol, he says — 
 
 There is the moral of all human tales, 
 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past. 
 First freedom and then glory — when that fails, 
 Wealth, vice, corruption — barbarism at last, 
 And History with all her volumes vast 
 Hath but one page. 
 
 How are we to interpret the series of events which make 
 up this one page of history ? Is Lord Byron's the true 
 account of them ? Is history a mere cycle — a drama with 
 its five acts, which is repeated upon the same stage in 
 different ages by different actors, with different scenes, 
 and costumes, and catastrophes ? Lord Derby, in a 
 public address which he delivered some years ago, asked 
 this question — " Have we reached that point which 
 sooner or later must be reached by every nation in the 
 
 * " Tlie History of Rome,'' by Thcodor Mommscn.
 
 264 Essays and Papers. 
 
 course of its history, when material progress ceases, and 
 material decadence begins?" Why must this be the 
 conclusion ? Is there some inherent destiny in things 
 which brings it about ? The clear and critical intellect of 
 Lord Derby offers us no solution of the matter, but 
 merely asserts that a certain thing must come to pass. 
 Why must it ? Because material decadence has been the 
 fortune of the past, has the future therefore nothing 
 better to disclose ? Lord Byron, in the history of Rome, 
 reads, in fact, the history of the world — first, freedom 
 and then glory; when that fails, wealth, vice, corruption, 
 and then barbarism. Doubtless this is not an unfair 
 summary of Roman progress as it is usually represented ; 
 but is it the moral of all human tales, and are they all 
 but the same rehearsal of the past ? Empires widely 
 separated in time and place, existing under different 
 conditions, and consisting of every variety of people, 
 have vanished from the earth ; Lord Byron's description 
 may be literally true that " History with all her volumes 
 vast hath but one page," when we take into account only 
 the materials which are contained in written annals. 
 Perhaps, however. Lord Byron drew his conclusions, and 
 pointed his moral, from too narrow a basis of facts. He 
 had travelled in the East and through Greece, and com- 
 paring the splendid past of this latter country with its 
 then utter desolation he was profoundly impressed with 
 the contrast. Of the isles of Greece he said — 
 
 Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
 But all, except their sun, is set. 
 
 He has depicted, in imperishable verse, the ruin and 
 degradation of Rome ; he was familiar with the history of 
 the earlier empires of the world and with their fate, and 
 he saw in the overthrow of them all the working out, 
 with more or less varying circumstances, of the destiny 
 of nations ; and he assumed that the future of the world 
 would resemble that which was recorded in the annals
 
 Progress. 265 
 
 of the past. There is, however, as we know, one set of 
 circumstances which Byron did not take account of. 
 
 He was acquainted with the written history of the 
 world, but he knew nothing of that pre-historic period 
 which geology has brought to light ; to him the history 
 of mankind was that which is contained in written 
 records ; he was not acquainted with that more ancient 
 history which is found in the strata of the earth, which 
 modern science has disinterred, and which enlarges the 
 horizon of our view in reference to the progress and 
 history of mankind. In our own neighbourhood have 
 been found at various times, below the surface of the soil, 
 materials of human workmanship which satisfy us that 
 the Romans once lived hereabouts ; such things have 
 been discovered in many parts of England, and we are 
 quite certain they prove incontestably that the Romans 
 once occupied this island. Just in the same way, but 
 lower down in the strata, there have been found 
 materials, flint tools and implements of rude workman- 
 ship, which are clearly the production of men who 
 have lived upon the earth in an era of unknown 
 remoteness. The evidence of these facts has not been 
 discovered just here and there, but has been found over 
 an area extending from Central and Southern Europe to 
 Madras and China, and over the American continent. 
 The effect of such discoveries must be to throw back 
 indefinitely the date of man's existence upon the earth, 
 and to enlarge our idea of his progress ; it is one thing 
 to start from the Egyptian history of Herodotus, as the 
 primeval page of the past, and quite another to start 
 from a pre-historic period to which geology introduces 
 us. In a very recently published work, written for the 
 special purpose of reconciling all the knowledge we 
 possess on this subject, the writer says : — " If we were 
 to enumerate the various proofs deduced from geology 
 showing that man has existed upon this earth for a 
 hundred thousand years and more, our book would
 
 2d6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 assume proportions too large for its purpose, and, indeed, 
 it would be unnecessary, since we assume that all our 
 readers have a knowledge of the rudiments of geology. 
 Suffice it to say that man's existence was coeval with 
 that of the extinct mammals of the Pliocene period. 
 Side by side with the bones of the mammoth, the woolly 
 rhinoceros, the cave lion, and other creatures which once 
 roamed over England and the continent of Europe, are 
 to be found stone hatchets and spear heads, and knives 
 made of sharpened flints, the rough weapons of the men 
 who lived in those bygone ages. Again, similar rude 
 weapons have been found buried beneath the stony floors 
 of limestone caves in the South of France and elsewhere, 
 and with these implements in some cases have been 
 found parts of human skeletons. Here, too, have been 
 found the bones of the reindeer, a creature which 
 inhabits only the colder latitudes, showing to us that 
 man was in existence at an age when the climate of 
 Southern France resembled the present climate of 
 Northern Russia. Other remains of pre-historic man 
 have been found in the pile dwellings in the lakes of 
 Switzerland. Indeed, dozens of instances might be 
 brought forward showing that men were living upon the 
 earth tens of thousands of years ago.""^ 
 
 The representative man whose history has to be put 
 together out of materials found in the strata of the earth, 
 and the man who lived when written records came into 
 existence, are separated from each other by an interval 
 which cannot be measured, and the progress from the 
 one state to the other was probably the hardest journey 
 which man has made. 
 
 The Rev. Professor Mahaffy, of Trinity College, Dublin, 
 in his " Lectures on Primitive Civilizations," says — "As 
 to antiquity, what claim can the Greeks have to it when 
 we think of the Egyptians, the Babylonians, and the 
 
 * " The Geology of Genesis," by E. C. Robinson. Elliot Stock : 
 London, 1885.
 
 Progress. 267 
 
 Phoenicians, who all flourished and decayed long before 
 we first hear of culture in the Grecian Seas ; and even as 
 regards these, the oldest known empires of the world, 
 can we say that they in any degree approached the first 
 origin of the world ? Can we say, from a higher and 
 larger point of view than ours, even the venerable 
 pyramids are not late, very late in the history of the 
 world ? Who knows whether it did not require as many 
 thousands of years to produce these great structures as 
 it will require to destroy them ? When, therefore, we 
 mean by the word antiquity any approach to the first 
 days of man upon the earth I suppose the only remains 
 which lay claim to such a dignity are the ancient arrow 
 heads and bows found in the gravel beds of Picardy and 
 the limestone caves of Belgium, deposits of an age far 
 more remote from the records of Egypt, Babylon, and 
 Greece, than these are from the present day." 
 
 Homer seems to have been acquainted with traditions 
 which had reference to some rude and unorganized period 
 of man's history, for in the Odyssey, Ulysses says — 
 
 With heavy hearts we laboured through the tide, 
 To coasts unknown, and oceans yet untried ; 
 The land of Cyclops first, a savage kind, 
 Nor tamed by manners nor by laws confined ; 
 Untaught to plant, to turn the glebe and sow, 
 They all their products to free nature owe ; 
 By these no statutes and no rights are known, 
 No council held, no monarch fills the throne ; 
 But high on hills or airy cliffs they dwell. 
 Or in deep caves, whose entrance leads to hell. 
 
 Ulysses recognises the conditions of a settled agriculture, 
 the holding of councils, the existence of acknowledged 
 laws and rights as things which mark off savage from 
 civilized man. The Greeks with whom Ulysses w^as 
 acquainted were obviously much in advance of the savage 
 people he met with, but there is no reason to suppose 
 that the ancestors of the Greeks had not passed through 
 the same stage of barbarism as these savages. How it
 
 268 Essays and Papers. 
 
 happens that one race gets the start of others in the march 
 of civihzation we cannot tell ; there are advantages of 
 climate, there are positions on the shores of seas, easy 
 of navigation, where the soil is fertile, and the useful 
 productions of nature are abundant and indigenous — all 
 these things are favourable to the growth of mental 
 cultivation, and to the development of industry and 
 enterprise where man has " ample scope and verge 
 enough " for the exercise and stimulation of his faculties. 
 By what steps and processes he made his way upwards 
 from the lowly condition in which he existed in the pre- 
 historic times we can only famtly imagine ; specimens of 
 his workmanship remain, of his ideas and feelings no 
 records exist. Probably if we had historic records of the 
 ante-historic ages ; if some superhuman agency had set 
 down the thoughts and actions of men ages before they 
 could set them down for themselves, we should know that 
 this first step in civilization was the hardest step. But 
 this is a page of history which has not yet been 
 written, and for the writing of which no materials exist. 
 We meet man first in the page of history upon the shores 
 ■ of the Mediterranean sea in Egypt, and when we meet 
 him there, he is a very different being from the man we 
 left with his stone hatchets and spear heads made of 
 sharpened flints, the tenant of caves once occupied by the 
 mammoth and the woolly rhinoceros. The late Dr. 
 Erasmus Wilson, to whom we are indebted for the obelisk 
 on the Thames Embankment, says : — " The first dynasty 
 of Egypt, that of Menes, introduces man to our notice as 
 already an accomplished being. He is a geometrician, 
 an architect, a priest, a warrior ; he is skilled in art and 
 science, he is an engraver of inscriptions, an engrosser of 
 books, and the inventor of a written language ; the 
 papyrus supplies him with a page for his writing, and the 
 enduring stone a material for his sculpture. The Egyp- 
 tians considered themselves to be descended from the 
 gods of their forefathers, to have been the people of the
 
 Progress. 269 
 
 sun god, Horus, when he had his dweUing on the earth. 
 If we follow them on their onward journey we have 
 presented to our minds a succession of things and events, 
 all of which are the first of their kind. These are the 
 first house, the first city, the first pyramid, the first temple, 
 the first obelisk, and so on. All these are the beginning of 
 development, and the steps by which we are enabled to 
 contemplate the first ideas of the people and their subse- 
 quent expansion and growth." Egyptian chronology is at 
 present somewhat conjectural^ but there are landmarks 
 which are fairly clear, and the date of the first dynasty, 
 that of Menes, to which the remarks of Dr. Erasmus 
 Wilson refer, is fixed by the best authorities at about 
 5000 years before our era, or say 7000 years ago ; and 
 this date shows no trace of approach to a primitive and 
 uncivilised state of things. On the contrary, Menes is 
 related to have carried out a great engineering work, by 
 which the Nile was embanked, its course changed, and 
 the new capital city, Memphis, built on the site reclaimed. 
 His next successor is credited with having written learned 
 treatises on medicine and anatomy, and the earliest 
 pyramid — that of Sakhara — was probably built by the 
 king who ascended the throne 88 years after the death 
 of Menes. The annals and monuments of Chaldsea and 
 China tell the same tale as those of Egypt, of dense popu- 
 lation and a high degree of civilization already estab- 
 lished. It was in the great alluvial valleys of such rivers 
 as the Nile and the Euphrates that agriculture displaced 
 the hunting and pastoral stage of life, and led to the 
 building of great cities and the establishment of powerful 
 monarchies. One after another there grew up great 
 empires — Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian — which 
 passed away ; and the very sites of the cities whose 
 names survived were until recently unknown. What 
 was the cause, or what were the causes, which brought 
 about these results ? While these empires were great and 
 prosperous they, no doubt, felt that their power rested on
 
 270 Essays and Papers. 
 
 a sold basis, tliat they had made great progress, and had 
 a fair prospect before them ; did they come to an end by 
 the operation of occult causes ? Is the organisation of 
 a nation like that of a tree, which has only a certain 
 quantity of vitality in it, and which of necessity must 
 decay and perish ? Such a comparison is often enough 
 made, until we come to think that there is some real 
 analogy between the two things. All the empires which 
 the world has known have, after a longer or a shorter 
 lapse of time, passed their meridian and have disappeared. 
 Is this the inevitable destiny which must overtake them 
 all, or can it be explained by any facts or principles 
 which were peculiar to the empires of the past, and 
 which have now ceased to operate ? 
 
 We may safely say that man does not come into the 
 world with a ready made stock of ideas, which fit him 
 to make the best of what he finds here. Having to 
 acquire all his ideas, it is very likely that he would make 
 many blunders in the process, and in the course of 
 working them out in practice. As a matter of fact we 
 know that he has done so. He had everything to learn 
 about himself and his dwelling place. Well, if the 
 supplying of his daily wants was a hard work, and the 
 making of garments not an easy one, if the management 
 of wife and children gave him a good deal of trouble, the 
 management of a growing tribe of people was likely to 
 give much more ; therefore, we may be sure that the 
 government of a mass of hungry, and unruly, and intract- 
 able, and quarrelsome people, in the neighbourhood of 
 other strange people, equally hungry and quarrelsome, 
 would be an arduous business, the only law at first 
 recognised being the law of the strongest — 
 
 For why ? because the good old rule 
 
 Sufficeth them, the simple plan, 
 That they should take who have the power, 
 
 And they should keep who can. 
 
 If society commenced in this fashion — and we have
 
 Progress. 271 
 
 pretty clear proof that it did— then it is evident that the 
 experiment of converting such material into law-abiding 
 communities has been, upon the whole, what it might 
 have been expected to be — a course of wars and fightings. 
 Take the Egyptians as an example. They had a fine 
 piece of territory, in a splendid position, and of great 
 fertility ; and there were warlike people in the world who 
 were not so well off as these Egyptians, and it was easy 
 to pick a quarrel with them, and make war upon and 
 plunder them, and break up the civilization. Can any- 
 body suggest how such a catastrophe under the circum- 
 stances could be avoided? There existed alongside these 
 early empires, or within reach of them, nomadic tribes, 
 who, as their name imports, lived a wandering and 
 predatory life, pasturing their cattle wherever it pleased 
 them, and ready to fight whoever disputed their right of 
 possession. The nomads were the first occupants, and 
 may be regarded as the constant enemies of those who 
 sought shelter in towns. Innumerable savage hordes 
 must have again and again despoiled the more peaceable 
 population, until society became strong enough to offer 
 an organized resistance and fight on its own account, in 
 what we should call a legitimate manner. We have an 
 example of the early belligerent state of society in the 
 history of Abraham. Certain kings, we are told, made 
 war upon certain other kings, and the victors " took all 
 the goods" of the vanquished, and "all their victuals, 
 and went their way." Besides this they captured 
 Abraham's brother, whereupon Abraham armed 318 of 
 his servants, pursued the kings, defeated them, and got 
 back what they had stolen. These kings were probably 
 nothing more than petty chiefs, otherwise 318 men, 
 without arms of precision, would hardly have made such 
 short work of them. But it shows how loosely society 
 was held together. There is something more in the 
 history. " Abraham and Lot," it is said, " had each 
 flocks and herds and tents, so many that the land was
 
 272 Essays and Papers. 
 
 not able to bear them that they might dwell together ; 
 for their substance was great, so that they could not 
 dwell together," and " there was strife between the 
 herdsmen of Abraham's cattle and the herdsmen of 
 Lot's cattle." This want of room, what is called 
 " congestion " in these days, was thus manifested very 
 early, and the remedy of migration or emigration soon 
 suggested itself. We have only to multiply this state of 
 things all over the inhabited world and we see at once 
 the germs of the feuds and strifes and rovings which 
 prevailed. A little further on in the same history we 
 find that the Philistines filled up the wells which had 
 been digged, and that quarrels arose out of these things. 
 The population of the world then was evidently in a 
 lawless and combative condition, and there had not yet 
 arisen any sufficiently organized authority to keep order. 
 Considering that the world was learning its lesson in the 
 art of government, and considering that the scholars 
 were in the main unmanageable and refractory, we can 
 see that there was sure to be contention amongst so 
 many ill-defined rights, and there were besides abundance 
 of people who could say like Macduff — 
 
 I have no words, my voice is in my sword. 
 
 Progress means, at any rate, the passing from one 
 state of things to another ; it is a process of movement, 
 generally supposed to be from a worse state to a better. 
 Dr. Johnson says — " Civilization is the acquisition of the 
 habits, manners, and dispositions of human beings, who 
 live together in the same city or state, opposed to that of 
 men who live in a condition of natural wildness and 
 rudeness." This natural wildness and rudeness preceded, 
 of course, the building of cities and states. We have no 
 difficulty then in concluding that the imperfectly civilized 
 few have had to struggle against the uncivilized many, 
 and that the preponderating barbarism of the world has 
 broken down, from time to time, the barriers which have
 
 Progress. 273 
 
 been raised here and there by the more civihzed races ; 
 also, that these more advanced races made war upon one 
 another to satisfy their needs and greeds, or to defend 
 themselves against the rapacity of others. In these 
 circumstances there were sufficient elements of disorder 
 and conflict to account for the fall of the early empires 
 which grew up in the East. The Grecian states occupied 
 a different position, and came to an end through the 
 operation of different causes. Greece was a country of 
 small extent, broken up into a variety of independent 
 governments, which had no proper national combination 
 or cohesion. They continually quarrelled among them- 
 selves ; Athens and Sparta had a long and bitter contest 
 with each other ; Sparta and Thebes the same. The 
 Macedonians then obtained the supremacy, and at last 
 they were involved in a common ruin by the military 
 preponderance of Rome. Such practically was the fate 
 of all that was left of previous empires ; they were 
 subdued by the superior weight and organization of 
 Roman power. The final failure of nations to retain 
 their position in the world has arisen from their inability 
 to cope with their enemies on the field of battle. A 
 civilization which could not defend itself against attack 
 was sure to be attacked, if it possessed anything that 
 excited the cupidity of other powers. The barbaric 
 element in the world has nowhere yet been driven out. 
 There has been an unceasing contest between the better 
 forces and the worse from the beginning of time ; what- 
 ever civilization has existed has been the triumph of 
 the better forces. Rome represents the ancient world in 
 its more advanced form, and in its most effective and 
 concentrated strength. There never existed a state 
 which so completely overshadowed contemporary states 
 as Rome did. She never approached the intellectual 
 supremacy of Greece, but as an organization of force, 
 as an engine of government, as a military machine, Rome 
 had no equal. A living German writer of the highest 
 
 18
 
 274 Essays and Papers. 
 
 authority — the historian Mommsen — says — " These were 
 the principles on which the community of Rome governed 
 itself: a free people understanding the duty of obedience, 
 disowning all mystical ideas of divine right, absolutely 
 equal in the eye of the law and one with another, bearing 
 the sharply defined impress of a nationality of their own ; 
 while, at the same time, they wisely, as well as magnani- 
 mously, opened their gates wide for intercourse with 
 other lands." Byron says — 
 
 Alas ! the lofty city ; and alas ! 
 
 The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
 
 When Brutus made the dagg-er's edge surpass 
 
 The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ; 
 
 Alas, for Tully's voice and Virgil's lay, 
 
 And Livy's pictured page ! But these shall be 
 
 Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
 
 Alas, for earth, for never shall we see 
 
 That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free. 
 
 1 he Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride ; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire ; 
 And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 
 Where the car climbed the Capitol. 
 
 There was nothing mysterious or occult in all this. 
 Given such a state of things as we know to have existed in 
 the world, there being some climates and positions better 
 than others, law and order meanwhile being only in course 
 of manufacture, and men doing, as we are told on high 
 authority, what was right in their own eyes, it should not 
 surprise us that nations so situated had to pass through 
 manv anarchies before they came to that settled condition 
 in which the supremacy of law is acknowledged, and is 
 administered with an equal and an even hand. 
 
 It was the irruption of barbarians, the untamed hordes 
 of uncivilized races, which finally broke down the empire 
 of Rome, though there were many other causes which 
 preceded and accompanied this overwhelming disaster, 
 which Gibbon has pointed out in his immortal histor}-.
 
 Progress. 275 
 
 But there is one central circumstance which perhaps more 
 than any other is answerable for the great catastrophe, 
 and which was, an inheritance bequeathed to Rome by the 
 generations that preceded her : this circumstance was 
 the existence of slavery. Slavery, from the earliest ages, 
 was the condition of a large portion of mankind in almost 
 every country ; and it has only been abolished within the 
 present century by the nations of Europe. It existed 
 amongst the Jews ; it existed before Moses in 
 the time of the Patriarchs, and it still continues 
 to exist in the East. The " servants " mentioned in 
 Scripture were for the most part unconditional and 
 perpetual slaves ; they were strangers, either taken 
 prisoners in war, or purchased from the neighbouring 
 nations. They and their children were the property of 
 their masters, who could sell them, inflict upon them 
 corporal punishment, and in some cases put them to 
 death. But the Hebrews had slaves of their own nation. 
 These were men who sold themselves through poverty, or 
 they w^ere insolvent debtors, or men who had committed 
 a theft and had not the means of making restitution, as 
 required by law. Not only was the person of the debtor 
 liable to the claims of the creditor, but his right also 
 extended to the debtors' wife and children. Moses 
 regulated the condition of slavery. He drew a wide 
 distinction between the alien slave and the native servant. 
 The latter could not be a perpetual bondsman, but might 
 be redeemed, and during the time of their servitude they 
 were to be treated with kindness. The directions 
 contained in Leviticus are these : — " Thy bond-men and 
 thy bond-maids, which thou shalt have, shall be of the 
 heathen that are round about you ; of them shall ye 
 buy bond-men and bond-maids. Moreover, of the children 
 of the strangers that do sojourn among you, of them shall 
 ye buy, and of their families that are with you, which 
 they begat in your land ; and they shall be your possession. 
 And ye shall take them as an inheritance for vour 
 
 18^
 
 276 Essays and Papers. 
 
 children after you, to inherit them for a possession ; 
 they shall be your bondmen for ever ; but over your 
 brethren the children of Israel ye shall not rule one over 
 another with rigour." 
 
 In ancient times all prisoners of war were reduced to 
 slavery, beinp;' either distributed amongst the army or sold 
 by auction for the benefit of the troops; in yet earlier times 
 prisoners of war were killed, and making slaves of them 
 may have been reckoned a measure of humanity. Christian 
 nations of Europe, in later ages, have promoted wars in 
 Africa that they might carry on the slave trade by 
 purchasing the unfortunate prisoners taken in these wars. 
 The sale of Joseph by his brethren is a proof of the 
 antiquity of the practice. The purchase and use of slaves 
 is frequently mentioned by Homer. The Greeks were so 
 accustomed to the fact of slavery that none of their 
 philosophers condemned it ; both Plato and Aristotle 
 approved it as a necessary institution. According to the 
 strict principles of the Roman law, the master could treat 
 his slave as he pleased ; he could sell him, punish him, 
 and put him to death. The slave could not contract a 
 marriage, and could acquire no property. A runaway 
 slave could not lawfully be received or harboured. It is 
 true that in the time of Justinian the severity of these 
 laws was modified. Gibbon tells us that in the time of 
 Claudius the slaves were at least equal in numbers to the 
 free inhabitants. As the territories of the Roman State 
 extended, the patricians came into possession of large 
 estates, the property of conquered people, and for the 
 cultivation of these estates sufficient free labour could not 
 be obtained, as the freemen were constantly liable to serve 
 in the armies, and so it came to pass that the land was 
 ultimately cultivated by slave labour. Through war and 
 commerce slaves could easily be obtained at a cheap rate, 
 and their number became so great that the poorer class of 
 freemen were thrown out of employment. In the time of 
 Tiberius the three great evils under v\'hicli the Empire was
 
 Progress. 277 
 
 said to suffer were the inability of Italy to support itself 
 with food, the depopulated rural estates, and the tribes of 
 slaves who occupied the land. 
 
 It was not merely the large farm system which was 
 destroying the Roman Empire, but the poor agriculture, 
 the waste, the extravagance, the bad management, aver- 
 sion to labour, and general discontent — the natural fruit, 
 in the rural districts, of slavery. It was eating away the 
 character and life of the ancient world. Referring to the 
 downfall of Rome, the historian Mommsen says : — " It 
 was no accidental catastrophe which patriotism and genius 
 might have warded off; it was old social evils — at the 
 bottom of all, the ruin of the middle class by the slave 
 proletariat — that brought destruction on the Roman Com- 
 monwealth. The abyss of misery and woe which opens 
 before our eyes, in this most miserable of all proletariats, 
 we leave to be fathomed by those who venture to gaze into 
 such depths ; it is very possible that, compared with the 
 suffering of the Roman slaves, the sum of all negro 
 suffering is but a drop." 
 
 Slavery had aided in the massing together of those wide 
 farms which were the ruin of Italy. It had emptied the 
 fields and villages of the hardy rustics who had once been 
 the backbone of Roman power. Slavery had filled the cities 
 with idle and profligate babblers, and had indoctrinated 
 these men — themselves often freed men, or the sons of 
 freed men — with the pestilent notion that manual labour 
 was beneath the dignity of a citizen. The pauperizing 
 legislation of Rome first wore the insidious form of a 
 gentle intervention to lower the price of corn. When 
 Africa, Sicily, and Spain were pouring in their tributes of 
 corn or money to the exchequer of the repubhc, it was not 
 an unnatural suggestion that the wealth thus acquired 
 might fairly be expended in easing the material condition 
 of the Roman citizens, of the men who had borne the 
 heaviest blows in the battles of the country. But the 
 result was that Roman citizens were enabled to live a life
 
 278 Essays and Papers. 
 
 of dissipation and idleness in the Roman forum by the toil 
 of Spanish and Sicilian peasants, and the Etrurian and 
 Latin farmer could not sell his corn at a profit when the 
 whole machinery of the republic was being employed to 
 sell corn from beyond the seas at far less than the cost 
 price in the Roman capital. The Italian farmer 
 succumbed in this conflict, and vast domains worked 
 by slaves took the place of the small yeoman's holding, and 
 the free and happy homesteads gave place to the slaves' 
 house of bondage. 
 
 Slavery was not extinguished by the fall of the Roman 
 empire ; it was ultimately transformed into serfdom. 
 Afterwards, Christian nations bought slaves in Africa, and 
 transferred them to their colonies, a policy if possible, miore 
 atrocious and less excusable than the ancient one ; and it 
 is only within the last fifty years that the British Parlia- 
 ment emancipated British slaves and paid twenty millions 
 sterling for their redemption. In the United States of 
 America much more recently, as we all know, slavery has 
 been abolished as the result of a gigantic civil war. 
 Slavery still darkens many parts of the world, but the 
 moral atmosphere of modern times is gradually lessening 
 its area, and we can hardly doubt that its final doom will 
 not be postponed very long. In the history of the human 
 race it must be reckoned a real step of progress that such 
 a brand should be removed from it. The idea that there 
 was a class of men who rightly and lawfully might be the 
 property of other men, and might be treated as cattle, 
 has been blotted from the records of civilized nations, 
 although it was founded upon the legislation of centuries, 
 and had been sanctioned by innumerable wise and good 
 men. It is this change of ideas which constitutes progress, 
 
 " Through the ages one increasing purpose runs," 
 
 although the " purpose " is not discerned at the time ; the 
 great facts of history, its stirring events and heroic 
 achievements, draw awav the attention from the moral
 
 Progress. 279 
 
 results which are involved. What, it may be asked, is 
 the outcome of the pageant which moves along with so 
 much pomp and circumstance ? What has humanity 
 gained by all its struggles and all its sufferings ? It has 
 enshrined in its laws and its literature, in its art and its 
 religion, principles of a nobler and more impartial justice, 
 and sentiments of a truer and more catholic sympathy ; 
 it has established upon a basis which cannot be moved 
 the indefeasible right of every human being to the 
 possession of personal liberty ; and it has for ever broken 
 the yoke of that hard bondage which gave into the hands 
 of feeble, erring man authority to crush and destroy his 
 fellow, because he had dared to believe and to act 
 according to the dictate of his own feeling and conscience. 
 If we want to measure the progress of a people we can 
 hardly to it more effectually than by comparing their laws 
 and their judicial proceedings at one period and at 
 another. Their legal system probably represents the best 
 they were capable of at the time ; it may have been a 
 product of popular passion, or it may have been the work 
 of arbitrary power and prejudice, but, at any rate, it tells 
 us what was thought of certain public and private acts, 
 and of the manner in which it was deemed right and just 
 to deal with them. We know what the Romans thought 
 of slavery, and passing down the stream of time, say a 
 thousand years, we may learn what people in authority 
 then regarded as criminal acts, and of what punishment 
 they thought such acts deserving. In his " History of 
 the Criminal Law of England," Sir James Stephen, one of 
 the most eminent of Her Majesty's Judges, says : " The 
 last of the ecclesiastical offences which I need notice, and 
 which became an offence by statute, was one which had a 
 strange and terrible history, namely, witchcraft. This 
 offence came in process of time to be regarded with 
 special horror, and to be believed in with an ardour and 
 eagerness which it is now hard to understand. The first 
 Act passed upon the subject was in the reign of
 
 28o Essays and Papers. 
 
 Henry VIII. This Act makes it felon}' to practice, or 
 cause to be practised, conjuration, witchcraft, enchant- 
 ment, or sorcery to get money; or to consume any person 
 in his body or goods ; or to provoke any person to unlawful 
 love, or for any other unlawful purpose. This Act was 
 repealed, but was afterv.'ards revived in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, owing, as is said, to the increase of witchcraft, 
 and it was made felony, without benefit of clergy, to use, 
 practice, or exercise any invocations of evil or wicked 
 spirits to any intent whatever, or to use, practice, or 
 exercise any witchcraft, enchantment, charm, or sorcery 
 whereby any person happens to be killed or destroyed. 
 It also provides that everyone shall be liable to a year's 
 imprisonment and six hours' pillory, and on a second 
 offence to be a felon without benefit of clergy, who uses 
 any witchcraft, enchantment, &c., whereby any person 
 happens to be wasted, consumed, or lamed in his body or 
 member, or whereby any goods or chattels of any person 
 are destroyed, wasted, or impaired. The law relating to 
 witchcraft was most severe, and trials for the offence most 
 common in the seventeenth century " Sir James Stephen 
 says also — "The readiness with which religious people in 
 the seventeenth century gave way to cruel superstitions, 
 and the fierce fanaticism with which they insisted on the 
 reality of witchcraft, are a stain upon them and upon 
 their religion. Those who laughed at the ridiculous 
 nonsense which the witchfinders believed in were wiser, 
 and, as far as that matter went, better than those who 
 prayed and groaned over it." The number who laughed 
 at it, however, was very small. The remarks of Mr. 
 Justice Stephen relate exclusively to England. Mr. Lecky, 
 the historian, dealing with the same subject, extends his 
 view to the continent of Europe. He says — "The legis- 
 lation of almost every land enacted laws for the punishment 
 of witchcraft, magic, and sorcery. Acute judges, whose 
 lives were spent in sifting evidence, investigated the 
 question on countless occasions, and condemned the
 
 Progress. 281 
 
 accused. Tens of thousands of victims perished by the 
 most af^onizing and protracted torments without exciting 
 the faintest compassion, and as they were, for the most 
 part, extremely ignorant and extremely poor, party feeling 
 or avarice had but little influence on the subject. Nations 
 that were completely separated by position, by interests, 
 and by character, on this one question were united. In 
 almost every province of Germany the persecution raged 
 with fearful intensity. Seven thousand victims are said 
 to have been burned at Treves, six hundred at Bamberg, 
 and eight hundred in a single year in the diocese of 
 Wurtzburg. In France decrees were passed on the 
 subject by the Parliaments of Paris, Toulouse, Bordeaux, 
 Rouen, and Dijon, and they were followed by a harvest 
 of blood. At Toulouse, four hundred persons perished for 
 sorcery at a single execution ; a judge at Nancy boasted 
 that he had put to death eight hundred witches in sixteen 
 years." Spain, Italy, Savoy, and Switzerland tell the 
 same story. "These," Mr. Lecky says, "are only a few 
 of the more salient events in that long series of persecu- 
 tions which extended over every country, and continued 
 for centuries with unabated fury. If we ask why it is that 
 the world has rejected what was once so universally and 
 so intensely believed, why a narrative of an old woman 
 who had been seen riding on a broom-stick, or who was 
 proved to have transformed herself into a wolf, and to 
 have devoured the flocks of her neighbours, is deemed 
 so entirely incredible, most persons would probably be 
 unable to give a very definite answer to the question. It 
 is not that we have examined the evidence and found it 
 insufficient. It is rather because the idea of absurdity is 
 so strongly attached to such narratives that it is difficult 
 to consider them with gravity. Yet, at one time, no such 
 improbability was felt, and hundreds of persons have 
 been burnt simply on the grounds I have mentioned." 
 Another more recent writer on this subject says — "It was 
 enough for ignorant and frightened sufferers to accuse
 
 282 Essays and Papers. 
 
 some poor, misshapen, squinting old woman of castmg on 
 them the evil eye, or of appearing in the form of a cat, to 
 secure her trial by torture and her condemnation to an 
 unpitied death. There is no sadder chapter in the annals 
 of the world than this ghastly story of witch-finding and 
 witch-burning. Sprenger computes that during the 
 Christian epoch no less than nine millions of persons, 
 mostly women of the poorer classes, were put to death by 
 burning ; victims of the survival, into relatively civilized 
 times, of an illusion which had its origin in primitive 
 thought." 
 
 In a memoir of Ray, the naturalist, just published, an 
 extract is given from his diary, kept during a journey in 
 Scotland in 1662. He says — "At the time we were in 
 Scotland, divers women were burnt for witches, they 
 reported to the number of about one hundred and twenty." 
 
 Whilst I am writing this, I meet with the following 
 paragraph in the Times newspaper of the iith September, 
 which brings us, as it were, into actual contact with 
 this phase of history : — 
 
 Monument to a "Sorceress." — A monument has recently been 
 erected in the Danvers Cemetery (Massachusetts) to Rebecca Nurse, 
 who was hung as a "sorceress" at Salem in 1692. She had been 
 arrested upon the plaint of Edward and Jonathan Putnam for having 
 " practised certain diabolical arts called sorcery upon Ann Putnam, 
 Mary Woolcot, and others," but when put upon her trial the jury at 
 first returned a verdict of not guilty ; but this was so unfavourably 
 received by the audience that they allowed themselves to be intimi- 
 dated, and " reconsidered " their verdict. The judge allowed them to 
 do this, and when they came into court a second tune with a verdict 
 of guilty, he sentenced Rebecca Nurse to death, and the sentence was 
 executed. She was taken in chains to the village church and formally 
 excommunicated, after which she was hung upon Gallows Hill. Her 
 friends secretly obtained possession of her body, and buried her in the 
 Danvers Cemetery, where the monument, which is eight feet high by 
 two feet wide, has now been erected to this victim of fanaticism. 
 
 Such was the sort of law reckoned good enough for this 
 class of victims. In 1664 two women were hanged in
 
 Progress. 283 
 
 Suffolk, under a sentence of Sir Matthew Hale— a most 
 accomplished and exemplary judge — and he took the 
 opportunity of declaring that the reality of witchcraft was 
 unquestionable, for, he said, the wisdcm of all nations had 
 provided laws against such persons, which is an argu- 
 ment of their confidence in such a crime. Sir Thomas 
 Browne, who was a great physician, as well as a great 
 writer and most humane man, according to his light, was 
 called as a witness, and swore that he was clearly of 
 opinion that the persons were bewitched, A very eminent 
 writer, in this same seventeenth century, and a contem- 
 porary of both Hale and Browne, wrote a book entitled 
 " Tlie Vanity of Dogmatising," in which he defends with 
 great force and acuteness his belief in witchcraft. He 
 says — " I must premise that this, being a matter of fact, 
 is only capable of the evidence of authority and of sense, 
 and by both these the being of witches and diabolical 
 contracts is most abundantly confirmed. All histories 
 are full of the exploits of these instruments of darkness, 
 and the testimony of all ages, not only of the rude and 
 barbarous, but of the most civilized and polished world, 
 brings tidings of their performances. We have the 
 attestation of thousands of eye and ear witnesses, and 
 those not of the easily deceivable vulgar only, but of wise 
 and grave discerners, when no interest could oblige them 
 to agree together in a common lie. I say we have the 
 light of all these circumstances to confirm us in the belief 
 of things done by persons of despicable power and know- 
 ledge beyond the reach of art and ordinary nature. 
 Standing public records have been kept of these well 
 attested relations, and epochs made of these unwonted 
 events. Laws in many nations have been enacted against 
 these vile practices ; those among the Jews and our own 
 are notorious. Such cases have often been determined 
 with us, by wise and revered judges, upon clear and 
 constructive evidence ; and thousands in our nation 
 have suffered death for their vile compacts with apostate
 
 284 Essays and Papers. 
 
 spirits. All this I might largely prove in their particular 
 instances, but that is not needful, since those who deny 
 the being of witches do it not out of ignorance of these 
 heads of argument, which probably they have heard a 
 thousand times, but from an apprehension that such a 
 belief is absurd and the things impossible." 
 
 Can an argument more reasonable looking than this be 
 constructed ? The writer knew very well what argument 
 was, and what facts were, and he stated a case in which 
 it is difficult to find a flaw, and yet the whole fabric was 
 a delusion and a snare, and the men were right who dis- 
 resrarded his evidence and his conclusions, on the ground 
 
 't> 
 
 that such a behef was absurd and the things were im- 
 possible. There are as many witches in the world now 
 as there were then (and more Lancashire witches), but 
 the sword has been sheathed that smote them, and the 
 fire has been quenched that burned them, and the world 
 is not the worse for the change, but the better. Even 
 now we may not be able to prove that some poor, old, 
 forlorn woman does not ride through the air on a broom- 
 stick, and turn herself into a wolf or a cat, but we do know 
 that the whole thing is nonsense, and to curtail the 
 dominion of nonsense — solemn or silly — which remains 
 in the world, is a kind of progress. The progress 
 which enables us to travel forty miles an hour instead of 
 eight, to live in ceiled houses instead of old-fashioned 
 huts, to wear broadcloth mstead of sheepskins, to 
 substitute gas and electricity for rushlights and farthing 
 candles, makes a great noise in the world ; but the 
 progress which puts an end to a systematic and prolonged 
 and cruel persecution, carried on under forms of law, 
 must be reckoned a greater gain to humanity. 
 
 The splendours of material progress so far dazzle us 
 that we come to believe in them as the ultimate object 
 of civilization ; we flatter ourselves that because so much 
 has been done no retrograde steps are now possible. It is 
 well to look at the other side of the question. A pessi-
 
 Pros'ress. 28=; 
 
 ^^> 
 
 mist will say it is doubtful whether the world has now 
 got anything grander and greater than *' the cloud-capp'd 
 towers, the gorgeous palaces, and the solemn temples " of 
 the past ; and he will tell us also that though certain 
 forms of evil have been abated, others have grown up in 
 their place ; that the quantity of misery and mischief in 
 the world is not less now than it was formerly ; and that 
 the irrationality is quite as great. And in proof of this he 
 will point to the foolishness and destructiveness of war, 
 and refer us to such a passage as the following from 
 Thomas Carlyle : " What, speaking in quite unofficial 
 language, is the net purport and upshot of war ? To my 
 own knowledge, for example, there dwell and toil in the 
 British village of Dumdrudge usually some five hundred 
 souls. From these, by certain natural enemies of the 
 French, there are successively selected, during the French 
 war, say thirty able-bodied men. Dumdrudge, at her 
 own expense, has suckled and nursed them ; she has, not 
 without difficulty and sorrow, fed them up to manhood, 
 and even trained them to crafts, so that one can weave, 
 another build, another hammer, and the weakest can 
 stand under thirty stone avoirdupois. Nevertheless, amid 
 much weaping and swearing, they are selected, all dressed 
 in red, and shipped away at the public charges, some two 
 thousand miles, or say only to the south of Spain, and fed 
 there till wanted. And now to that same spot in the 
 south of Spain are thirty similar French artisans from a 
 French Drumdrudge in like manner wending, till at 
 length, after infinite effort, the two parties come into actual 
 juxtaposition. Straightway the word ' Fire ' is given, and 
 they blow the souls out of one another, and in place of 
 sixty brisk, useful craftsmen the world has sixty dead 
 carcases, which it nmst bury and anew shed tears for. 
 Had these men any quarrel ? Busy as the Devil is, not 
 the smallest. They lived far enough apart, were the 
 entirest strangers, nay, in so wide a universe there was 
 even, unconsciously, by commerce some mutual helpful-
 
 286 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ness between them. How, then ? Simpleton ! Their 
 governors had fallen out, and instead of shooting one 
 another had the cunning to made these poor blockheads 
 shoot." 
 
 This is, of course, broad caricature, but not without 
 a solid substratum of truth. Perhaps there is nothing 
 more irrational than war, except the causes which 
 produce it ; and so long as the causes exist the con- 
 sequences will exist also. War has existed from 
 the beginning of historical time as the necessary cor- 
 relative of the disturbing elements which human nature 
 has developed, and the nations which have possessed 
 the most vigorous fighting qualities have become the 
 rulers of the world and the founders of empires, and 
 the less capable combatants have been degraded into the 
 bondslaves of the victors. Ambition and cupidit}', envy 
 and jealousy, and such like passions, are the causes of 
 war, and have always troubled mankind, and trouble 
 them now ; and the question is, which is the greatest 
 evil, these passions or war ? 
 
 The art of war has probably, in all respects, kept pace 
 with the arts of peace. Whatever science has done for 
 the latter has been appropriated by the former, until the 
 destructive agencies at the disposal of modern states are 
 infinitely greater than they were in ancient times. That 
 they are a standing menace to civilization cannot be 
 doubted. Are they under more effective control than 
 they once were ? that is, are they always brought into 
 action by saner councils, cooler heads, and sounder 
 judgments, or may they be set in motion by personal 
 feeling and jealousy, b}' the caprice, and irritability, and 
 wilfulness of a very few individuals ? It may, perhaps, 
 be admitted that the destiny of nations, the near future 
 of the world does depend upon the most trivial incident 
 which may happen to disturb the brain or nerves of 
 one or two irresponsible and impulsive persons. As 
 Pope says —
 
 Progress^. 287 
 
 Who first tauoht souls enslaved, and realms undone, 
 The enormous faith of many, made for one ? 
 
 It is too true that the welfare of the many, and much 
 that civihzation has achieved, He at the mercy of war ; 
 but this is just because the civihzation is only partial and 
 skin deep. War is, as of old, a weapon of offence in the 
 barbaric armoury, and a weapon of defence in the hand 
 of civilization; and civilization is not yet in the ascendant, 
 the barbaric element yet rei,f^ns and governs. That is, 
 nations are at different stages of progress ; they have 
 rival interests, they inherit old grudges, they are under 
 the influence of needs and greeds which will not be 
 restrained ; and so it must be acknowledged that a cloud 
 much bigger than a man's hand is visible, even now, upon 
 the horizon, and may be the precursor of a tempest, the 
 final consequences of which no one can foresee ; but 
 when it has passed away, and the sky is once more clear, 
 the time ma}' have arrived when the artist from New 
 Zealand, upon the last arch of London Bridge, may be 
 sketching the ruins of St. Paul's. 
 
 We^ are obliged to admit that progress is liable to be 
 interrupted and is jeopardized by war. It was not as the 
 result of war only that Rome was brought to ruin ; it was 
 her internal state also that conduced to it. Is the internal 
 condition of modern communities quite safe and satis- 
 factory? Let us consult Thomas Carlyle again. Referring 
 to an experience in Ireland, he says : — " The furniture 
 of this caravanserai consisted of a large iron pot, two 
 oaken tables, two benches, two chairs, and a potheen 
 noggin. There was a loft above (attainable by a ladder) 
 upon which the inmates slept ; and the space below was 
 divided by a hurdle into two apartments, the one for 
 their cow and pig, and the other for themselves and 
 guests. On entering the house we discovered the fam.ily, 
 eleven in number, at dinner ; the father sitting at the 
 top, the mother at the bottom, the children on each 
 side, of a large oaken board, which was scooped out in
 
 288 Essays and Papers. 
 
 the middle, like a trough, to receive the contents of their 
 pot of potatoes. Little holes were cut at equal distances 
 to contain salt, and a bowl of milk stood on the table : all 
 the luxuries of meat and beer, bread, knives, and dishes, 
 were dispensed with. The poor slave himself our 
 traveller found, as he says, broad-backed, of great 
 personal strength, and mouth from ear to ear. His wife 
 was a sun-browned, but well-featured woman, and his 
 young ones, bare and chubby, had the appetite of ravens. 
 Of their philosophical or religious tenets or observances 
 no notice or hint." 
 
 If the few men dining with Macaulay at the West End 
 of London were civilization, into what category of men 
 are we to put this peasant and his family ? There is 
 some human colouring in Carlyle's picture — he could 
 have painted one in darker and more tragic hues — and 
 the question is, how many of such persons are there in a 
 community, and what proportion do they bear to their 
 more favoured brethren ? furthermore, are they content 
 with their lot, or is it desirable they should be ? In 
 these days they are certainly not content, for they are 
 told it is the fault of society that their lot is so low, and 
 that they ought always to have both work and wages, 
 that when regular employers of labour have no work for 
 them, or none that is acceptable, the State should forth- 
 with provide it and pay them such wages as they require. 
 As a normal condition of things this is a sheer impossi- 
 bility ; the State is only another name for the community, 
 and the State possesses only what it derives from the 
 community. Upon an emergency, and as an act of 
 kindness, the community may and should stand in the 
 gap, and should provide a shield against the accidents of 
 life; but this is not what we call business; it adds nothing 
 to the public resources, but exhausts them ; and we are 
 now considering how Carlyle's hero and his fellows are, 
 by self-help, and in the ordinary course of things, to put 
 themselves on a better footing. Roughly speaking, the
 
 Progress. 289 
 
 revenues of society reach the pockets of the people either 
 in the form of wages or profits, and it is only possible to 
 keep the stream of wages flowing while profits flow along 
 with it. That portion of the community dependent upon 
 profits which do not come have surely as much claim 
 upon the State for assistance — if it could give it — as 
 those who depend upon wages ; they might both be 
 helped under abnormal circumstances, but when pro- 
 duction has become finally profitless it must be abandoned 
 and wages must cease. The State cannot provide 
 necessaries of life for a community beyond the amount 
 which it levies in taxes, and taxes must ultimately be 
 paid out of some surplus ; and when this does not exist 
 the State itself must become bankrupt. Economic laws 
 are not mere conventions which can be set aside when 
 they are not liked ; they are deductions from experience, 
 founded upon facts of nature and human nature and, like 
 other facts, these are rather stubborn things. If society 
 constitutes itself without regarding them, so much the 
 worse for society. Society is an aggregate of individuals, 
 and what does not exist in the individuals cannot exist in 
 the aggregate ; if the individuals, or any large portion of 
 them, directly or indirectly consume more than they 
 produce, abstract more from the common stock than 
 they bring to it, the aggregate, the community will 
 certainly be poor, after the fashion of Carlyle's hero, and 
 no manipulation of State help can prevent it. 
 
 Professor Huxley, who is a sound judging man, looking 
 at public affairs, only a few days ago, wrote as follows : — 
 " The latter years of the century promise to see us 
 embarked in an industrial warfare of far more serious im- 
 port than the military wars of its opening years." Another 
 writer, and one who is hardly less eminent, in a work 
 published this year, says — " Profits in nearly all trades 
 are diminishing, and will probably diminish still more. 
 Hitherto capitalists have been the chief sufferers, but it 
 cannot be long before the workmen will have their turn 
 
 19
 
 290 Essays and Papers, 
 
 of loss in the form of decreased wages. At the present 
 rate of dedine, a point will before long be reached when 
 the employer will get little or no return for his capital, 
 and when the workman will be able to get no adequate 
 wages for his labour." There is not much promise of 
 progress in these forecasts; and there is no quack remedy 
 or Morrison's pill which can remove such symptoms. 
 Society exists for the service of man, and when a 
 particular society ceases to promote that service, when its 
 government does not discern the signs of the times, or 
 when ideas are dominant in the public mind which are at 
 war with experience and fact, then the days of adversity 
 are near for such a society, and the tide of civilization, 
 which once brought it prosperity and plenty, may recede 
 from its shores, and carry its fertilizing influences to 
 other lands. 
 
 Professor Mahaffy, in his " Lectures on Primitive 
 Civilization," already referred to, whilst speaking hope- 
 fully of the future is not free from doubt. He says — 
 " Surely the human race has been and is advancing. I 
 know the very subjects we have discussed to-day have 
 led many to doubt it. The mighty kings of Egypt and 
 of Babylon thought their civilization permanent, and 
 built great monuments wherewith they desired to equal 
 the glory of a far-removed posterity ; and yet all this 
 greatness had no power to withstand disintegration. 
 The sand of the desert has not been able to cover 
 their material structures, but the darkest ignorance has 
 long since crushed out the last spark of civiHzation in 
 the minds of their people. The intellectual and even 
 moral splendour of Greece and Rome seemed destined at 
 one time to leaven the whole world, and to raise it to 
 a higher stage ; and yet the day came when the grasp of 
 civilization was again relaxed in death, and knowledge 
 found her tomb in the dark ages. Who knows whether 
 even the boasted culture of the present time has not 
 within itself the seeds of decay, whether the poison of
 
 Progress. 291 
 
 Communism will not infect its system and cause it some 
 day to become paralysed and collapse ? " 
 
 Such a speculation as this reminds us again that civili- 
 zation is something more than the externals of a State ; 
 that it does not necessarily die with the State ; and also 
 that the great world does not depend for its progress 
 upon the continuance of any single State. No darker 
 event ever happened in the history of the world than the 
 breaking up of the Roman Empire : it was the work of 
 centuries to re-constitute the disorganized mass, and the 
 old order was never again restored. But at this day 
 there are great European Powers — the offspring of old 
 Rome — which designate themselves Latin States, and 
 the old Latin tongue re -appears in the speech of France, 
 Spain, and Italy, while the Roman law has left its mark 
 upon the legislation of the world. The fabric of a State 
 may become a heap of ruins, but vital elements may 
 survive, which spring up again in new circumstances and 
 places. 
 
 There is another aspect of the subject which has 
 hardly" been adverted to, but which as it colours the 
 whole, should not be overlooked. The late Professor 
 Green, of Oxford, in one of his recently published works, 
 says : — " There is a view of the history of mankind, by 
 this time familiarized to Englishmen, which detaches 
 from the chaos of events a connected series of ruling 
 actions and beliefs, the achievements of great men and 
 great epochs, and assigns to these in a special sense the 
 term historical. According to this theory — which, indeed, 
 if there is to be a theory of history at all, alone gives 
 the needful simplification — the mass of nations must be 
 regarded as left in swamps and shallows outside the main 
 stream of human development. They have either never 
 come within the reach of hopes and institutions which 
 make history a progress instead of a cycle, or they have 
 stiffened these into a dead body of ceremony and caste, 
 or at some great epoch they have failed to discern the 
 
 ly *
 
 2g2 Essays and Papers. 
 
 signs of the times, and rejected the counsel of God 
 against themselves. Thus permanently, or for genera- 
 tions, with no principle of motion but unsatisfied want, 
 without the assimilative ideas which, from the strife of 
 passions, elicit moral truth, they have trodden the old 
 round of war, trade, and faction, adding nothing to the 
 spiritual heritage of man. The historian need not 
 trouble himself with them, except so far as relation to 
 them determines the activity of progressive nations." 
 There are figurative expressions here which may be open 
 to criticism, but the general theorem is unimpeachable. 
 Progress — it may be said — is the growth of ideas service- 
 able to man ; such ideas are not inappropriately styled 
 his "spiritual heritage," and, unlike his material heritage, 
 they do not fall into decay. 
 
 The Poet Laureate has condensed the philosophy of 
 the subject into a few of the inimitable stanzas of In 
 Memoriam. He says — 
 
 Contemplate all this work of Time, 
 
 The giant labouring in his youth ; 
 
 Nor dream of human love and truth, 
 As dying Nature's earth and lime ; 
 
 But trust that those we call the dead 
 
 Are breathers of an ampler day 
 
 For ever nobler ends. They say, 
 The solid earth whereon we tread 
 
 In tracts of fluent heat began. 
 
 And grew to seeming-random forms, 
 The seeming prey of cyclic storms, 
 
 Till at the last arose the man ; 
 
 Who throve and branch 'd from ciime to clime. 
 
 The herald of a higher race. 
 
 And of himself in higher place, 
 If so he type this work of time 
 
 Within himself, from more to more ; 
 Or, crown 'd with attributes of woe 
 Like glories, move his course, and show 
 
 That life is not as idle ore,
 
 Progress. 293 
 
 But iron dug from central gloom, 
 And heated hot with burning fears, 
 And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 
 
 And batter'd with the shocks of doom 
 
 To shape and use. Arise and fly 
 The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ; 
 Move upward, working out the beast, 
 
 And let the ape and tiger die.
 
 ON THE LAW OF VALUE. 
 
 Notes on a Paper recently read before the Warrington Literary 
 and Philosophical Society. 
 
 I AGREE with the writer of the paper on the Law of 
 Value, that it is a subject which should be clearly 
 understood by everyone who would become acquainted 
 with political economy. I thought I knew some little 
 about it ; but after perusal of the paper in question, I 
 came to the conclusion that I either misunderstood the 
 subject or misunderstood part of the writer's argument. 
 I read the comments in the local papers, and I thought 
 the writers of them also mistook the meaning of the 
 question and misinterpreted it. I spoke to one or two 
 persons who had been present, and they seemed to me 
 to have got an erroneous notion of what the real point at 
 issue was. I therefore looked at the subject again, and 
 thought that, whilst the writer had made a good con- 
 fession of faith, he accompanied it with some questionable 
 statements, which needed rectification before the subject 
 could be fairly understood. It is not easy to put oneself 
 at the point of view of another man and seethe difficulties 
 of a subject as they are presented to him. Abstract 
 discussion is peculiarly difficult to follow, and a man who 
 accustoms himself to deal with it employs general words 
 which habit has made familiar to him, but which a hearer 
 finds it hard to follow ; and the abstract terms of political 
 economy are peculiarly affected by this circumstance. 
 A writer, therefore, who does not, as he goes along, tran- 
 slate them into concrete facts is very apt to become 
 obscure ; and it is farther possible that he may be
 
 2g6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 himself misled by a misapplication of the very words, 
 which he well understands, but which he allows himself 
 to use now and then without the necessary care. Re- 
 ferring to this subject, Dr. Whately, in his " Logic ' 
 says : — " Ricardo appears to set out by admitting Adam 
 Smith's definition of value in exchange. But in the 
 greater part of his ' Principles of Political Economy ' he 
 uses the word as synonymous with cost, and by this one 
 ambiguity he has rendered his great work a long enigma." 
 Where so eminent a man as Ricardo has laid himself 
 open to such a criticism, it is evident that lesser men 
 must either be supremely careful or be very liable to fall 
 into mistakes, and therefore T thought that a re-discussion 
 of the subject would be useful, as I am quite satisfied 
 from what I have read and heard that some of our 
 members and some of our public writers have failed to 
 grasp the real meaning of the subject. 
 
 The first question that presents itself is, What are the 
 objects or things which are affected by the law of value ? 
 The answer is. Such objects and things as are in them- 
 selves desirable and are only attainable by effort. I think 
 if we steadily keep in view these two points, we shall 
 come to a clear and correct notion of what we mean by 
 value, or, as I shall call it, exchange-value. It is most 
 important to use this compound word ; for if we do 
 not, we are in danger of sliding into the other notion of 
 value which Adam Smith calls "value in use." 
 
 In the paper we are considering are the following 
 propositions. 
 
 " Value is a quality essentially external to the article of 
 which it is predicated. It is a quality which is purely 
 relative." 
 
 " Value is not even price ; " and yet in the next page 
 the money value of a hat is said to be ;^i. Now surely 
 money value is price — indeed, on the following page, price 
 is said to mean money value. 
 
 Definitions of value show in what senses the word is
 
 Notes un the Laic of Value. 297 
 
 used, and the usus loqiicndi is, after all, that which fixes 
 the meaning of a word. There are two questions before 
 us, the one as to the meaning of a word^ and the other 
 as to the exact thing or relation intended by the word 
 A man writing a treatise is of course at liberty to annex 
 to a word that particular shade of meaning which suits 
 him best, and all that can be asked of him is that he 
 should announce it and adhere to it. Ricardo defines 
 value according to his notion of it ; and the only question 
 is whether his exposition is of a piece with his definition 
 We have no Academy or authority which can give laws 
 on this subject, the iisus loqiiendi is the law, and the 
 usage of the best writers. The meaning of words is 
 conventional, not inherent ; and yet they have a meaning- 
 dependent upon usage, situation and circumstance. Our 
 language is derived from several sources. The word vahie 
 comes to us from the Latin, and another word, nearly its 
 exact equivalent, from the Saxon — the word worth ; and in 
 the paper before us the word value is introduced where it 
 is u^ual to employ the word worth. The proverb " the 
 worth of a thing is what it will bring," is quoted as " the 
 value of a thing is what it will fetch in the market." Now 
 the word worth always had, and still now has, reference to 
 the qualities of the thing to which it was applied. The 
 word worship is derived from it, and w^as originally the 
 abstract worthship; worthy and worthiness are also derived 
 from it. It was customary in olden times for a candidate 
 to address his constituents as the worthy and inde- 
 pendent electors, meaning, no doubt, that they were 
 worthy of him, and he of them. Well, these words all 
 imply qualities as possessed by the person to whom they 
 are applied ; and they have passed from this application, 
 perhaps unfortunately, to the wealth or property which a 
 man has ; for he is said to be worth so much, and we 
 might express this otherwise, by saying that the value 
 of his property is so much, so that value and worth are 
 used indiscriminately to express the same notion.
 
 2g8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 I will draw one or two examples of this from a book, 
 which, whatever else it is, may be called, as Chaucer's 
 works have been, " a well of English undefiled." I mean 
 the Bible. The earliest record we have in the Bible of a 
 formal sale and purchase is that which describes Abram's 
 purchase from Ephron of a piece of land ; and Abram's 
 request is, that Ephron will give it him for as much 
 money as it is worth, and Ephron replies the land is 
 worth 400 shekels of silver, which is just equivalent to 
 saying the value of it is 400 shekels of silver. Coming 
 down to a later time, and to a very different transaction, 
 we have Ahab desiring to obtain the vineyard of Naboth ; 
 and he says, " I will give thee for it a better vineyard 
 than it, or if it seem good to thee, I will give thee the 
 worth of it in money." The expression " value of it in 
 money " is an exact equivalent of this. Now let us turn 
 to the poetical book of Job, and see how the same ideas 
 are expressed there. Of wisdom. Job says, " It cannot 
 be gotten for gold, neither can silver be weighed for the 
 price thereof. It cannot be valued with the gold of 
 Ophir, with the precious on3'X, or with the sapphire. 
 The gold and the crystal cannot equal it, and the 
 exchange of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold. No 
 mention shall be made of coral or of pearls, for the price 
 of wisdom is above rubies. The topaz of Ethiopia shall 
 not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure gold." 
 Then Job speaks of "physicians of no value." 
 
 Value and worth are in the same category, and the 
 comparison made between wisdom and precious stones is 
 that one is of greater worth than the other. It is the 
 capacity of yielding results more serviceable to the 
 possessor which is in question. The relation predicated 
 is that of equality; the things are not equal, one is of 
 more worth than the other. Now, instead of being 
 external to the thing of which it is predicated, as is 
 asserted in the paper before us, worth is the sum and 
 substance of its qualities. The jewels enumerated by
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 2gg 
 
 Job have the value or worth which is implied in their 
 being objects of desire. Value is the worth of something 
 expressed in the denomination of something else. In the 
 book of Leviticus it is said, " If the man be poorer than 
 thy estimation, then he shall present himself before the 
 priest and the priest shall value him," — that is, he shall 
 take account of his property and qualifications — estimate 
 them. Here again is another word belonging to the 
 same subject implying qualities — estimation. The man 
 is to be valued or estimated according to his worth. 
 
 If, then, worth and value are in fact practically synony- 
 mous terms, it must be an error to say, " Value is a 
 quahty essentially external to the thing of which it is 
 predicated ; " for worth is a quality essentially inherent 
 in the thing of which it is predicated. Different esti- 
 mates may be formed of the worth of a thing ; but, 
 whatever the estimate may be, it is founded upon 
 qualities inherent in the thing. But then it is added, 
 " Value is a quality which is purely relative " — granted. 
 Husband is a word purely relative, but it is grounded 
 upon a fact inherent for the time being in every man who 
 has a wife. Relative terms always occur in pairs, but 
 they are founded upon facts which constitute the relation. 
 The relation is not one thing and the facts another. The 
 fact that a thing possesses certain qualities constitutes its 
 value or worth ; which is otherwise expressed by saying 
 that a thing which possesses certain qualities is desirable, 
 and has this further quality that it can be exchanged for 
 some other thing possessing qualities of another sort, but 
 equally desirable. In the old English ballad of King John 
 and the Abbot of Canterbury are the two following 
 stanzas : — 
 
 And first quoth the King, when I'm in this stead 
 With my crown of gold so fair on my head, 
 Among all my liege men so noble of birth, 
 Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.
 
 30O Essays and Papers. 
 
 To which the Abbot's reply is : — 
 
 For thirty pence our Saviour was sold, 
 Among the false Jews as I have been told 
 And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
 For I think thou art one penny worser than he. 
 
 So much for the general notion contained in the word 
 value. It is a word that now belongs to the English 
 language, and English writers have annexed to it a mean- 
 ing which any man is at liberty to modify ; but in doing 
 so he may run the risk of being misunderstood, and he 
 will run the further risk of not covering all the meaning 
 included in the word. 
 
 The paper we are considering proceeds thus: — "Can 
 it be said that everything which is capable of being 
 exchanged has value ? No. Water can be exchanged, 
 yet though water has frequently value, as the house- 
 holder in most towns must be quite aware when the 
 collector calls for the water rate : yet in lakes and rivers, 
 and the sea, water can usually be had for the taking, and 
 is not thus in these circumstances the subject of value." 
 
 *' If a thing without alteration of its nature, is in some 
 circumstances of value and in others not, it is clear that 
 value is not an inherent quality. 
 
 " We speak of flint being hard, of iron being malleable ; 
 and these qualities of hardness and malleability are under- 
 stood to be inherent qualities of flint and iron respectively. 
 We say the diamond is hard, and we know hardness is 
 an inherent quality of the diamond ; we also say diamonds 
 are valuable, but value is not an inherent quality. If 
 diamonds were as common as sand on the sea shore, they 
 would cease to have value, but they would not lose their 
 inherent quality of hardness. A gold sovereign is of 
 some value in this country, and over a great part of the 
 world ; but if we land on a savage island, where the 
 natives know nothing of gold, the purchasing power 
 of a hatful of sovereigns may be found in the altered
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 301 
 
 circumstances practically nil; you would probably get 
 more for a hatful of glass beads," 
 
 I have made this long extract because I think it 
 needs rectification. It is said, " If a thing without 
 alteration of its nature is in some circumstances of 
 value and in others not, it is clear that value is not an 
 inherent quality. Hardness and malleability are under- 
 stood to be inherent qualities of flint and iron respec- 
 tively." Let us test this assertion. Malleability is a 
 quality of some iron, but only at a certain temperature ; 
 raise the temperature and it ceases to be malleable. 
 What, then, becomes of the inherent quality ? All the 
 iron daily manufactured in our forges, is, during part of 
 the process, not malleable ; it is a mere question of 
 conditions ; alter the conditions and the quality of iron is 
 different. Again, flints are powdered and made into 
 paste ; and whilst our earth was in a molten state, both 
 the iron and the flint would be known by qualities very 
 different from those by which they are now known. A 
 diamond too, though hard enough at ordinary tem.pera- 
 tures," is combustible, and is then deprived of its hardness ; 
 its properties, like those of flint and iron, are dependent 
 upon the conditions under which it is placed. And this is 
 by no means a quibble ; it is a universal law. All things 
 are what they are by reason of the conditions in which 
 they are placed. Mercury in England is fluid, and may be 
 poured from vessel to vessel ; at the North Pole it is 
 solid ; which is its inherent quality ? Instances of this 
 kind might be multiplied without limit. A column of 
 mercury stands at 30 inches upon the sea shore, but take 
 the tube which contains it to the top of Mont Blanc, 
 and it will be found to have fallen 15 inches: the 
 conditions are altered, but the nature of the thing is 
 unchanged. A person holding a stone weighing 5 lbs. 
 at the end of a string exerts a force sufficient to balance 
 5 lbs. weight ; if he immerses the stone in a bucket of 
 water, without allowing it to touch the bottom, it would
 
 302 Essays and Papers. 
 
 lose 2 lbs. of its weig:ht. The results of weighing in air 
 and in water are different, and yet the thing weighed 
 is the same. This principle prevails everywhere. The 
 qualities of things fluctuate according to the conditions 
 under which they are placed. 
 
 The exchange-value of a hatful of sovereigns is not 
 destroyed because a set of savages prefer glass beads ; 
 the serviceableness of the sovereigns is intrinsic, and will 
 come into operation when the conditions exist. An 
 English ship lying in the harbour of a savage island has 
 on board a copy of Robinson Crusoe, which possesses 
 exchange-value with reference to the sailors who can read 
 it, though it has none with reference to the savages who 
 cannot. All qualities are relative, not absolute; hardness 
 is as much relative as value. 
 
 What are we to say, then, about inherent value, which 
 the inherent qualities of iron, flint and diamond are 
 adduced to disprove? We are obliged to say that we 
 cannot properly assert that these substances have the 
 inherent qualities predicated of them ; and I venture to 
 think that the word is misapplied all round, and that we 
 cannot, in fact, ask, without a solecism, whether exchange- 
 value is inherent; but we may say that the special 
 qualities upon which exchange-value is based and 
 grounded are inherent in every article which possesses 
 exchange-value. And now let us ask, what is the precise 
 notion conveyed by the term exchange-value ? what is 
 the root and cause of exchange ? Why do men barter ? 
 and what are the principles that regulate them in doing 
 so ? Exchange-value evidently implies desirableness and 
 difficulty of attainment. This first condition is sometimes 
 called utility ; but the word is ambiguous, because a 
 thing may be desirable which many people may think 
 not useful. To possess exchangeable value, therefore, 
 a thing must satisfy some want, must gratify some wish, 
 or serve some purpose of some person. Imagine a thing 
 which no human being desires, which under no circum-
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 303 
 
 stances can serve any purpose or gratify any wish of any 
 man, woman, or child, and such a thing can never possess 
 exchange-vahie. On the other hand, in order to possess 
 exchange-value, a thing must require some trouble or 
 effort to obtain ; no man will give that which he possesses 
 and which has cost him some sacrifice for what he can 
 get for nothing. The most obvious thing of this kind is 
 the air we breathe, which is supplied to us in such abund- 
 ance and so easily that it cannot possess exchange- value 
 — we can get as much as we want without any trouble. 
 In order that a thing may possess exchange-value, it must 
 be desirable — somebody must wish to have it, and he 
 must be compelled to make some effort before his wish 
 can be gratified. These are the tap roots from which the 
 great tree of exchange-value springs. Thomas de Quincey 
 illustrates the subject in his own forcible and clear 
 manner in the form of two cases, and he calls the first 
 case Epsilon. A man comes forward with his overture, 
 " Here is a thing I wish you to purchase ; it has cost me 
 in labour five guineas, and that is the price I ask." 
 " Very well/' you reply ; " tell me what desire or purpose' 
 of mine wih the article promote ? " Epsilon replies, 
 " Why, as candour is my infirmity, none at all. But 
 what of that? Useful or not, the article embodies five 
 guineas worth of excellent labour." This man, the candid 
 Epsilon, you dismiss. Then we have case Omicron. 
 " Him succeeds Omicron, who praises your decisive 
 conduct as to the absurd family of Epsilons. ' That 
 man/ he observes, * is weak— candid but weak ; for what 
 was the cost in your eyes, but so much toil to no effect of 
 real service ? But that is what no one can say of the 
 article offered by myself ; it is serviceable always — nay, 
 often you will acknowledge it to be indispensable.' 
 'What is it?' you demand. 'Why, simply then, it is 
 a pound of water, and as good water as ever was tasted.' 
 The scene lies in England, where water bears no value 
 except under that machinery of costly arrangements
 
 304 Essays and Papers. 
 
 which delivers it as a permanent and guaranteed 
 succession into the very chambers where it is to be used. 
 Omicron, therefore, receives permission to follow the 
 candid Epsilon. Each has offered for sale one element 
 of value out of two, one element in a state of insulation, 
 where it was indispensable for any operative value, i.e. 
 price, to offer the two in combination ; and without such 
 combination it is impossible that exchange-value, under 
 the most romantic or imaginary circumstances, ever could 
 be realized." 
 
 There are two elements, then, that are necessary to 
 constitute exchange-value : the one is that an object 
 is serviceable or desirable, and the other that it is in some 
 degree difficult of attainment. With these two keys I 
 think we may unlock all the problems of political economy 
 that have reference to exchange-value. 
 
 In the paper we are considering it is said, " If diamonds 
 were as common as sand on the sea shore, they would 
 cease to have value." This is clearly not so. Their 
 exchange-value would be less than it is now, by reason of 
 their greater abundance ; but a substance so hard and 
 clean might make good macadam or good garden walks, 
 or it might serve a thousand purposes useful to man. The 
 shingle on the sea shore at Brighton is sold for the 
 purpose of making a sort of gravel walks, and I dare say 
 diamonds would do quite as well. In this case we see the 
 operation of one of the elements of exchange-value : the 
 difficulty of obtaining an object is removed and it falls in 
 exchange-value ; less labour is required to obtain it, and 
 therefore less labour will be given for it. We must bear 
 in mind that the facts of political economy do not impinge 
 upon all parts of the world with an equal pressure, they 
 vary with circumstances. In a hot climate, where nature 
 is bountiful and supplies what men want with very little 
 labour, certain things needful in a cold climate are not 
 wanted. Thus an article has value in one place and not 
 in another, for exchange-value is founded upon the wants
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 305 
 
 of mankind and upon the other fact that those wants 
 cannot be supphed except by some effort. We may turn 
 the question round as we please, and express it in the 
 most abstract terms ; but we must come back at last to 
 the hard facts which govern the world ; men can only get 
 what they want by effort, and their wants are inimitable, 
 although the poet says. — 
 
 Man wants but little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long. 
 
 Whatever, then, ministers to the wants of m.an, whatever 
 makes his life more pleasant and agreeable he would fain 
 possess himself of; and as he can only succeed in doing 
 this by producing it himself or procuring it from somebod}^ 
 else, this state of things gives rise to the working or the 
 bargaining which creates exchange-value. Looked at in 
 this light the question does not seem a difficult one ; it 
 has other phases, but this is the principal and primary 
 one. Civilized life is a very complex machine: there are, 
 as we say, wheels within wheels, and there is such a stir 
 and movement around us, that it is very difficult to 
 analyze what is going on, or to get an intelligent view of 
 it. The operations of trade are specially intricate because 
 they are carried on by a sort of shorthand : every 
 operation is abbreviated and condensed until a looker on 
 can hardly make out or understand it. It takes a good 
 deal of explaining and disentanghng in order to trace the 
 single threads that make up the great and varied web 
 which we look at with such wonder, and this question of 
 exchange-value has become comphcated by the multi- 
 tudinous shapes which it has assumed and confused 
 description of them ; but if we lay hold of a governing 
 principle, growing out of the primitive facts, we may 
 follow it without difficulty. 
 
 The Paper we are considering says : — " Labour is not 
 the origin and cause of value ; " and the answer is, Labour 
 creates the largest quantity of the things that possess 
 
 20
 
 3o6 - Essays and Papers. 
 
 exchange-value. Often some desirable object may be 
 obtained gratuitously ; — stoop, and you gather it at your 
 feet ; but, still because the continued iteration of this 
 stooping exacts a laborious effort, very soon it is found 
 that to gather for yourself virtually is not gratuitous. In 
 the vast forests of the Canadas, at intervals, wild straw- 
 berries might be gratuitously gathered by ship loads : yet 
 such is the exhaustion of a stooping posture, and of a 
 labour so monotonous, that everybody is soon glad to 
 resign the service into mercenary hands. Effort is the 
 word that expresses what is necessary to obtain whatever 
 is desired, where it is not provided in such abundance as 
 the air of heaven ; and effort is only another word for 
 labour; therefore, as has been said before, and it cannot 
 be too plainly stated, labour is one of the two pillars upon 
 which rests the fabric of exchange-value. It is one of the 
 causes of exchange-value, and exactly in proportion as 
 you lessen the quantity of labour necessary for the 
 production of an article, do you lower its exchange-value. 
 If a yard of cotton, or a pair of stockings, or a yard of 
 cloth, are of less exchange-value than they were fifty years 
 ago, it is because they are produced by less labour ; this 
 is the sole cause of their diminished exchange-value. To 
 put it into other words, whatever man wants at the 
 meridian of England, which is of less exchange-value 
 now than it was formerly, has been reduced in exchange- 
 value in consequence of less labour being necessary for 
 its production. 
 
 I must not detain you too long on this part of the 
 subject, but as it involves the seminal principles of 
 exchange-value, and as it is impossible to get at the 
 bottom of it without clear ideas on the point, I will 
 follow it a little further at the risk of some repetition, 
 and I shall avail myself of the language and illustrations 
 of De yuincey, because I know of none which are at 
 once so keen and forcible, or of so popular a character. 
 In any exchange-value whatsoever, as he points out, it
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 307 
 
 has been agreed by all parties, that desirableness, 
 and, for shortness, let us say difficulty of attainment — 
 or in one word difficulty — must be present : there must 
 be a real utility or serviceableness before a man will 
 submit to be affected by difficulty, i.e., before he will 
 pay a price adjusted to difficulty of attainment ; and 
 vice versa, there must be this real difficulty of attain- 
 ment before the simple fact of utility in the object 
 will dispose him to pay for it. Now, though this is 
 indispensable, yet whilst both alike are present, one 
 only governs. And a capital error has been made in 
 fancying that value in use is necessarily opposed to 
 value in exchange ; whereas, being one horn of the two 
 into which value in exchange divides, as often as the 
 value in use becomes operative at all, it does itself 
 become, it constitutes value in exchange, and is no longer 
 co-ordinate to exchange-value (in which case it is wealth) 
 but is subordinate — one subdivision of exchange-value. No 
 man ever conceived the intention of buying upon any 
 consideration of the difficulty and expense which attend 
 the production of an article. He wishes to possess, he 
 resolves to buy, not on account of these obstacles — far 
 from it — but in spite of them. What acts as the positive 
 and sole attraction to him is the intrinsic serviceableness 
 of the article towards some purpose of his own. The other 
 element may happen to affect the price, and, generally 
 speaking, does affect it as the sole regulating force, but it 
 can never enter at all into the original motive for seeking 
 to possess an article ; uniformly it acts as an impediment, 
 a pure resistance to that desire. Here, then, present them- 
 selves two real designations for supplanting the two words 
 desire and difficulty by two others, which are better, as 
 being, first, in true logical opposition ; and, second, as 
 pointing severally each to its own origin and nature. 
 Desire may be called affirmative value, and difficulty, 
 negative. The latter represents the whole resistance 
 to your possession of the commodity concerned. The 
 
 20 *
 
 3o8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 former represents the whole benefit, the whole positive 
 advantage, the whole power accruing to you from posses- 
 sion of this commodity. There is always an affirmative 
 value, there is alwa3-s a negative value, on an}- commodity 
 bearing an exchange value ; — that is to say, on any which 
 can enter a market ; but only one of these values takes 
 effect at a time — under certain circumstances, the affirma- 
 tive value ; under other and more ordinary circumstances, 
 the negative. Affirmative value is that which operates 
 to create a desire for an object. Negative value is the 
 obstacle which intervenes between the desire and the 
 accomplishment of it ; it is the resistance of circumstances 
 by which we are prevented from immediately obtaining 
 that which we wish, and are therefore induced to negotiate 
 for it by the process of exchange. 
 
 The general principle which governs transition under 
 appropriate circumstances from negative to affirmative 
 value, may be explained by a political case drawn from 
 the civil administration of ancient Rome. Any foreigner, 
 coming to Rome before the democratic basis of that 
 republic had given way, would have found some difficulty 
 (when reviewing the history of Rome) in accounting 
 for the principles which had governed the award of 
 triumphs. " I am at a loss," he would say, " to 
 reconcile the rule which in some instances appears to 
 have prevailed with that which must have prevailed at 
 others. In one case I see a rich province overrun, and 
 no triumph granted to the conqueror ; in another, I see 
 a very beggarly (perhaps even a mutinous and unmanage- 
 able) province — no source of strength, but rather of 
 continual anxiety to Rome — made the occasion of a most 
 brilliant triumph, and even of a family title, such as 
 ' Macedonicus ' or ' Isauricus,' the most gratifying personal 
 distinction which Rome had to confer." These would 
 seem a contradiction ; but the answer could dispel it. 
 We regard, it would be said, on behalf of Rome, two 
 separate and alternate considerations. No province.
 
 Notes 0)1 I he La\c of Value. 309 
 
 whether poor or rich, has ever been annexed to our 
 repubhc which had not this primary condition of value — 
 that it tended to complete our arch of empire. By mere 
 locality, as one link in a chain, it has tended to the 
 arrondissemcnt of our dominions, the orb within which 
 our power circulates. So far any province whatsoever 
 added within the proper Mediterranean circuit had 
 always a claim upon the Republic for some trophy of 
 honour. But to raise this general claim to a level with 
 triumphal honours, we Romans required that one or 
 other of these two extra merits should be pleaded : — • 
 either, first, that the province, though not rich, had been 
 won by peculiarly hard fighting ; or, secondly, that though 
 won with very slight efforts, the province was peculiarly 
 rich. The primary, the indispensable value, as a link in 
 the Roman chain, every province must realize, that 
 tended to complete the zone drawn round the Mediter- 
 ranean. Even a wilderness of rocks would have that 
 value. But this being presumed, of course, as an 
 advantage given by position without merit in the 
 winneY, we required as the crest of the achievement 
 towards justifying a triumph, either the affirmative 
 value of great capacities for taxation, or the negative 
 value of great difficultes overcome in the conquest. 
 Cihcia, for example, returned little in the shape of 
 revenue to Rome ; for the population was scanty, and, 
 from the condition of society, wealth was impossible. 
 But the Isaurian guerillas and the Cilician bucaniers 
 occupying for many centuries caves and mountain 
 fortresses, that without gunpowder were almost impreg- 
 nable, gave a sangumary interest to the conflict which 
 compensated the small money value. For eight centuries 
 Cilicia was the scourge of the Levant. Palestine again 
 presented even a bloodier contest, though less durable, 
 in a far narrower compass. But Egypt— poor effeminate 
 Egypt ! always " a servant of servants" — offered, amidst 
 all her civilization, no shadow of resistance. As a test of 
 military merit, she could not found a claim for any man ;
 
 310 Essays and Papers. 
 
 for 600 miles she sank on her knees at the bidding of the 
 Roman Centurion. So far the triumph was nothing. 
 On the other hand, Egypt was by wealth the first of all 
 provinces. She was the greatest of coeval granaries. 
 The province technically called Africa, and the Island of 
 Sicily, were bagatelles by comparison ; and what, there- 
 fore, she wanted as the negative criterion of merit — 
 having so much wealth — she possessed redundantly in 
 the affirmative criterion. Transalpine Gaul, again, was a 
 fine province under both criteria. She took much 
 beating. In the half-forgotten language of the fancy, she 
 was a " glutton," and secondly, on the affirmative side, 
 she was also rich. Thus might an ancient Roman have 
 explained and reconciled the apparently conflicting 
 principles upon which triumphs had been awarded. 
 Where a stranger had fancied a want of equitable consis- 
 tency, because two provinces had been equally bloodless 
 acquisitions, and yet had not equally secured a triumph, 
 he would now be disabused of his error by the sudden 
 explanation that the one promised great wealth, the other 
 little. And where, again, between two provinces equally 
 worthless as regarded positive returns of use, he had 
 failed to understand why one should bring vast honour to 
 the winner, the other none at all, his embarrassment 
 would be relieved at once by showing him that the 
 unhonoured conquest had fallen at the first summons, 
 possibly as a mere effect of reaction from adjacent 
 victories ; whilst the other conquest had placed on the 
 record a brilliant success, surmounting a resistance that 
 had baffled a series of commanders, and so far flattering 
 to the Roman pride, but also transcendantly important, as 
 getting rid of an exposure which proclaimed to the world 
 a possibility of hopeful opposition to Rome. 
 
 Now, exactly the same principle, transferred to the 
 theory of value in exchange, will explain the two poles on 
 which it revolves. Sometimes you pa}' for an article on 
 the scale of its use — its use, that is, with regard to your 
 individual purposes. On this principle^ you will pay for
 
 Notes on the Laii- of Value. jii 
 
 A, perhaps twice as much as you would consent to pay 
 for B. The point at w^hich you pause, and would choose 
 to go without B, rather than pay more for it, does not 
 rise more than one-half so high on the scale as the 
 corresponding ne plus ultra for A. This is affirmative 
 price. On the other hand, sometimes you pay for an 
 article on the scale of its costliness ; i.e., of its resistance 
 to the act of reproduction. This principle is not a direct 
 natural expression of any intrinsic usefulness. It is an 
 indirect expression of value by an alien accident, perfectly 
 impertinent to any interest of yours— not what good it 
 will do to yourself, but what harm it has done to some 
 other man (viz., what quantity of trouble it has imposed 
 upon him) ; that is the immediate question which this 
 second principle answers. But unnatural (that is arti- 
 ficial) as such a principle seems, still in all civilized 
 countries, this is the principle which takes effect by way 
 of governing force upon price full twenty times for once 
 that the other and natural principle takes effect. 
 
 Two illustrations may help us to apply the principles. 
 In the reign of Charles Second occurred the first sale in 
 England of a rhinoceros. The more interesting wild 
 beasts — those distinguished by ferocity, by cruelty and 
 agility, had long been imported from the Mediterranean— 
 and as some of them were " good fellows and would 
 strike " (though generally speaking both the lion and the 
 tiger are the merest curs of nature), they bore tolerable 
 prices, even in the time of Shakespeare. But a rhinoceros 
 had not yet been imported ; and, in fact, the brute is a 
 dangerous connection to form. As a great lady from 
 Germany replied some years ago to an Englishman who 
 had offered her an elephant, " By no means," she said, 
 " him eat too much ! " In spite, however, of a similar 
 infirmity, the rhinoceros fetched, under Charles Second, 
 more than jTajOOo. But why ? On what principle ? Was 
 it his computed negative value ? Not at all. A granite 
 obelisk from Thebes, or a Cleopatra's needle, though heavy
 
 312 Essays and Papers. 
 
 as a hundred rhinoceroses^ would not have cost so much 
 toshng and transport from the Nile to the Thames. But 
 in such a case there are two reasons why the purchaser is 
 not anxious to inquire about the costs. In buying a loaf, 
 that is an important question, because a loaf will be 
 bought every day, and there is great use in knowing the 
 cost or negative value, as that which will assuredly govern 
 an article of daily reproduction. But in buying a 
 rhinoceros, which it is to be hoped that no man will be so 
 ill fated as to do twice in one world, it is scarcely to be 
 hoped that the importer will tell any truth at all, nor is it 
 of much consequence that he should; for the buyer cares 
 little by comparison as to the separate question on the 
 negative price of the brute to his importer. He cares 
 perhaps not very much more as to the separate question 
 upon the affirmative return likely to arise for himself 
 in the case of his exhibiting such a monster. Neither 
 value taken singly was the practical reply to his anxieties. 
 That reply was found in both values taken in combination, 
 the negative balanced against the affirmative. It was less 
 important to hear that the cost had been ;;^i,ooo, so long 
 as the affirmative return was conjuncturally assigned at a 
 little beyond -^2,000, than to hear that the immediate 
 cost to the importer had been ^^2,000, but with the 
 important assurance that -£"5,000 at the very least might 
 be almost guaranteed from the public exhibition of so 
 delicate a brute. The creature had not been brought 
 from the Barbary States, the staple market for monsters, 
 but from some part of Africa, round the Cape ; so that 
 the cost had been unusually great. But the affirmative 
 value founded in the public curiosity was greater ; and 
 when the two terms in the comparison came into collision, 
 then was manifested the excess of affirmative value in 
 that one instance, as measured against the negative. A 
 second rhinoceros was hardly to be expected in the same 
 generation, but for that once it turned out that a 
 moderate fortune might be raised upon such a basis.
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 313 
 
 One more example. If we were walking with a 
 foreigner in London and purchased, for is. 6d., a new 
 copy of "Paradise Lost," our foreign friend might say, 
 "Really it pains me to see you English putting so slight a 
 value upon your great poet as to rate his greatest work no 
 higher than eighteen pence." How should we answer ? 
 Perhaps thus, — "My friend, you mistake the matter, the 
 price does not represent the affirmative value. The value 
 derived from the power of the poem to please or to exalt, 
 that would be valued by some as infinite, irrepresentable 
 by money; and yet the resistance to its reproduction 
 might be less than the price of a breakfast." Now here 
 the ordinary law of price exposes itself at once. It is the 
 power, the affirmative work, which creates a fund for any 
 price at all ; but it is the resistance, the negative work, or 
 what we call the cost, which determines how much shall 
 be taken from that potential fund. In bibliographical 
 records there are instances of scholars selling a landed 
 estate equal to an annual livelihood for ever, in order to 
 obtain a copy of one single book, viz., an Aristotle. At 
 this da:y there are men whose estimate of Aristotle is not 
 at all less. But does any man pay an estate in exchange 
 for Aristotle as now multiplied ? The best editions may 
 be got for a few guineas. There is reason for the differ- 
 ence between former purchasers and modern purchasers. 
 The resistance is lowered ; the affirmative value may, for 
 anything that is known, be still equal, in many minds, to 
 that which it was in elder days. The fair way to put it 
 to the test would be to restore the elder circumstances. 
 Then the book was a manuscript; printing was an undis- 
 covered art ; so that merely the resistance value was 
 much greater, since it would cost much more to overcome 
 that resistance, when the obstacle was so vast a mass of 
 manual labour, than where the corresponding labour in a 
 compositor would multiply, by the pressman's aid, into 
 a thousand copies, and thus divide the cost among a 
 thousand purchasers. But this is not all. The owner of a
 
 314 Essays and Papers. 
 
 manuscript would not suffer it to be copied. He knew the 
 worth of his prize ; it had a monopoly value. And what 
 is that ? Monopoly value is affirmative value carried to 
 extremity. It is the case where you press to the ultimate 
 limit upon the desire of a bidder to possess the article. 
 It is no longer a question, for how little might it be 
 afforded? You do not suffer him to put that question. 
 You tell him plainly, though he might have it copied for 
 £40, instead of sinkmg upon the original manuscript a 
 perpetual estate, yielding ;^4o annually, you will not 
 allow it to be copied. Consequently you draw upon that 
 fund, which, in our days can so rarely be drawn upon, 
 viz., the ultimate esteem for the object; the last bidding a 
 man will offer under the known alternative of losing it. 
 
 This alternative rarely exists in our days. It is rarely 
 in the power of any one man to raise such a question. Yet 
 sometimes it is, and the following is a curious illustration 
 of it. In 1812 occurred the famous Roxburghe sale, in 
 commemoration of which a distinguished club was 
 subsequently established in London. It was a library, 
 which formed the subject, and in the series of books stood 
 one which was perfectly unique in affirmative value. 
 
 This value was to be the sole force operating on the 
 purchaser; for as to the negative value, estimated on the 
 resistance to the multiplication of copies, it was im- 
 possible to assign any : no price would overcome that 
 resistance. The book was the Valdarfer edition of 
 Boccaccio. It contained not all the works of that author, 
 but his "Decameron," and, strange enough, it was not a 
 manuscript but a printed copy. The value of the book 
 lay in these two peculiarities: — First, it was asserted that 
 all subsequent editions had been castrated with regard to 
 those passages which reflected severely on the Papal 
 Church. Secondly, the edition as being incorrigible in 
 that respect, had been so largely destroyed that, not 
 without reason, the Roxburghe copy was believed to be 
 unique. In fact, the book had not been seen during the
 
 Notes oti the Laic uf ]'ahie. 315 
 
 two previous centuries ; so that it was generally held to 
 be a nonentity. And the biddings went on as they would 
 do for the wandering Jew in case he should suddenly turn 
 up and wish to insure his life. The contest soon rose 
 above the means of little men. It lay between Lord 
 Spencer and Lord Blandford, and was finally knocked 
 down to the latter for £"2,240, at a time when five per 
 cent, was obtained readily and everywhere for money. It 
 illustrates the doctrine on which we are now engaged — 
 that the purchaser some two years later, when Duke of 
 Marlborough, and in personal embarrassments, towards 
 which he could draw no relief from plate that was an 
 heirloom, or from estates that were entailed, sold the 
 book to his old competitor Lord Spencer, for 1,000 
 guineas. Nothing is more variable than the affirmative 
 value of objects which ground it chiefly upon rarity. In 
 this case there was a secondary value — the book was not 
 only rare, but was here found in its integrity ; this one 
 copy was perfect ; all others were mutilated. But still 
 such a value, being partly a caprice, fluctuates with the 
 feelings or opinions of the individual ; and, even when it 
 keeps steady, it is likely to fluctuate with the buyers' 
 fortunes. 
 
 On the other hand a value of this sort, with the general 
 countersign of society, fluctuates very little. The great 
 Itahan master-pieces of painting have long borne an 
 affirmative value — {i.e., value founded on pre-eminence, 
 not on cost of producing,) — that value pushed to the 
 excess of a monopoly continually growing more intense. 
 It would be useless now to ask after the resistance value, 
 because if it could be ascertained it would be a mere 
 inoperative curiosity. Very possible it is that Leonardo 
 da Vinci may have spent not more than ;£"i50 in produc- 
 ing his fresco of the Last Supper. But were it possible 
 to detach it from the walls of the convent refectory which 
 it emblazons, the picture would command in London a 
 king's ransom ; and the Sistine Chapel embellishments of
 
 31 6 Ei>siiys and Papers. 
 
 Michael Angelo, probably two such ransoms in a week. 
 Such jewels are absolutely unique — they are secure from 
 repetition ; notorious copies would not for a moment 
 enter into competition. It is very doubtful if artists of 
 power so gig'antic will re-appear for many centuries ; and 
 the sole deduction from their increasing value is the 
 ultimate frailty of their materials. 
 
 In the early part of this century two most powerful 
 medicines were introduced into this country, one was sul- 
 phate of quinine, and the other croton oil, amongst drastic 
 medicines of a particular class the most potent that is 
 known. Both were understood to be agents of the first 
 rank against inflammatory action, and with respect to the 
 last numerous cases were reported in which it had beyond 
 doubt come in critically to save a patient, previously 
 given up by his medical attendants. Naturally, these cases 
 would be most numerous during the interval requisite for 
 publishing and diffusing the medicine — but this was time 
 enough to allow of a large number of cases in which it 
 had not been introduced until the eleventh hour. Two of 
 such cases are mentioned — one was near to London ; a 
 mounted messenger rode in for the medicine ; returned 
 within a hundred minutes, and the patient was saved. 
 The other case was at Nottingham ; the person despatch- 
 ed with the precious talisman, to the post office, then in 
 Lombard-street, found the mail just starting, and by an 
 inflexible rule neither guard nor coachman were at liberty 
 to receive any parcel not entered in the way-bill — the man 
 had not presence of mind to entrust it with one of the 
 passengers ; the patient was already in extremity, and 
 before the medicine reached Nottingham, by a coach 
 leaving London the next morning, he had expired. Now, 
 in the case of such a magical charm, to have or to want, 
 which was a warrant for life or death, it is clear that 
 amongst rich men the holder of the veritable elixir, the 
 man who tendered it in time, might effectually demand 
 an oriental reward. The sort of value of which we are
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 317 
 
 speaking was well known in ancient times, and even out- 
 side this world and its inhabitants ; for in the book of Job, 
 Satan is represented in his conference with the Supreme 
 as saying — "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will 
 he give for his life." And in his extremity, Shakespeare 
 represents Richard III. as exclaiming — "A horse, a horse, 
 my kingdom for a horse ! " By such examples as these 
 the distinction is made clear between plus and minus 
 power and resistance value — the two ruling poles 
 towards which all possible or conceivable prices must 
 tend. If a man were to offer you a hunter, master of 
 your weight and otherwise satisfactory, you would readily 
 give him a fair price. But what is a fair price ? That 
 which will reproduce such a hunter — his cost — the total 
 resistance to his being offered in this condition. Such is 
 the value, and such the law of value for a hunter ; hardly 
 so for a racer. A breeder who has in his stud a horse 
 promising iirst-rate powers, is no longer content to receive 
 cost price with a fair profit for the horse. The man, who 
 as master of pearl divers sells ordinary pearls at a mere 
 cost, and a fair profit on the day's wages that have earned 
 them, when he finds a pearl fit to embellish the Shah of 
 Persia's crown, looks to become a petty Shah himself. 
 The breeder of the race-horse would take into his estimate 
 the splendid stakes the horse might hereafter win and ask 
 -^5,000, although the whole value computed on the resis- 
 tance might not be more than as many hundreds. 
 
 It has been said that water bears little or no exchange- 
 value. A little water in the wrong place may have no 
 value ; but enough water in the right place has very great 
 value, not merely as a fishery, but as a bath for swimmers, 
 as a reservoir, as a torrent or water power for turning 
 machinery, as a dock for shipping, as an anchorage for 
 boats, as a canal for transporting great bulks and weights 
 of commodities, water is often incalculable in its exchange- 
 value. In the paper we are considering, because water in 
 lakes, rivers, and the sea can be had for taking, it is said.
 
 3i8 Essays (Did Papers. 
 
 under these circumstances, not to be the subject of value; 
 but this is treating water as if it were only used for 
 drinking, whereas its mechanical and carrying purposes 
 may even yet be greatly increased, and the power of the 
 tide may be made to do the work of thousands of steam 
 engines. What is the mechanical force of Niagara? 
 And this may one day be made to possess exchange-value. 
 
 Water has the exchange-value of diamonds, and dia- 
 monds have the use-value of water. It is not meant that, 
 by possessing use-value, a thing is useful in the sense of 
 being good or salutary. It may have a use-value though 
 if the purposes it accomplishes are monstrous, pernicious, 
 or even destructive to the user; and its price, instead 
 of being only its cost, is founded on its power to realize 
 this purpose. From the Greek word for a purpose or 
 final cause we have the woid teleologic, to denote that 
 quality in any subject by which it tends towards a purpose 
 or is referred to a purpose. On this principle all value in 
 use is teleologic value — value derived from the purpose the 
 article contemplates; whilst then "the useful" is out of 
 place in political economy, the use of any article in the 
 sense of its purposes, as furnishing the grounds for its 
 value or price is most material; and for this reason, 
 because the purpose which any article answers, and the 
 cost which it imposes, must eternally form the two limits 
 within which the tennis ball of price flies backward and 
 forward. A genuine picture of Da Vinci or Raphael sells 
 always on the principle of value in use or teleologic value, 
 — an enlightened sensibility to the finest effect of art. 
 This constitutes the purpose or teleologic function to which 
 the appreciation is referred. 
 
 I have detained you longer than I intended, but a 
 theory of value should explain all the circumstances that 
 can be affected by it, and there is one circumstance 
 which has throughout been assumed, but which should be 
 stated explicitly — all exchange-value implies that the law 
 of property and ownership exists; unless a man's right to
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 319 
 
 the possession of what he has, or can acquire, be acknow- 
 ledged, all reasoning is at an end. This is an answer to 
 a remark in the paper before us — wherein it is asserted 
 that many things have value upon which no labour has 
 been bestowed, and seams of coal in the bowels of the 
 earth are adduced to prove it ; but this is just because 
 the law has created ownership in minerals. Where there 
 is no such law, no one would give anything for the right 
 of getting coal which can be got without paying for such 
 right. A building site is then referred to as bearing an 
 enormous value. Here again the law of property comes 
 in, and the law of affirmative value by which an article 
 serves a purpose, viz., the purpose of furnishing the best 
 place for securing customers. The stately oak is then 
 named : here, again, is property which has affirmative 
 value— the power of serving a purpose, and this con- 
 stitutes its exchange-value. Again, it is said a struggling 
 artist may expend a year's labour in painting a picture ; 
 but if he can find no one to buy it where is its value ? 
 Here is the case Epsilon formerly referred to : there is no 
 desire' to possess the man's picture — the value in use, 
 affirmative value, is wanting ; and the same applies to 
 the poem of which no one will buy a copy. There is no 
 affirmative value, no value in use— the thing is worthless ; 
 and value in exchange is founded upon worth. The 
 useless machine is open to the same criticism, for labour 
 is not a philosopher's stone unless it turns its materials 
 into gold, or into something which has exchange-value. 
 The Wedgwood vase, which cost originally twenty or 
 thirty guineas, and sold for £7^^, had the teleologic 
 purpose of giving pleasure, which was the cause of its 
 exchange-value. Without following the examples further, 
 it may be said that the principles laid down can account 
 for all the cases produced ; and whilst, as I said before, it 
 is dangerous to propound on such a subject the major 
 proposition of a syllogism, we can hardly be wrong, at the 
 close of this lengthened discussion, in asserting that what-
 
 320 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ever can be appropriated and transferred and is also an 
 object of desire, and can only be attained by effort 
 possesses exchange-value. Effort means labour, and the 
 quantity of effort or labour necessary to produce an 
 object is what controls and governs its exchange-value. 
 
 And here we approach another part of the subject. Our 
 inquiry has hitherto been, How, and not How much ? 
 — how it comes to pass that an article possesses exchange- 
 value — not how it comes to possess this particular 
 exchange-value. The latter is a question that has to be 
 dealt with under the law of supply and demand : the 
 former under the more comprehensive law which gives 
 birth to supply and demand. The law of supply and 
 demand may tell us why, at a particular time and 
 place, one article is exchanged for a certain quantity 
 of another article ; but it will not tell us what is the 
 root of the operation, what is the wellspring from which 
 it flows. We are told in the paper we are con- 
 sidering, " The popular saying that the value of a 
 thing is what it will fetch in the market, or, in other 
 words, what it will exchange for, gives a perfectly accurate 
 idea of the force of the word value as used in economic 
 science." This may be demurred to : it answers the 
 question. How much; but not the question. How? It 
 tells us that the value of a thing is a certain quantity, viz., 
 what it will bring. That is not exactly what we want to 
 know. Our question is an antecedent one — How does it 
 come to pass that it will bring or fetch anything ? What 
 is the quality, or what are the qualities and causes, by 
 which it commands some other thing? Now, these 
 qualities, we say, are three : — ist, it must be a thing 
 which can be and is appropriated and transferred ; 2nd, 
 it must answer some purpose which men desire to gratify; 
 and, 3rd, it must only be attainable by effort. 
 
 This threefold cord constitutes exchange-value, and is, I 
 think, strong enough to bind together any phenomena to 
 which it can be applied ; and if so we cannot accept the
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 321 
 
 statement in the paper before us, " that the operation of 
 demand and supply is in reahty the cause and law of 
 value," Demand and supply may alter the ratios, but 
 they do not create the reason ; — for the reason why any 
 article whatever possesses that sort of artificial value 
 called exchange-value, is ist, that it offers itself as a 
 means to some desirable end ; and, 2nd, that, possessing 
 incontestably this preliminary advantage, it cannot, at the 
 time when the transfer is effected, be obtained gratuitously 
 and without effort. 
 
 For one moment let us get rid of the idea of property. 
 Let us imagine a state of communism, where every man's 
 labour is thrown into a common stock, and each man is 
 provided for impartially out of that common stock ; what 
 he produces having no reference to what he receives. 
 Exchange-value is not possible under such circumstances ; 
 nor, again, is exchange-value feasible among things which 
 no man desires to possess — be they pictures, poems or 
 machines. Neither is it practicable amongst things which 
 nature provides in such abundance that they can be had 
 without toil and without effort. Exchange-value, then, 
 has its origin in the constitution of the earth and of 
 man. The earth contains all such things as are necessary 
 for the sustenance and comfort of man, and man has an 
 insatiable desire to possess himself of them, and to do 
 this he must submit to the conditions. He must work. 
 " In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," is the 
 primeval law. " Thorns and briars shall the earth bring 
 forth unto thee/' is the other law. The earth, therefore, 
 must be " subdued " and cultivated before it will satisfy the 
 inexhaustible desires of man. On the one hand are the 
 materials, on the other the desire and the power. 
 Combine the two, and you cover the earth with plenty ; 
 establish the right of property, and then each man will 
 bring to market the products he desires to exchange. In 
 what proportions this will be done depends upon the 
 quantity of labour required in their production, subject to 
 
 21
 
 322 Essays and Papers. 
 
 such irregularities as arise from the blunders by which 
 too much or too little is produced ; and in this school is 
 learnt the law of supply and demand. But with this we 
 are not immediately concerned. This much, however, we 
 may say, that as more skilful processes are introduced, as 
 machinery comes into play, and as science unfolds her 
 treasures, the exchange-value of most manufactured 
 articles is reduced and the reward of labour is proportion- 
 ately increased. This fact is written as with a sunbeam 
 in the history of our own country. Our middle class now 
 are richer in comfort than the highest class of 500 years 
 ago ; and all classes, where they are prudent, are better 
 off, have more abundance and variety open to them, than 
 their predecessors of 500 years ago. 
 
 The problem then being. How are the necessaries and 
 comforts of life to be procured ? the answer is^ By means 
 of labour. The processes of nature and the fertility of soils 
 must be understood and manipulated ; and as the division 
 of labour increases production, so it leads to exchange, 
 and the standard of worth, which each man applies to 
 the products of his industry, is the effort or sacrifice 
 which they have entailed upon him. He must estimate 
 them at this rate, for there is no other which he can 
 adopt. If he has made a rude bow, while another man 
 makes a rude spade, the one will naturally exchange for 
 the other ; and this simplest operation supplies the law 
 that regulates exchange-value everywhere. The quantity 
 of labour, with reference to articles produced by labour, 
 determines their exchange-value. Labour is a generic term 
 comprising all sorts of skill and effort. Every one knows 
 that new machinery supersedes old, because the new 
 machinery, at a less expenditure, makes a larger return ; 
 but men fall into errors and mistakes, and manufacture 
 what is not wanted or more than is wanted, and they 
 discover this when they attempt to sell, and then 
 comes in the law of supply and demand to correct the 
 aberrations they have made. The law of supply and
 
 Notes on the Law of Value. 323 
 
 demand creates market-value, which is to natural or 
 normal value what the regulator of a watch is to the main- 
 spring. That which creates movement and value is the 
 mainspring, — the nature of man — his desires and wants. 
 But as these, in their action, are evermore variable, either 
 through excess or defect, the conditions of mercantile life 
 — summed up in the words, supply and demand — interpose 
 as a regulator, now checking the rapidity of movement, 
 and now giving to it a new impetus. Market price is the 
 stern teacher whose lessons cannot be disregarded ; if a 
 man manufacture more than the world wants he does not 
 obtain his cost of production ; but it is quite evident that 
 he neither will nor can continue to manufacture on these 
 terms. Transgress the law of supply and demand, and 
 the penalty at last is bankruptcy ; but so long as you keep 
 within the true limits of normal value and get back the 
 equivalent of what you have expended, you are safe. 
 Market-value modifies normal value, for it is quite plain 
 there is a normal value under the law we have laid down. 
 Market-value is the particular value dependent upon 
 accidental circumstances ; normal value is the primary 
 universal and fundamental fact to which all exchange- 
 value seeks to conform ; and normal value means, shortly, 
 the cost of production ; for no man can possibly continue 
 to produce unless he obtains the cost of production ; and 
 competition, where it exists, will not allow him for any 
 length of time to obtain much more, including, of course, 
 the natural increment of profit which prevails. The law 
 of supply and demand is the law of present price, as it is 
 affected by the variations up or down, occasioned by the 
 irregularity of producers. So long as they produce the 
 thing that is wanted, what satisfies some desire or purpose, 
 the world is willing to pay them for it, the normal or 
 natural value, viz., that which covers cost of production, 
 because in the long run they cannot get it for less. The 
 law of gravity is not more certain than this, that if a man's 
 incomings are constantly less than his outgoings, he is 
 
 21 ^
 
 324 Essays mid Papers. 
 
 on the highway to bankruptcy. Therefore, when market- 
 value coincides with normal value, the conditions of 
 production are satisfied ; when they do not coincide, cir- 
 cumstances perpetually tend to bring about an equilibrium. 
 But an equilibrium between what ? Between, as I venture 
 to say, market-value governed by supply and demand and 
 normal value governed by cost of production.
 
 JESUS OF NAZARETH AND HIS 
 CONTEMPORARIES. 
 
 " For men to be tied and led by authority, as it were with a kind of 
 captivity of judgment, and though there be reason to the contrary not 
 to listen unto it, but to follow like beasts the first in the herd, they 
 know not nor care not whither — this were brutish. Again, that 
 authority of men should prevail with men, either above or against 
 Reason, is no part of our belief. Companies of learned men, be they 
 never so great and reverend, are to yield unto Reason ; the weight 
 whereof is no whit prejudiced by the simplicity of his person which 
 doth allege it, but being found to be sound and good, the bare opinion 
 of men to the contrary must of necessity stoop and give place." — 
 Richard Hooker, "Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity," Book ii., 
 ch. vii., 6. 
 
 "Why even of yourselves judge ye not what is right ? " 
 (Luke xii. 57.) This is the stern question put by Jesus 
 of Nazareth to certain hypocritical persons who were 
 addicted to slight and superficial methods of enquiry, and 
 who neglected the means and instruments of rational 
 investigation. They took notice of outward things, but 
 did not penetrate to inward causes. Their notions of 
 what was right may have been founded upon mere 
 prejudice; evidently they were not the product of 
 judgment. "Why even of yourselves judge ye not?" 
 Why are you satisfied with any outside husk which has 
 come in your way ? Questions hke this are not asked in 
 these days ; rather is it thought a respectable and proper 
 thing to " follow a multitude," not one of whom may have 
 taken the trouble to judge what is right ; and it is even
 
 326 Essays and Papers. 
 
 regarded as a reprehensible thing to judge anything to be 
 right which is without the sanction of certain special 
 authorities. 
 
 What is it that we mean by judging ? Is it simply 
 approving what is current ? Is it just assenting to par- 
 ticular dogmas because others do so ? Or is it not, 
 rather, the asking why they assent, and whether they do 
 so upon grounds which are reasonably convincing ? And 
 as we all come of a fallible stock, is it not implied in the 
 very act of judging that we may go wrong ? And are we, 
 therefore, dispensed from judging? May we, on this 
 account, abandon the attempt to judge what is right? 
 Can we at all abandon it ? If we should determine to do 
 so, and to accept the judgment of some one else — Pope 
 or Council — w^e have already committed ourselves to the 
 judgment that this particular way is right. 
 
 We cannot abdicate the function of judging, though we 
 may exercise it in a blind and perfunctory manner. But 
 then we are told that Creeds and Articles are matters too 
 deep and recondite for the lay intellect, and that the vast 
 apparatus of learning and enlightenment possessed by the 
 clergy is alone sufficient for the explication of these 
 mysterious formulas. And how is this proposition to be 
 made evident ? How are we to know that it is right and 
 true ? "Why even of yourselves judge ye not ?" 
 
 At the risk, therefore, of being wrong, we must do our 
 best to judge what is right, "esteeming the reproach of 
 Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt." (Heb. 
 xi. 26.) We take upon ourselves the burden he laid on 
 us ; and it is better that we should bear it and stumble 
 under it, even to falling, rather than slavishly attach our- 
 selves to "the fleshpots of Egypt." To judge, is to try — 
 to examine — to consider — and perhaps, after all, to fail ; 
 but he who reproached his audience because they did not 
 judge, knew all this, and yet did not exonerate them from 
 the hazard and the toil. And the difficulties are not 
 lighter now. Reward there is none, unless it be internal.
 
 jfesus of Nazareth and His Conteuipuravics. 327 
 
 Of hard words and evil speaking we have enough, if it 
 should happen that the conclusions arrived at do not 
 accord with approved standards. The penalty may, how- 
 ever, be borne. Now let us begin at the beginning. 
 
 Belief is a state of mind induced by evidence. As to 
 much the largest quantity of beliefs entertained by 
 human beings, the evidence upon which they are grounded 
 has been received unconsciously and unenquiringly. A 
 child believes, we may say, instinctively that the persons 
 whom it calls father and mother stand to it in those 
 relations. The question, in fact, never arises in its mind. 
 The impulse to receive with unquestioning faith what it is 
 told is a primitive and needful one, and is exercised with- 
 out praise or blame. No one would blame a child for 
 believing whatever passed current among those with 
 whom he was brought up. The history of Robinson 
 Crusoe, of Rip Van Winkle, of Jack the Giant Killer, or 
 of Joseph and his Brethren, would be, to a young child, 
 equally credible if each were presented to him with equal 
 gravity and apparent sincerity ; and the belief so engen- 
 dered has to be got rid of, either upon the authority of 
 certain trusted persons, or by an exercise of the under- 
 standing. To believe upon evidence of some sort is one 
 of the conditions man cannot escape from. The first 
 intellectual faculty which comes into existence is belief or 
 trust. To the persons surrounding him a child owes 
 everything he has, and he can look to no other or higher 
 source for what he stands in need of. His daily life is 
 wholly provided for by others, his questions are answered 
 by them, he is warned of dangers by them, he is guided 
 and instructed by them, and, in short, is indebted to them 
 for all he has and is. He, therefore, depends upon them, 
 he confides in them, until by intercourse with others he 
 acquires fresh information, which may destroy or confirm 
 the credit of what originally he had relied upon. What 
 is here stated is no peculiarity of Christianised or civilised 
 people ; it is true of all mankind. The lowest tribes, of
 
 328 Essays and Papers. 
 
 course, remain longest under the influence of the impres- 
 sions they first received, because there are no others to act 
 upon them, and they are less able mentally to assimilate 
 what is new. Their powers remain dormant, because 
 new circumstances seldom occur which are likely to 
 awaken a change of thought. Jane Taylor reproaches us 
 for our weakness in this respect. She says — 
 
 " Why is opinion, singly as it stands, 
 So much inherited hke house and lands ? 
 Whence comes it that from sire to son it goes, 
 Like a dark eyebrow or a Roman nose ? 
 
 Opinion, therefore — such our mental dearth — 
 Depends on mere locality or birth. 
 Hence the warm Tory — eloquent and big 
 With loyal zeal — had he been born a Whig, 
 Would rave for liberty with equal flame. 
 No shadow of distinction but the name. 
 Hence Christian bigots, 'neath the Pagan cloud, 
 Had roar'd for 'great Diana' just as loud ; 
 Or dropp'd at Rome, at Mecca, or Pekin, 
 For P'o, the Prophet, or the Man of Sin." 
 
 That this is in the main a true description, few will be 
 found to deny. But the moral of it may not by any 
 means be so generally accepted. Opinions and beliefs 
 generated in this way are the staple of what mankind 
 everywhere are influenced and governed by. In the 
 majority of cases, men hold by them with an invincible 
 pertinacity, and they curse or compassionate those who, 
 placed in different circumstances, have become possessed 
 of a different mental furniture. 
 
 It is too often forgotten that the constitution of a 
 man, the type and scope of his intelligence, and his 
 capacity to ameliorate and alter the one or the other, 
 are facts of inheritance and organisation, which admit 
 of very little modification by any effort of will. A man 
 can no more think as he likes than he can breathe as 
 he likes. He must breathe as his organisation and his
 
 Jesn^ of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 329 
 
 lungs allow ; and he must think as his surroundings 
 and constitution have fitted and qualified him to think, 
 though, by contact with other things, he may modify his 
 condition. As the untaught savage stands upon his native 
 sod, he has no alternative but to believe that the earth 
 on which he is placed is what it appears to be, an 
 immovable structure, and a flat surface. All the true 
 facts relating to it are shut up from him, and can only 
 be acquired from others who have been taught better. 
 He cannot even apprehend the facts intelligently when 
 they are stated to him. He may learn the words, but 
 he cannot picture to himself the relations which are 
 disclosed. He is not to be blamed for this any more 
 than he is to be blamed for not flying. He is no more 
 absolute master of his own mind than he is of his 
 muscles. He can only lift a certain weight, and he 
 has only a certain quantity and plasticity of apprehen- 
 sion ; and he possesses only a very, very limited power 
 of receiving new impressions, and of overcoming and 
 obliterating old ones. That a piece of wood rudely carved 
 can be offended and can hurt him, that the entrails of 
 an animal can discover to him events that are coming 
 to pass, or that what appears to be a portion of bread 
 is, in fact, Almighty God, are propositions, which, if they 
 have been gravely and systematically instilled into him, 
 acquire an influence over him which, in its origin and 
 growth, was involuntary, and which has created a bias 
 difficult, nay, almost impossible, to counteract. 
 
 The beliefs of mankind are thus dependent upon the 
 knowledge and opportunities they enjoy. The beliefs 
 of each generation are the result and outcome of those 
 that have preceded it. The ignorance and the prejudice 
 which have everywhere clouded man's intellectual atmos- 
 phere have very slowly and gradually been dispersed, 
 or, rather, are being dispersed. " Darkness covers 
 the earth and gross darkness the people" (Is. Ix. 2), 
 and the teachers who should have been foremost in
 
 330 Essays and Papers. 
 
 counteracting this dominion of evil have too often been 
 active leaders in maintaining and propagating it. 
 
 " The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests bear 
 rule by their means, and my people love to have it so." 
 (Jer. V. 3.) Prophets, priests, and people combine to 
 vindicate and uphold each other. Their opponents are 
 most likely accounted the off-scouring of the earth. 
 Society is well satisfied with itself; its beliefs and prac- 
 tices have the stamp of authority and respectability, and, 
 with a Pharisaic self-sufficiency, it stands by its pro- 
 phets and priests ; and so, what happens to be popular 
 amongst a chosen people — " my people " — what may 
 be the accepted doctrine of acknowledged prophets and 
 priests, may be, in reality, false and hollow. The 
 approval of a generation, the assent and consent of 
 their recognised prophets and priests, is not a valid 
 verification of a religious creed, which can be honestly 
 impeached in the high court of conscience and of reason. 
 No authority, indeed, can overrule this judicature ; for no 
 authority can be constituted, with any defensible title, 
 which as any other source and origin. The authority 
 which is to avail against conscience and reason must 
 itself have the sanction and seal of some conscience and 
 reason which approves itself to the faculties and convic- 
 tions of men. 
 
 We can get no higher. All signs and wonders may 
 be mistaken and misunderstood. They are but impres- 
 sions of sense ; and such impressions — to wit, the motion 
 of the earth, and many other such like things — need to 
 be interpreted, and not until they have passed through 
 the alembic of the mind are they to be relied upon as 
 data of unquestioned validity. The current beliefs in- 
 herited by mankind have continually needed revision and 
 correction, and to the end of time this will no doubt be 
 their characteristic. That men should believe something 
 is a necessity of their position. What they do not know 
 they may believe or hope for : " for what a man seeth
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 331 
 
 why doth he yet hope for ? " (Rom. viii. 24.) So long as it 
 remains true that we " know in part " (i Cor. xiii. 12), 
 we must, in reference to whatever else affects us and is 
 unknowable, come under the influence of belief. " We 
 know in part, and we prophesy in part." (i Cor. xiii. 9.) 
 Our knowledge is partial, and so is our faith. The first 
 proposition we admit, the second we may not be clear 
 about. We may, however, very safely put all our attain- 
 ments and possessions into one and the same category. 
 
 Whatever might be the value and authority of St. 
 Paul's prophesying, and whatever was its essence and 
 nature, he acknowledges that it was partial — viz., incom- 
 plete — a mere fragment, or portion, of some greater and 
 more comprehensive whole; hable, therefore, be to mis- 
 apprehended. 
 
 A small piece or section of a sphere would give to 
 anyone w^ho saw it for the first time a very imperfect idea 
 of what it was in its entirety; just so with the partial 
 beliefs of mankind. We have seen the perfunctory 
 manner in which they arise; how at first "we see through 
 a glass darkly" — beheving all the while that we possess a 
 transparent medium. Gradually we come to discover 
 that the glass is obscure, and we learn painfully to doubt 
 our once confident conclusions. Proof of some kind we 
 always require ; only we are satisfied at first with very 
 poor proofs. We beheve first and prove afterwards; and 
 in such circumstances the assent to what has been 
 received is easily obtained — it is assumed to be true, it is 
 taken for granted, and is seldom cross-examined. 
 
 Like the rest of my fellows, I have had an inheritance 
 of beliefs which for many years gave me no trouble ; they 
 were all compact, clear, and convincing. By degrees 
 they came into contact with new circumstances and new 
 persons, and they lost some of their authority ; gradually 
 they became incredible, and the ground upon which they 
 stood crumbled away. With theology proper I did not 
 meddle ; mysteries and miracles created no difficulty
 
 332 Essays and Papers. 
 
 when they were proved by adequate evidence. It was 
 plain matters of fact that were intractable — things which 
 time does not alter. Men "lived and moved and had 
 their being" two thousand years ago in the same fashion 
 as now; and evidence then was what it is now. In the 
 mouth of two or three witnesses every word was estab- 
 lished then as now. (Matt, xviii. i6.) Witnesses are 
 persons who hear and see, and their evidence regarding 
 facts is worth much more than that of any other person. 
 When statements disagree, those which are made by 
 real witnesses overrule those which depend only upon 
 hearsay; and this is a condition of things which always 
 existed. 
 
 We may believe any facts which are supported by 
 
 trustworthy and sufficient evidence, but wherever 
 
 evidence is defective, we are justified in abating or 
 
 withholding belief. The utmost that any dogmatical 
 
 teacher can say or do is this : I have investigated these 
 
 propositions, or some one else has, and upon this 
 
 investigation or testimony I believe them to be true; and 
 
 this proof, as thus affirmed by me, is, or should be, 
 
 sufficient for you. We answer, How am I to know this? 
 
 How am I to know that I ought to believe what seems to 
 
 me contradictory upon any mere statement or asseveration 
 
 of another man of like passions ? Supernatural facts are 
 
 recorded in a book, and are believed upon the evidence of 
 
 that record. May I not read and examine the record? 
 
 This, in some quarters, is held to be questionable. Well, 
 
 but if I may go wrong in my enquiry touching what is 
 
 contained in the record, may I not equally go wrong in 
 
 accepting the unverified, written or oral, statement of a 
 
 man fallible like myself ? True, that his testimony is said 
 
 to be corroborated and confirmed by a body of men who 
 
 are called the Church. But here, again, who avouches 
 
 for this? Who proves this averment? Is it not much 
 
 more difficult to get at the truth of these very complicated 
 
 and dubious materials than at the meaning of plain words
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 333 
 
 and simple statements contained in the brief narratives of 
 unsophisticated men? We cannot cross-examine the 
 Church, and no man can produce and condense into 
 perspicuous language the vast and voluminous teachings 
 of the men who have constituted the Church. If the 
 original narratives from which our faith has been derived 
 are clearer and more explicit than the commentaries 
 made upon them, we shall be justified in holding to the 
 one and rejecting the other; or, at any rate, if one set of 
 statements is plain and simple, and the other obscure 
 and vague, we should follow the ordinary course of 
 human action, which adopts the former and eschews the 
 latter. 
 
 In the first chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel we find 
 these words : — 
 
 " Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise : When as his 
 mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together 
 she was found with child of the Holy Ghost. Then Joseph her 
 husband, being' a just man, and not willing to make her a public 
 example, was minded to put her away privily." 
 
 The i8th verse describes Joseph and Mary as espoused. 
 In the 19th verse Joseph is designated as her "husband." 
 When, and under what circumstances, the marriage took 
 place is not stated in any of the narratives. 
 
 Before making any comment upon them, we may re- 
 member that, whoever actually wrote these words, they 
 were not written until at least fifty years after the events 
 which they record had taken place. Jesus himself is 
 supposed to have lived thirty-three years. St. Matthew 
 was carrying on his business as a publican prior to his 
 becoming a follower and an apostle of Jesus, and Jesus 
 was thirty years of age when he began his public min- 
 istry. Matthew, therefore, could not have known any- 
 thing of the events referred to in his Gospel, which took 
 place at Nazareth and at Bethlehem, before he was born, 
 or when he was an infant. 
 
 But the Gospel according to St. Matthew relates events
 
 334 Essays and Papers. 
 
 of a plain and circumstantial character, which Matthew 
 may have witnessed, or have heard from those who did 
 witness them. These events, therefore, have more of 
 authenticity and evidential value than those which are 
 said to have happened long before, and of which no one 
 was cognisant at the time. We can have no doubt, as 
 a matter of fact, that Jesus lived with Joseph and Mary 
 from his earliest childhood, and if we could know the cir- 
 cumstances of their daily life, we should have the best 
 possible information as to their mutual relations. We 
 should know — not what reports grew up afterwards, but 
 what were the actual feelings and habits that existed and 
 were maintained between them. We should know — not 
 what poets and painters imagined, and not what mystics 
 excogitated, but how a Jewish carpenter and his wife 
 acted towards a very remarkable child. The course of 
 their ordinary life was observed by their neighbours. Their 
 conduct towards their child was as well known as that of 
 any other family in their native village. What they said, 
 and what they thought, and what they anticipated, were as 
 common topics of conversation as were the affairs of 
 others. The neighbourhood knew when Joseph and Mary 
 married ; and if at that time there had been anything 
 unusual in the circumstances, it could not have been 
 concealed. 
 
 Comparing and analysing the narratives of Matthew 
 and Luke, and reading them as history, not as theology, 
 under the light of common knowledge and experience, 
 what precisely do they tell us ? While Joseph is in 
 a state of doubt and hesitancy, Matthew — verse 20 — 
 declares that the angel said to him, " Take unto thee 
 Mary thy uife.'^ Luke says, Joseph went up from Galilee 
 out of the city of Nazareth to be taxed with Mary, his 
 espoused wife, being great with child. Luke calls her 
 " espoused wife," although months before the angel had 
 designated her simply " wife." Joseph, it is said, " was 
 minded to put her away privily." The word trans-
 
 Jcsiis of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 335 
 
 lated " to put her away " occurs frequently in the New 
 Testament, and, as applied to women, has always re- 
 ference to the putting away of a married woman. It is 
 sometimes translated " divorce." We may, therefore, 
 conclude that when Joseph was minded to put Mary away, 
 they had already been married ; for it could not be said 
 that he was minded to put her away unless they had 
 previously been married. The perplexity of Joseph is not 
 mentioned by Luke ; but, when he first introduces Mary 
 to us, he announces her as " espoused to a man whose 
 name was Joseph." At this period Joseph and Mary 
 were undistinguished from their neighbours ; whatever, 
 therefore, would be the judgment of neighbours respecting 
 married or espoused persons would be the judgment of 
 Nazareth respecting Joseph and Mary. We are dealing 
 with the doings of men and women as they live and move 
 and have their being in this world of ours. To judge of 
 the facts fairly we must dismiss from our minds their later 
 aspect, and look at them as they presented themselves to 
 the people of Nazareth well nigh two thousand years 
 ago.' People were as well able then to construe and to 
 understand facts of this order as they are now; a jury 
 at Nazareth were as competent to determine a fact of 
 their own common life as a jury in London of theirs. 
 The sum of it then is, that at the moment of her intro- 
 duction to us, Mary is espoused to a man whose name is 
 Joseph, and is immediately afterwards said to be his wife; 
 so espoused or married, the narrator next tells us, that an 
 angel informs her she shall have a son, and she is repre- 
 sented as replying, "How can this be, seeing I know not 
 a man ? " This interview with the angel is not commu- 
 nicated to Joseph, for, though he is minded afterward to put 
 her away, his apprehensions are set at rest by a dream. If 
 there had been no marriage, past or impending, would not 
 Nazareth have shared Joseph's feeling ? The marriage 
 covered the birth ; without it, Nazareth must have 
 followed the impulse of Joseph, and have put Mary away.
 
 33^^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 We are justified in applying to this narrative the same 
 tests as we should apply to any other which related similar 
 events ; we are not incredulous of facts because they are 
 miraculous. The question is, are certain alleged facts 
 supported by such evidence as the common experience of 
 mankind requires ? There is only one fact here claiming 
 to be miraculous ; the rest are the every day events of 
 life " known and read of all men." " Registrars of 
 births " are modern officers, but the events which they 
 record, their antecedents, and whatever was connected 
 with them, were matters as much within the know- 
 ledge and observation of the people of Nazareth as they 
 are elsewhere. To describe the ordinary facts of life 
 needs no supernatural agency. What we ask is, did 
 a certain event happen ? and is it an event which the 
 narrator had the means and opportunity of knowing? 
 Must it have been known, also, to other persons, and is 
 their joint evidence congruous and in agreement ? If it is 
 a common event, it passes without enquiry ? If it is un- 
 common, and contrary to all experience, the evidence on 
 which it depends must be conclusive and incontrovertible. 
 A dogma may be a matter of elaborate argument deducible 
 from recondite and remote premises ; a fact of daily human 
 experience can be attested by the plain people who are 
 possessed of ordinary senses, and are able to draw simple 
 inferences ; their evidence is just as good, within their 
 range, as that of their betters. Joseph and Mary were 
 simple people like their neighbours ; and when they 
 married, if a prophet or an angel had announced to 
 Mary that she should have a son, she could not have 
 replied — no woman so circumstanced could have replied — 
 "How can this be, seeing I know not a man?" The 
 incongruity — nay, the impossibility — of such an answer 
 is patent and obvious. What woman situated as Mary 
 was could have so interrogated a stranger ? The angel 
 promised that she should have a son who should be great, 
 should possess a throne, and reign for ever ; she did not
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 337 
 
 reply, " How shall this be, seeing that I am poor and 
 lowly?" but " How shall I become a mother ?" though 
 she was, or was just about to become, a wife. 
 
 There are but two other statements that need notice — 
 the words, " before they came together," and the dream 
 of Joseph. No uncorroborated words, wTitten or spoken, 
 and no dream, would be received, in judicial proceedings, 
 in answer to those facts of universal experience which 
 are bound up with the birth of a child ; and judicial 
 proceedings are those highest acts by which the rules 
 of human wisdom and experience are applied to elucidate 
 and direct human affairs. A narrative that offends 
 against these rules cannot appeal to another jurisdiction 
 of larger and more competent authority. 
 
 Let us now follow the narrative. Let us ascertain 
 how all the parties introduced to us behave under the 
 circumstances. Let us transport ourselves to Nazareth. 
 Let us listen to the conversations that are reported. 
 Let us observe the action and attitude of the persons 
 concerned. Let us put the plain and natural construction 
 upon their words and conduct, and let us then abide by 
 the impression which all these things leave upon us — 
 disregarding the theories and ideas which at a later 
 period came into being. How did Joseph and Mary, 
 whilst he lived under their roof, speak of Jesus ? In 
 what terms did the writer of the narrative refer to him ? 
 and how did his friends and acquaintance regard him ? 
 The answers to these questions ought to throw some 
 light on matters vitally interesting to us all, and no 
 better evidence is attainable or possible respecting them. 
 
 In the first place, we ask, how is the statement respect- 
 ing the angels and the shepherds at Bethlehem consistent 
 with later events ? The shepherds are said " to have 
 made known abroad the saying '^vhich was told them 
 concerning the child, and all that heard it wondered at 
 those things which were told them." (Luke ii. 18.) 
 Public attention was, therefore, called to the circum- 
 
 22
 
 338 Essays and Papers. 
 
 stances of Jesus's birth at the time. These reports, and 
 the circumstances so made known, must have created a 
 permanent and abiding interest in the person so distin- 
 guished. He could not sink down into a common person. 
 The shepherds — who came into Bethlehem, made known 
 abroad what they had heard and seen, and excited 
 wonder in all who listened to them — could not return 
 home as if nothing had occurred. 
 
 The name and fame of Jesus could not have been 
 obscured. The multitude of the Heavenly Host must 
 have made a deep and lasting impression on all who saw, 
 or heard of, and believed it. If it were known at the 
 time, it must have arrested attention, and fastened it on 
 the person of Jesus. He could not have returned home 
 like another child. Bethlehem would have been stirred 
 to its depths at the announcement — the good tidings of 
 great joy. But we never hear again that these events 
 were further taken notice of in Bethlehem, or that the 
 good tidings and the great joy had any effect upon the 
 people of that town. Yet surely, if so grand a scene 
 was witnessed, if such wonderful words were spoken, and 
 such prospects opened out, the child who was the subject 
 of all this marvellous revelation would never again have 
 been lost sight of, and would not have been allowed to 
 mingle in the crowd and to pass into obscurity. 
 
 Besides this, wise men from the East hear of his birth ; 
 Herod hears of it, and is troubled ; and all Jerusalem 
 with him. (Matt. ii. 4.) There are the star, the gold, 
 frankincense, myrrh, the wise men falling down and 
 worshipping, and yet we are not informed that any 
 further result followed from these results. No expecta- 
 tions were raised ; no persons concerned themselves 
 further about Jesus. Joseph and Mary return to 
 Nazareth, and there is nothing in the narrative which 
 shows that any further enquiries were made about Jesus 
 by the people of Bethlehem ; or that the friends and 
 neighbours of Joseph and Mary, at Nazareth, had any
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 339 
 
 knowledge of what had taken place at Bethlehem ; or 
 were made acquainted with the visit and gifts of the 
 wise men of the East ; or with the appearance and 
 utterances of the angels. Surely some report of these 
 great events must have preceded them, and the interest 
 of their friends and neighbours have been aroused. They 
 would have been anxious to see the gifts which had been 
 presented ; they would have been anxious to hear what 
 had been done and said by the angels. Such visions of 
 angels were not common things. Wisa men could not 
 come from the East under the guidance of stars, and 
 bring with them gold, and frankincense, and myrrh, 
 without its being noised abroad — in fact, the narrative 
 distinctly says the shepherds " made it known abroad." 
 Is it not, then, strange that events of such an order made 
 no impression upon the people who witnessed them, and 
 upon those who were made acquainted with them ? 
 
 We are ignorant, and " know only in part." We 
 cannot, therefore, say in regard to past events what is 
 possible or otherwise ; but we do know what wonder 
 means — it is an emotion which has been felt by all men ; 
 and we know what it is to make a thing "known abroad"; 
 and we know that if any astonishing circumstance 
 affecting both eyes and ears comes to pass, and is " made 
 known abroad," and excites popular wonder, the impres- 
 sion is not likely to fade away. And if it should be 
 connected with some particular person, and should be 
 the revelation and assertion of some marvellous destiny 
 and greatness which is to befall him, the wonder would 
 not die out, but would follow him through his after years, 
 and would prevent his ever becoming, or being spoken 
 of, as an ordinary man. 
 
 How different from all this is the history of Jesus ! 
 He returns from Bethlehem, and from Egypt, he takes 
 up his abode at Nazareth, and not one word is said 
 to indicate that more was expected of him than of his 
 neighbours, or that there was anything in his history 
 
 22 *
 
 340 Essays and Papers. 
 
 which marked him out or distinguished him from 
 them. 
 
 Following the narrative, the first event we meet with 
 which throws any light upon the subject is related in 
 Luke ii. 41, where it is said, " his parents went to Jeru- 
 salem every year." Joseph and Mary are by the historian 
 denominated his parents. If the fact were not so, the 
 statement is misleading ; and if anyone objects that it is 
 a statement which has to be accommodated, and should 
 not be construed literally, the answer is, that other facts 
 and beliefs are set up and substantiated by the literal 
 interpretation of words, which, it may be contended, 
 are figurative. And, again, when the question is. What 
 were the impressions abroad respecting some particular 
 person ? surely the words spoken by those who knew 
 him are very cogent evidence. Taking them, however, 
 for what they are worth, they prove that, when writing 
 in an unconstrained or historical manner, the historian 
 mentions Joseph and Mary as the parents of Jesus. 
 
 But there is confirmatory evidence of the most decisive 
 character in connection with the same event. Mary, 
 addressing Jesus, on this particular occasion, says — 
 " Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us ? Behold, thy 
 father and I have sought thee sorrowing." Suppose 
 these words of Mary are not allowed to be conclusive, 
 they prove this, at least, that Mary spoke of Joseph as 
 the father of Jesus. They prove, indisputably, that the 
 child Jesus was recognised as the son of Joseph, for his 
 mother so designates him ; and, if he were so, this is 
 natural ; and if it were not so, it would be unnatural. 
 Whether we choose to make little or much of this evi- 
 dencC;, it must be said that no other species of evidence 
 is available ; and that no instance can be produced in 
 which Mary is represented as having asserted a different 
 state of things. 
 
 If it could be proved that Mary had at any time 
 asserted what the narrator has related of the circum-
 
 Jesus of Xazanih and II is Cuntouporaries. 341 
 
 stances which preceded the birth of Jesus, very much 
 would, very properly, be made of it. If it could be proved 
 that the "kinsfolk and acquaintance" of Joseph and Mary 
 (Luke ii. 44) had been informed that Jesus was not the 
 son of Joseph, and if facts proved that, as a child, he was 
 not recognised or known as his son, it would be a strong 
 confirmation of the narrator's story of his supernatural 
 birth. But the evidence is the very reverse of this. Of 
 all things in the world, the most important to be kno\\n 
 was that Jesus was not the son of Joseph, and yet the 
 historian here mentions Joseph as his parent. Mary 
 herself calls him his father. For the purpose in view, 
 evidence cannot go beyond this. 
 
 In reference to this history there are two contingencies 
 possible. The one, that Joseph and Mary should have 
 stated the supernatural circumstances as set down by St. 
 Matthew ; and the other, that they should have allowed 
 Jesus to grow up and be recognised as their own son. 
 If, in truth, he were not their son, then to allow their 
 neighbours to remain under a false impression was to 
 conduce to, and to connive at, falsehood ; but if he was 
 their son, their conduct was natural and reasonable, 
 and any other conduct would have been a deliberate 
 imposture. We shall see, as we go on, from the result 
 of their actions, that only one construction can be put 
 upon them — they treated Jesus as their son. Their 
 neighbours saw it and knew it. It is not necessary to 
 say that no child could be born in a supernatural manner, 
 "for we know" only "in part "; but we may safely say 
 that no child could be so born — among a woman's own 
 people, and in a small community — without its being 
 known and noticed at the time; that a woman of blameless 
 character, living in reputable circumstances, in a small 
 community, under the eye of her neighbours, cannot 
 have a first-born son, in an irregular manner, without 
 its being known. If the circumstances are such as 
 redound to. the honour of the woman, and are believed
 
 342 Essays and Papers. 
 
 by her to be fraught with blessing to her people and 
 the world, and if she is so confident of this that she 
 publicly asserts " all generations," on account of it, 
 "shall call me blessed" — she could not be a party to 
 the concealment of the true fact ; she could not allow 
 her son to grow up as the son of her husband ; she could 
 not lend herself to the propagation of what was untrue ; 
 she could not publicly, and without remonstrance, permit 
 the true facts of the birth to be obliterated, and an utterly 
 erroneous impression to get abroad and take its place. 
 
 Yet, when Jesus is twelve years of age, his mother 
 addresses him as the child of Joseph — " Thy father and I 
 have sought thee." Between this twelfth year of Jesus 
 and his thirtieth year we have no event of his life 
 recorded, but it is quite clear that no new impression of 
 his birth had grown up. Turning to John's Gospel, we 
 find in the first chapter an account of his introduction to 
 his first follower : — " Phihp findeth Nathanael, and saith 
 unto him. We have found him of whom Moses in the law 
 and the prophets did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of 
 Joseph." (John i. 45.) Not the son of Mary, by a 
 supernatural birth, but the son of Joseph. Evidently, 
 therefore, at the time, this was the public and recognised 
 impression, or how should Philip assert it ? Shortly 
 afterwards we are told by Luke (ch. iv. 16) that Jesus 
 " came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up," and 
 spoke in the synagogue, and the people wondered at the 
 gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth, and 
 they said, " Is not this Joseph's son ? " Can anything be 
 conceived more natural than this ? Jesus had been 
 " brought up " among them ; they had known him from 
 his youth, and all his life long, as the son of Joseph. 
 Plainly they had never heard of any supernatural birth, of 
 the Heavenly Host at Bethlehem, of the gold, frankincense, 
 and myrrh, of the wise men from the East, or of the 
 guiding star. Jesus had lived amongst them as the child 
 of Joseph and Mary. "Is not this Joseph's son ? '' was
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 343 
 
 their first exclamation. Is it possible that any other 
 parentage had been heard of? Jesus says to his former 
 friends and neighbours, " No prophet is accepted in his 
 own country." And why ? Because in his own country 
 his origin, his daily walk, his intercourse with his friends, 
 and the common-places of his life, are remembered, and 
 it is hard to understand how his new pretensions and 
 powers have been acquired, or can be genuine. 
 
 The people of Nazareth had known Jesus as one of 
 themselves, as a carpenter. They had heard of what had 
 been done in Capernaum, and they said, with the utmost 
 apparent simplicity and good faith : " Is not this Joseph's 
 son?" They asked for no wonders to be performed; but, 
 in reply to their question, "Is not this Joseph's son?" 
 Jesus said to them — not. You are mistaken, I am not 
 Joseph's son, but — " Ye will surely say unto me this 
 proverb. Physician, heal thyself. Whatsoever we have 
 heard done in Capernaum, do also here, in thy country." 
 They had not said this, but, in response to their question, 
 Jesus suggests this as their state of mind: "Ye will surely 
 say^, knowing as you do who I am." After this, it is said, 
 they were — one sees not why — "filled with wrath." So 
 far as we can see, they had not acted blamably. A 
 person w^ho had grown up from boyhood to manhood, 
 under their eye, as the son of one of their neighbours, 
 had unexpectedly assumed the character of a " prophet " 
 (verse 25) ; and they asked : " Is not this Joseph's son ? " 
 What we are concerned with is the fact that at Nazareth, 
 where he had been brought up — " brought up " meaning 
 where he had lived until manhood — had been daily seen 
 and spoken to, he was known only as Joseph's son. No 
 one remembered any story of a supernatural birth, which 
 might have accounted for the phenomenon of his prophetic 
 character. No, here, in his own country, among his own 
 people, until he commenced his public career, he was 
 known only as Joseph's son. Jesus himself has told us : 
 " No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a
 
 344 Essays and Papers. 
 
 secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, 
 that they which come in may see the light," (Luke 
 xi. 33.) And we may be quite sure that an event so 
 surpassingly important as his own parentage and super- 
 natural birth would not have been put in a secret place or 
 under a bushel. He affirms that no man does such a thing. 
 
 In the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew, we read of 
 Jesus being again in " his own country" ; and his neigh- 
 bours, the people who had been acquainted with him all 
 his life, are represented as asking — " Is not this the 
 carpenter's son? Is not his mother called Mary? And 
 his brethren James and Joses, and Simon and Juda ? 
 And his sisters are they not all with us ? " A perfectly 
 natural enquiry ; proving beyond all doubt that, in his 
 own country, there was no knowledge of any mysterious 
 or supernatural birth. He was the son of Joseph and 
 Mary. In the sixth chapter of St. Mark, there is a 
 reference to a visit of Jesus to his own country ; and, with 
 a slight variation, the same circumstances are repeated — 
 " Whence hath this man these things? And what is the 
 wisdom which was given unto this man ? Is not this the 
 carpenter, the son of Mary, and brother of James and 
 Joses, and Juda and Simon ? And are not his sisters here 
 with us? And they were offended at him." Can any 
 conduct be more natural, when all the events of a man's 
 life are familiar to them ? But if the circumstances of his 
 supernatural birth had been known, how natural it would 
 have seemed that he should be thus distinguished from 
 the crowd. 
 
 The genealogy in Matthew's Gospel, if read simply, and 
 without bias, leads also to the conclusion that Jesus was 
 the son of Joseph and Mary. These are the words (Matt, 
 i. 16): "Jacob begat Joseph, the husband of Mary, of 
 whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ." The ante- 
 cedent of " whom," in such a recital, is, naturally and 
 inevitably, the husband and the wife, whose names are 
 mentioned together.
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 345 
 
 Once more, the only other Gospel which contains the 
 genealogy brings its quota of evidence to the same effect. 
 The twenty-third verse of the fourth chapter of St. Luke 
 asserts — "Jesus himself began to be about thirty years 
 of age, being (as was supposed) the son of Joseph." "As 
 was supposed " looks much like the marginal note of some 
 copyist introduced into the text. Why, also, the marks of 
 parenthesis? The word " supposed " is in the original the 
 same word as is elsewhere translated " think" — "Think 
 not 1 am come to destroy the law," &c. The expression, 
 therefore, means that during his lifetime Jesus was thought 
 to be the son of Joseph. Could any fact be more conclu- 
 sive as to his parentage ? The historian himself admits 
 that the impression which existed during the lifetime of 
 Jesus was that he was the son of Joseph. The impression 
 would only be derived from facts calculated to produce it. 
 The actions and the words of Joseph and Mary, the actions 
 and words of Jesus himself, must have combined to create 
 the impression which prevailed. The events themselves 
 are not of a nature to admit of secrecy or disguise. 
 
 If^a promise had been made to Mary by some mysterious 
 messenger that she should be the mother of the great 
 national deliverer whose advent the Jews anticipated, she 
 would surely have called together her friends and neigh- 
 bours, that they might rejoice with her, not on her own 
 account, but on account of her people and country. The 
 throne of David filled the Jewish imagination with visions 
 of conquest and glory ; and the Jewish woman who 
 possessed indubitable evidence that she was the favoured 
 individual through whom her race would be restored to its 
 ancient splendour would not put her light under a bushel, 
 but on a candlestick. Besides, the events at Bethlehem 
 w^ould speak, trumpet-tongued, of some great destiny in 
 store for the child, whose birth had been celebrated there. 
 The news would travel to Nazareth and rouse expectations. 
 After the wonders of Bethlehem, Jesus was taken to the 
 temple, and Joseph and Mary " marvelled " at the words
 
 34^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 spoken by Simeon. How could they marvel, if they 
 remembered the angel Gabriel and Bethlehem ? 
 
 When St. Paul defended himself before Agrippa and 
 Festus, he appealed to the publicity of certain events as 
 proof of their authenticity — " This thing was not done 
 in a corner." But this thing, the most wonderful of all, 
 has not one fact in the entire subsequent history of Jesus, 
 as related, which supports or confirms it. The genera- 
 tion contemporary with him knew nothing of it ; they 
 "supposed," his biographer assures us, that Jesus was 
 the son of Joseph. And such a supposition, prevailing 
 everywhere, and contradicted nowhere, is evidence which 
 in such cases is absolutely final and conclusive. The 
 reputed parents of a child, who live amongst their own 
 people, and about whom no mystery exists whilst they 
 live, cannot be deprived of their parental character by 
 later writings, without the production of plain, unequi- 
 vocal, and overwhelming proof. The rules which deter- 
 mine the parentage of children have been long ago 
 settled and ascertained. Courts of law have had to deal 
 with such questions in innumerable instances. Was 
 such a person the child of certain parents ? is a question 
 which has been often enough asked. Men have had 
 to unravel tangled statements on this subject many a 
 time and oft ; and they have come to an agreement as 
 to what circumstances may be relied upon, and what 
 should be distrusted. 
 
 The very foundations of civil society are concerned in 
 the facts involved in such questions. The actions of 
 parents and children, and neighbours and friends, have all 
 been observed, and the value of them has been thoroughly 
 appraised. Craft and fraud may succeed occasionally in 
 throwing a veil of mystery and doubt over the birth of 
 some particular person, but the plain, practical doings of 
 ingenuous persons are not to be mistaken. The trans- 
 actions of twent}' or thirty years, pointing to a simple con- 
 clusion, are not to be set aside upon the statement of men
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 347 
 
 who might not have been born when the transactions 
 occurred, who had no personal knowledge of them, and 
 whose other statements are wholly at variance with them. 
 Hearsay evidence, supported by no facts, but contradicted 
 by the conduct and acts of all persons concerned, has no 
 evidential force or value. 
 
 In the first volume of Grote's " History of Greece," 
 page 472, 2nd ed., is the following note : — 
 
 " Plato passed among a large portion of his admirers for the actual 
 son of Apollo, and his reputed father Aristo, on marrying, was 
 admonished in a dream to respect the person of his wife Periktione, 
 then pregnar;t by Apollo, until after the birth of the child Plato." 
 
 We do not pause upon this piece of history and believe 
 it, because people once did so ; it seemed to them possible ; 
 it seems to us impossible; and we do not trouble ourselves 
 about it. We do not think it necessary to test the 
 miraculous stories current in ancient mythologies ; yet 
 they have been believed, and were at one time, by some 
 people, deemed as credible as the miraculous stories 
 which obtain general credence. To the ignorant people 
 who first hear it, one miraculous story may seem as 
 probable as another, and all sorts of events stand upon 
 the same level. Amongst a credulous people improba- 
 bilities are entirely disregarded, and they are ready to 
 accept any story without enquiry, and without distrust ; 
 it is only experience which enables them to separate 
 what rests upon real evidence from what rests upon none. 
 The question to be asked is not whether such and such 
 an event could happen, but whether there is any real, 
 valid evidence that it did happen. 
 
 In the lifetime of Jesus there was plainly no expecta- 
 tion that he would become the founder of a new religion. 
 We have the means of ascertaining what impression was 
 made upon his disciples and apostles by their intercourse 
 with him. We can tell what they thought ; and the 
 evidence of what they thought is of far more value and
 
 348 Essays and Papers. 
 
 weight than the thoughts and behefs of men who hved 
 hundreds of years later. I appeal only to the testimony 
 of the Evangelists. I ask what it is they tell us of the 
 doings and sayings of Jesus? I ask how the events of his 
 life acted upon and influenced the people who witnessed 
 them ? And I venture to say that the contemporaneous 
 observations of men who saw and heard what is recorded 
 are worth infinitely more than reports of unwitnessed 
 events which are wholly uncorroborated ; or, rather, 
 which are contradicted by every account that should 
 confirm or illustrate them. 
 
 At thirty years of age, St. Luke informs us, Jesus 
 "was supposed " to be the son of Joseph. This is not a 
 supposition or thought which could have sprung up with- 
 out evidence. When a royal child is to be born, the 
 greatest care is taken that evidence of his birth shall be 
 unimpeachable and complete ; and no child, brought up 
 from his birth in a carpenter's home, one whom every 
 neighbour had known and recognised from infancy as the 
 carpenter's son, could pass into a royal household as of 
 legitimate and royal descent, if no person and no particle 
 of evidence were produced to prove the fact. That a 
 man was all his life supposed to be the son of certain 
 persons by those amongst whom they all lived, is evidence 
 not to be controverted, except b}^ similar evidence of 
 greater weight and conclusiveness. 
 
 If we were called upon by any court to determine an 
 issue relating to the birth and parentage of a man, which 
 had to be ascertained after his death ; and if it were 
 proved that he lived from infancy in the midst of a small 
 community, as the child of parents, members of this 
 community, natives of the same place, and well-known 
 there ; if it appeared that his mother publicly recognised 
 her husband as the child's father ; if the neighbours 
 testified that they had known the child from his infancy 
 as the offspring of these parents; if he had, to their 
 knowledge, lived with them as one of their children until
 
 Jesiis of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 349 
 
 he grew to manhood ; if he had afterwards occupied a 
 pubHc position, and had become the acknowledged 
 founder of an important religious body; if his first friends 
 and followers had recognised him in some distinct manner 
 as the son of these parents ; if he were publicly challenged, 
 by those who had known him all his life, as their son ; 
 and if it were admitted by his most eminent biographer 
 that, during his lifetime, a certain man, who lived with 
 his mother, was regarded as his father— such impression, 
 and such facts, would assuredly overrule, in the mind of 
 every impartial juror, any statements of an opposite or 
 inconsistent character. If testimony, in any case, is to 
 determine fact, no one could for a moment doubt in this 
 instance upon which side the testimony preponderated. 
 Whoever, without prepossessions or prejudice, came to 
 determine such an issue, could feel no doubt respecting 
 his verdict. 
 
 If the apostles and disciples of Jesus had known that 
 his parentage was such as one or two verses represent it 
 to be, they must have expected of him much greater 
 things than they actually did. If they had known what 
 is said to have passed between the angel and Mary, if 
 they knew what is said to have occurred at Bethlehem, 
 they could not have been unmfluenced by it ; they must 
 have believed that Jesus was a much more extraordinary 
 person than they judged him to be. 
 
 The two greatest events in the history of Jesus are his 
 birth and his death. There is nothing in the history 
 which indicates that his disciples, who during three years 
 lived with him, and heard his teaching, had any other 
 belief than that he was born as other men are. Their 
 words and actions furnish no evidence of a contrary 
 belief. What \vas the view, then, which they entertained 
 of his death ? The Evangelists tell us that Jesus pre- 
 dicted to his disciples the manner and circumstances of 
 his death ; that he foretold how, and by whom, he should 
 be slain — not in any slight and trivial, but in a most
 
 350 Essays and Papers. 
 
 formal and deliberate manner, which could not fail to 
 produce in the hearer's mind a deep and abiding impres- 
 sion. 
 
 The three Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, give 
 the details in nearly the same words. Matthew says 
 (ch. xvii. 22, 23) : " While they abode in Galilee, Jesus 
 said unto them. The Son of man shall be betrayed into 
 the hands of men, and they shall kill him, and the third 
 day he shall be raised again ; and they were exceeding 
 sorry." Mark says (ch. ix. 31, 32) : *' He taught his dis- 
 ciples, and said unto them, The Son of man is delivered 
 into the hands of men, and they shall kill him ; and after 
 that he is killed, he shall rise the third day. But they 
 understood not that saying, and were afraid to ask him." 
 Luke's version (ch. ix. 44, 45) is: "Jesus said unto his 
 disciples. Let these sayings sink down into your ears, for 
 the Son of man shall be delivered into the hands of men. 
 But they understood not this saying." The same warn- 
 ing is given on a later occasion, which Luke thus records 
 (ch. xviii. 31, 33) : " Then he took unto him the twelve, 
 and said unto them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and 
 all things which are written by the prophets concerning 
 the Son of man shall be accomplished. For he shall be 
 delivered unto the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and 
 spitefully entreated, and spitted on; and they shall 
 scourge him, and put him to death ; and the third day 
 he shall rise again. And they understood rone of these 
 things. And this saying was hid from them. Neither 
 knew they the things which were spoken." 
 
 Substantially the same statement is made by Matthew 
 and Mark, but there are slight discrepancies. Matthew 
 informs us they were exceeding sorry ; while Mark and 
 Luke affirm they did not understand what was said to 
 them. The words seem very plain, and represent actions 
 not easy to mistake or to misapprehend. There yet is 
 one other occasion on which this same warning is given, 
 and the same three Evangelists repeat the circumstance,
 
 jfesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 351 
 
 and this is added : " Peter took him, and began to rebuke 
 him. But when he had turned about and looked on his 
 disciples he rebuked Peter, saying, Get thee behind me, 
 Satan." 
 
 There are thus separate occasions on which Jesus in- 
 forms his disciples of his death and resurrection in an 
 unambiguous and distinct manner, with accompaniments 
 which could not fail to arrest their attention. He rebukes 
 Peter by an indelible word — Satan ; the disciples are told 
 to let his sayings sink down into their ears ; he takes the 
 twelve apart on the way while he makes this communica- 
 tion to them, and commences with the exclamation, 
 " Behold." He employs every method which would give 
 force and effect to his words, and yet Mark and Luke, 
 who did not hear them, assert the disciples did not 
 understand what was said ; whilst Matthew, who may be 
 supposed to have been present, says " they were exceeding 
 sorry." If they did not understand, how could they be 
 exceeding sorry ? If they did not understand, how did 
 Peter come to say, " Be it far from thee. Lord," and to 
 rebake him ? And how could Jesus reply — *' Get thee 
 behind me, Satan " ? If the words, as recorded in the 
 Gospels, were spoken, if the intimations were given, men 
 of the most ordinary faculties must have understood 
 them ; and if proof were w^anting, it is furnished by the 
 adversaries of Jesus. In the twenty-seventh chapter of 
 Matthew, and at the sixty-third verse, these words occur — 
 
 " The Chief Priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate, say- 
 ing, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, 
 After three days I will rise again : Command, therefore, that the 
 sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by 
 night and steal him away, and say unto the people. He is risen from 
 the dead ; so the last error shall be worse than the first." 
 
 Can any statements be more incomprehensible than 
 these ? The disciples are forewarned of certain facts 
 which are shortly to come to pass ; and this is done in 
 words the meaning of which is clear and plain, and they
 
 352 Essays and Papers. 
 
 so far comprehend them that they are said to be very 
 sorry ; and yet all the while, we are told, they did not un- 
 derstand them, although the adversaries of Jesus, having 
 heard them in some far less formal and impressive 
 manner, remember them, and propose that precautions 
 should be taken on account of them. The chief priests 
 and Pharisees had not seen the wonders wrought by 
 Jesus; they had not heard the "gracious words that 
 proceeded out of his mouth"; they had not travelled 
 with him by day and night, and seen the waves of the sea 
 stilled at his word, nor the dead return to life at his com- 
 mand ; and yet they remember some few pregnant words 
 uttered by him, which had come to their ears. They 
 take notice of them, and understand them, and act upon 
 them ; whilst his disciples — nay, his twelve favoured 
 apostles — to whom they were distinctly and emphatically 
 addressed, under circumstances so sad and so impres- 
 sive that they were made very sorry, did, nevertheless, 
 fail to understand them, or attach to them the slightest 
 importance. The chief priests, on the contrary, are said 
 to have been put on their guard by the recollection of the 
 words which they had heard, or heard of; while the 
 apostles, who were made very sorry by them, forgot, and 
 utterly overlooked and disregarded them. 
 
 This assertion is not made without adequate evidence. 
 I need not repeat the events of the crucifixion ; but ask, 
 what was the conduct of the apostles and of the women, 
 after Jesus was taken down from the cross ? Remember- 
 ing the many mighty works which he had done in their 
 presence, remembering what is said in the narrative of his 
 relationship with God, remembering all that the apostles 
 had heard and seen, according to the Gospel narrative, 
 one would imagine that the men and women who had 
 seen and heard Jesus as they had, would have expected 
 him to baffle the vengeance of his enemies, would have 
 looked for his return from the grave. Let anyone read 
 what is to be found in the Gospels; what is said by Jesus
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 353 
 
 himself, of his kingdom, of his power and divinity ; and 
 then let him recollect that the persons who had been with 
 him dnring all his public life, and whom he called not 
 servants, but friends (John xv. 10), heard all this— more- 
 over, are represented as believers in him — and yet after 
 he was crucified they consigned him to the tomb without 
 any hope or expectation that they would see him again 
 alive. " Then they took the body of Jesus, and wound it 
 in linen clothes with the spices, as the manner of the Jews 
 is to bury." (John xix. 40.) " The women also, which 
 came with him from Galilee, followed after, and beheld 
 the sepulchre, and where the body was laid ; and they 
 returned and prepared spices and ointment." (Luke xxiii. 
 55.) " And when the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene 
 and Mary, the mother of James, and Salome, had brought 
 sweet spices that they might come and anoint him." 
 (Mark xvi. i.) 
 
 It is quite clear that the myrrh, and aloes, and spices, 
 and ointments, were to be applied to the body of Jesus, 
 " as the manner of the Jews is to bury." He was buried, 
 in all respects, as other Jews were, though it might be 
 with greater reverence and affection. But there was not 
 a thought of his returning to life. They were preparing 
 to embalm his body, according to the custom of the Jews. 
 And, though it is represented in the narrative that these 
 persons had seen him raise Lazarus from the dead, and 
 had heard the wonderful discourse in the eleventh chapter 
 of St. John, they proceed to dispose of the body as the 
 manner of the Jews is to bury. He was dead; "and a 
 great stone is rolled to the door of the sepulchre, and 
 they depart." (Matt, xxvii. 60.) Is it possible to believe 
 that the persons who witnessed all that is related of Jesus 
 in the four Gospels could have consigned him to the 
 tomb, and embalmed his body, as that of a mortal friend? 
 Yet that they did so is as clear as words can make it. 
 Must we infer that the discourses which we read in the 
 Gospels were not spoken as we can find them ? Beyond 
 
 ^3
 
 354 Essays and Papers. 
 
 all doubt, they were written many years after they were 
 said to have been spoken ; and the proved actions of the 
 apostles and friends of Jesus, after his death, are entirely 
 inconsistent with their having heard what we now read. 
 Again and again, in the Gospels, we read that persons did 
 not believe in Jesus ; though it is not anywhere said what 
 it was they did not believe. The presumption^ of course, 
 is that some other persons did believe ; though what their 
 belief was is nowhere specifically stated. Peter asserts 
 his belief of something respecting Jesus, and Mary also ; 
 but, whatever it might be, it was consistent with a belief 
 of the ultimate mortality of Jesus. The affection of the 
 women would have quickened their hopes, if they had 
 ever heard any words which indicated that Jesus was not 
 mortal, like themselves. But their only thought is, 
 " Who shall roll us away the stone; for it was very great." 
 (Mark xvi. 3, 4.) Everything indicated their belief in his 
 final departure. Up to the time of his death, not one of 
 them could have believed that he was " equal to the 
 Father as touching the Godhead." The whole course of 
 his life was before them — far, far more than we read in 
 the Gospels ; for St. John assures us, " There are also 
 many other things which Jesus did ; the which, if they 
 should be written everyone, I suppose that even the world 
 itself could not contain the books that should be written." 
 (John xxi. 25.) And yet it is evident beyond all contro- 
 versy that he was buried as were other men, " as the 
 manner of the Jews was"; his friends and followers 
 rolling a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, to 
 secure it against intrusion ; leaving it, at the same time, 
 accessible for the further anointing and embalming. 
 
 More conclusive evidence it is not possible to have 
 of what the friends of Jesus, and his apostles, thought 
 concerning him when he was taken down from the cross. 
 Strong and irresistible as is this evidence by itself, it 
 is confirmed by that which follows. When it was an- 
 nounced " unto the eleven, and to all the rest," that
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 355 
 
 Jesus had risen from the dead, " the words seemed to 
 them as idle tales ; and they beheved them not." (Luke 
 xxiv. 9-1 1.) Can any language convey a stronger im- 
 pression of the incredulity of the persons referred to ? 
 The eleven, and all the rest — we know not, how many — 
 regarded the announcement of the resurrection of Jesus 
 as an " idle tale." How could eleven men hear and 
 see what it is alleged they had heard and seen, and 
 yet treat the announcement of the resurrection as an 
 " idle tale " ? Let anyone try to put himself in the 
 position of these eleven apostles. Let him imagine him- 
 self to have been for three years the companion and 
 friend of such an one as Jesus ; performing miracles 
 himself, by power derived from Jesus ; seeing miracles, 
 moreover, marvellous in their character, performed by 
 Jesus ; and hearing him give solemn assurances that he 
 should shortly be crucified, and, within three days, would 
 rise from the dead. Let him imagine that such has 
 been his experience ; and then let him further imagine 
 that the crucifixion has taken place, as was predicted. 
 Could he imagine himself so unbelieving that he would 
 bar the tomb in which his " Master and Lord " was 
 laid by a great stone ; and afterwards, when he was 
 told of the resurrection, that he could regard it as an 
 "idle tale"? 
 
 If the apostles could deliberately regard the resurrec- 
 tion as an " idle tale," how are others to believe it ? It 
 is possible in certain cases that the reality of death may 
 be only apparent, and be actually an illusion ; some great 
 shock to the nervous system may be mistaken for death ; 
 and, in all good faith, plain persons, ignorant of the laws 
 of life, may mistake syncope for death. Our experience 
 tells us that unskilled persons might easily mistake the 
 appearance of death for the reality. For instance, a 
 drowned person might seem dead whilst animation was 
 only suspended. Those who had not seen such a restora- 
 tion would not anticipate it, and would not, if it occurred, 
 
 23 *
 
 356 Essays and Papers. 
 
 know it to be possible. We know that a person so 
 drowned, and apparently dead, might return to life again, 
 to the amazement of ignorant beholders, who might, in 
 perfect good faith, believe that he had been recovered 
 from actual death. There are unmistakable signs of 
 death known to the instructed, but the signs recognised 
 by uninstructed persons may be fallacious ; and, therefore, 
 without concluding anything as to particular cases, one 
 may say, generally, that a person need not be accused of 
 falsehood or misrepresentation who reported a resurrec- 
 tion, which, on more accurate investigation, might turn 
 out to be only an apparent one. We must know all the 
 conditions before we can assert that a certain physical 
 event is possible or impossible. 
 
 If we were told that a man claimed divine attributes, 
 and performed miracles, as the evidence of a divine 
 mission ; and if he had a select band of followers, who 
 were said to believe in him ; and if he had assured 
 them with great solemnity that he should shortly be 
 crucified, and would rise from the dead on the third 
 day; and if, after he was crucified, he was consigned to 
 the tomb as other men are, and a great stone rolled to 
 the door of his sepulchre — it is clear that his followers 
 could not have believed what he had said to them of his 
 rising from the dead. And it is plain that, possessing 
 the special Jewish belief respecting the God and Father 
 of their nation, they could not have believed that the 
 friend whom they had buried with the rites and cere- 
 monies of their country was " equal to the Father as 
 touching the Godhead." To the last moment of his life, 
 and after his death, the apostles and the women, so 
 affectionate and so assiduous, believed in the final and 
 irrevocable death of Jesus. They could not, therefore, 
 have believed respecting him what is asserted in the 
 Nicene Creed. 
 
 It is no question of moral delinquency; of failure 
 under temptation to sustain rectitude of conduct. It is
 
 J-csits of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 357 
 
 nothing of this kind. With th>e possible partial excep- 
 tion of Peter, all of them are in the history classed as 
 believers, and the question is, what was the nature 
 and substance of their belief ? Was it merely that of 
 men who asked, " Wilt thou at this time restore the 
 kingdom unto Israel ? " Peter says, " Behold, we have 
 forsaken all and followed thee ; what shall we have there- 
 fore ? " (Matt. xix. 27.) Did their expectation rise no 
 higher than this ? Was it some temporal advantage for 
 which they were looking ? It seems to be so. When the 
 great words which they are said to have spoken come 
 to be interpreted by events, they shrink into very small 
 dimensions. The confessions which are found in the 
 history, when they are translated into actions, lose their 
 grandeur. Can it be the same individual who asserts, 
 " We believe, and are sure, that thou art that Christ, the 
 Son of the living God " — who, within a few short days, 
 declares, " I know not this man " ? That he must have 
 uttered a falsehood is plain. But what — when he spoke 
 it — was the value of the first confession ? What in his 
 mouth did it mean ? It was most probably written down 
 well nigh a hundred years after it was spoken. 
 
 There is evidence of another sort to be considered. In 
 the twenty-eighth chapter of Matthew, and the sixteenth 
 verse, we read : — 
 
 " The eleven disciples went away into Galilee, into a mountain 
 where Jesus had appointed them. They saw him and worshipped 
 him, hut sojiie doubted ; and he said. Go ye, therefore, and teach all 
 nations, baptising them, &c., teaching them to observe all things 
 whatsoever I have commanded you." 
 
 Peter was of the eleven, and must have heard these 
 words if they were so spoken. We turn to the tenth 
 chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, containing the 
 history of Cornelius, and we find Peter is represented 
 as addressing these words to Cornelius : — 
 
 " Ye know how that it is an unlawful thing for a man that is a Jew
 
 358 Essays and Papers. 
 
 to keep company, or come unto one of another nation ; but God hath 
 showed me that I should not call any man common or unclean." 
 
 How had this been shown to him ? By a strange 
 vision. Peter evidently did not remember the words of 
 Jesus — his last words — directing him to teach all nations 
 — " to preach the Gospel to every creature." (Mark xvi. 
 15.) He takes no note of this injunction. The vision he 
 attributes to God. The command of Jesus — introduced 
 by the solemn words, " All power is given unto me in 
 heaven and on earth ; go ye, therefore, and teach all 
 nations " — does not dissolve a Jewish bond. Peter says, 
 " Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of 
 persons." The words spoken by Jesus some years before, 
 although so large, and comprehensive, and unequivocal, 
 had not taught him this ; it remains in Peter's appre- 
 hension unlawful for him, a Jew, to come unto one of 
 another nation, although the last words of Jesus were, 
 Go and teach all nations. Is it possible that when he 
 visited Cornelius, he believed that Jesus was equal to 
 the Father as touching the Godhead, and that his 
 command was sufficient to absolve him from a Jewish 
 obligation ? 
 
 We ask, as we read the narratives contained in the 
 Gospels, what was the belief respecting Jesus of Nazareth 
 entertained by those devoted disciples who left all and 
 followed him ? What was the belief of those women who 
 ministered unto him with so much zeal and affection ? 
 Peter is represented to have said — " We believe, and 
 are sure, that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living 
 God." (John vi. 69.) Martha is represented as saying 
 — " I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, 
 which should come into the world." (John xi. 27.) 
 " The people answered him, We have heard out of the 
 law that Christ abideth for ever." (John xii. 34.) The 
 people seem to have had some worthier apprehension 
 of Christ than the apostles. They had heard that he
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 359 
 
 abideth for ever; but immediately after we are told 
 (verse 2)7), " yet they believed not on him." 
 
 We are not informed what it was they did not believe. 
 When Peter's belief is put to the test, it is not found to 
 have any reality in it. That in the presence of danger 
 he should screen himself by a falsehood is intelligible ; 
 that he should begin to curse and swear, and to say, " I 
 know not this man'' (Mark xiv. 71), is remarkable; but 
 that he should ever have believed concerning him that he 
 was " equal to the Father as touching the Godhead," is 
 inconceivable. 
 
 However terrified he might have been, if he had heard 
 and seen what is written in the narrative, and if he had 
 himself spoken the words which are attributed to him, 
 how could he have forgotten everything, and have replied, 
 " I know not this man " ? The enemies of Jesus had not 
 believed in his divine mission : Peter, on the contrary, 
 had believed — what ? He wept bitterly when he thought 
 of his cowardice and weakness ; he could hardly have 
 forgotten in those bitter moments how Jesus had foretold 
 this scene of the crucifixion and its surroundings ; he 
 must have remembered how, in his enthusiasm of feeling, 
 he had said, " That be far from thee " ; and the un- 
 usually stern words which followed, " Get thee behind me, 
 Satan," must have rung in his ears as he pondered over 
 all that had passed. But no ! If they were ever spoken, 
 these words left no remembrance behind, for after the 
 repose and recollection of the Sabbath, when he is told of 
 the resurrection, " it seemed to him as an idle tale, and 
 he believed it not." 
 
 Let us recall what had passed in the course of Peter's 
 companionship with Jesus, the miracles he had seen, his 
 walking on the sea, and those other miracles he had him- 
 self performed — " Thou art Peter " — his professions of 
 faith, the transfiguration, the discourses of Jesus ; all the 
 varied and wonderful statements and events which Peter 
 had listened to and witnessed. These things, so written
 
 360 Essays and Papers. 
 
 in the Gospels, are adduced as proofs of the divinity of 
 Jesus. Peter must have been acquainted with all that we 
 now read, and all the many other things, which if they 
 were written would fill the world ; and yet at the conclu- 
 sion of all, Jesus is only "this man." He was consigned to 
 the tomb as were other men, and when there was a report 
 of his resurrection Peter disbelieved it, and treated it as 
 an idle tale. And it was not Peter only who so dis- 
 believed ; it was the eleven, and all the rest. Not one of 
 them remembered the predictions of Jesus ; nothing 
 which they had seen or heard had impressed them with 
 the belief that he was " equal to the Father as touching 
 the Godhead." " A great stone was rolled to the door of 
 the sepulchre, and they departed." 
 
 Between the crucifixion and the time when the Gospels 
 were written much had happened of which very little 
 authentic history remains. The Acts of the Apostles and 
 the Epistles are all the contemporary documents which 
 can be relied upon. The evidence that the Gospels were 
 not written until very many years after the crucifixion is 
 not at first apparent to everyone. The disputes amongst 
 learned men as to the actual dates of these documents 
 have not yet been disposed of. I — an uninstructed lay- 
 man — can only compare one author with another, and 
 calculate upon which side probability seems to prepon- 
 derate. But there is evidence in the documents them- 
 selves, which is, so far as it goes, distinct and clear. No 
 one can say with certainty that the Gospel which bears 
 the name of Luke was written by the physician Luke. 
 But the introduction to it, by whomsoever written, gives 
 us some means of approximately determining its date. 
 The first words of this Gospel are : " Forasmuch as man}^ 
 have taken in hand to set forth in order a declaration of 
 those things which are most surely believed among us." 
 From these words it is clear that many other such 
 declarations existed, or, as Luke puts it, " had been 
 taken in hand '^ — had been committed to writing.
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contcuipuraries. 361 
 
 Whether they were authentic declarations or no does not 
 appear, and whether the three now contained in our 
 Bibles were of the number does not appear. It is only 
 said that at the time this was written many other persons 
 had previously taken in hand the same work. The next 
 words are : " Even as they delivered them unto us, which 
 from the beginning were eye-witnesses." It is not said 
 that any of the "eye-witnesses " had set forth anything 
 in writing. The writer then goes on to say: " It seemed 
 good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all 
 things from the very first, to write unto thee, in order, 
 most excellent Tlieophilus, that thou mightest know the 
 certainty of the things wherein thou hast been in- 
 structed." Theophilus was, therefore, a man at the time 
 this Gospel was written, and he had been in his child- 
 hood instructed in the Christian religion. We must allow 
 some considerable margin for such effects to have taken 
 place as are implied in this statement. Putting these 
 things together, therefore, it can hardly be reckoned less 
 than thirty years after the crucifixion when this Gospel 
 was written, and it may have been much more. In Dr. 
 Burton's Greek Testament there are these notes on this 
 chapter — First : " This seems to show that Luke himself 
 was not an eye-witness ; " and second : " That Theophilus 
 was perhaps a man of some rank at Antioch." The 
 words " most excellent " are not words implying anything 
 respecting the personal character of Theophilus, for the 
 Greek word which they represent is applied to Felix 
 (Acts xxiii. 26) and to Festus (xxvi. 25) ; and is, therefore, 
 a title, legal or complimentary, which, hke our own right 
 honourable, might or might not belong to a man to 
 whom personally it was inapplicable. From the internal 
 evidence it seems clear that this Gospel, by whomsoever 
 written, was composed by a person who was not an eye- 
 witness of what he declares, and who took the work in 
 hand at least twenty or thirty, or it may be fifty or sixty, 
 years after the crucifixion ; therefore, from the birth of
 
 362 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Christ, not less than fifty or sixty, or it may be one 
 hundred, years. 
 
 It should be remembered that no proof can be pro- 
 duced of the actual date of the work ; only inference and 
 conjecture are available, beyond such intimations as are 
 contained in the Gospel itself. It was addressed to a 
 man of some rank ; and he may have arrived at this 
 position at an early period of his manhood. He had 
 been " catechised " in Christianity ; which implies organ- 
 isation and consohdation amongst the people who pro- 
 fessed this religion. A person, said to have been in- 
 structed in the tenets of John Wesley, would, probably, 
 be a person born after the sect had been established and 
 gained a footing. It is not likely that the writer of the 
 Gospel would address himself to a child ; or that the title, 
 most excellent, would be applied to a mere youth. We 
 have, therefore, some data which show the time and 
 circumstances under which the Gospel was written. 
 
 I have said there is no proof that this Gospel was 
 written by Luke ; and when I say this, I refer to another 
 part of the New Testament to show what I mean. In 
 the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, iii. 17, St. Paul 
 says, " The salutation of Paul with my own hand, which 
 is the token in every epistle ; so I write." The word 
 token means a " sign," a " seal," a test or proof of 
 genuineness. Such was St. Paul's method of certifying 
 his own work. To the Galatians he says (ch. vi. 6) : 
 " See how large a letter I have written unto you, with 
 my own hand ; " or, rather, " see with what large letters." 
 Here, again, he calls attention to the mark, or sign, 
 by which his letter might be known. "The saluta- 
 tion by the hand of me Paul." (Colossians iv. 18.) 
 No one can contend that there is any such evidence as 
 this respecting any one of the Gospels. The superscrip- 
 tion is, "according to Matthew/' &c. ; but there is no 
 token or mark to corroborate it. Again, there is a unity 
 of style, a continuity of thought, which distinguishes a
 
 Jesiis of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 363 
 
 letter, as contrasted with a mere inartificial narrative. 
 The one lends itself to interpolation and alteration much 
 more readily than the other. And there may be no 
 undoubted and unchallenged writings of the narrator 
 with which a special narrative may be compared. It is 
 an inference from more or less uncertain premises that 
 the Gospel was written by Luke ; and the writer did not 
 care to put his authorship beyond doubt by affixing some 
 token to his manuscript which should authenticate it. 
 
 If we transport ourselves, in thought, to the period we 
 are considering, and make use of the incidental information 
 which is left us, we shall probably think that the apostles 
 were not able to write at all. Peter and John, the fore- 
 most of them, are described (Acts iv. 13) as "unlearned 
 and ignorant men." And we can tell what this means. 
 In modern days we may have heard a man speak in a 
 court with some fluency, and perceive at the same time 
 that he is " unlearned and ignorant " — has learned neither 
 to read nor to write. Just so the Pharisees recognise 
 the illiterateness of the apostles ; and their position and 
 employment render it improbable that they had acquired 
 these arts. 
 
 There is some negative evidence, besides this of the 
 Jewish Council, that the apostles were not writers. It is 
 implied, if it is not asserted, in Luke's Gospel, that the 
 persons who had taken in hand to set forth in order a 
 declaration of the things believed were those only who 
 had received them from eye-witnesses. The eye-witnesses 
 themselves are not said to have taken this work in hand. 
 
 It is impossible to overlook the fact that the writer of 
 this Gospel makes no claim to supernatural knowledge. 
 He asserts that he " had perfect understanding, from the 
 very first, of all things which were delivered unto us by 
 eye-witnesses, and ministers of the word." Whether the 
 eye-witnesses and ministers were the same persons is not 
 clear. It might well be, according to the phraseology, 
 that the eye-witnesses were not the same persons. But
 
 364 Essays and Papers. 
 
 at any rate, the writer only claims to have had perfect 
 understanding, through communication with eye-witnesses, 
 whether the value of his testimony is thereby lessened or 
 not. He does not pretend to have been an eye-witness, 
 and he challenges for his narrative no more than that it 
 is a statement founded upon reports communicated to 
 him by those who had seen. We are asked to take his 
 statement not upon mere authority, but upon evidence. 
 In the first chapter of the Acts, Peter proposes that some 
 one who had companied with them from the beginning 
 should be selected as a " witness " in the place of Judas. 
 The necessity of proof and witnessmg is recognised ; it is 
 acknowledged that evidence at first hand is m'ore weighty 
 than hearsay evidence ; it was not enough, according to 
 St. Peter, that some one should be able to say he had 
 been told such or such a thing. A " witness " was 
 wanted — a man who had heard and seen. The men and 
 women of Nazareth were witnesses — had heard and seen 
 certain things — and their testimony is totally at variance 
 with that which proceeds from other persons, who only 
 reported later traditions. Which evidence would a Court 
 of Justice receive ? What questions would it ask as to 
 mysterious occurrences ? Are they attested by persons 
 who saw and heard — real witnesses ? or are they vouched 
 by those who only received them long after at second 
 hand ? In proportion to the uncommonness of an event 
 must be the strength of the evidence upon which it is 
 received. 
 
 Whether the story of the Trojan war is a true history 
 or not, is a question of great literary interest. Whether 
 the Iliad was the work of one man or of several, is an 
 enquiry upon which opinions may differ, and a little clear 
 evidence might turn the scale one way or other. But if 
 we are asked to believe all the stories of all the gods who 
 are brought upon the scene, we find it impossible to do so. 
 Without casting any reflection upon anyone, or without 
 asking whether the author himself believed, we say that
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Conieinporaries. 365 
 
 the thingfs are intrinsically unbelievable, and we cannot be 
 asked in any case to believe statements of this character 
 without adequate evidence ; such evidence as shall neu- 
 tralise and overcome the inherent improbability of the 
 matter submitted to us. That Homer composed in the 
 Greek language we have no doubt ; but that the Gospel 
 of Matthew, or Mark, or Luke was originally written in 
 Greek, and has never been added to or tampered with, 
 may be more or less probable, but is not matter of proof. 
 In the interval between the crucifixion and the period 
 when the Gospels were written, be that interval longer or 
 shorter, a great change took place in the feelings, expecta- 
 tions, and belief of the apostles. We have seen that on 
 the third day after the death of Jesus they regarded the 
 report of his resurrection as an " idle tale." We have 
 seen that not one of them ever spoke of his sepernatural 
 birth, or displayed any knowledge of the events which 
 are said to have accompanied it. When they were asked 
 what the people said of him, they replied that some said 
 one thing and some another ; and when they were asked, 
 " Whom say ye that I am ?" Peter replied, " The Christ 
 of God." What he meant by these words it is impossible 
 to say, for he gave unequivocal evidence afterwards of his 
 belief that Jesus had died as other men die, and that the 
 report of his resurrection was an " idle tale." His verbal 
 confession at one time, therefore, must be taken with his 
 acts and sentiments at another. But here comes a critical 
 point of the investigation. This confession of Peter was 
 written by Luke long after the crucifixion, and long after 
 much change had occurred in the apostle's feeling and 
 faith. The Jewish nation had expected a Messiah — a 
 Christ — and Jesus put to the apostles the question, 
 "What think ye of Christ?" What are your feelings as 
 to his person and office ? We may be quite sure, from 
 subsequent facts, that when this question was propounded 
 they had no clear or definite view on the subject, and 
 that the words which they made use of in reply conveyed
 
 366 Essays and Papers. 
 
 no such idea as they conveyed when St. Luke wrote his 
 Gospel. 
 
 Luke's account of the journey to Emmaus proves how 
 imperfectly disciples of Jesus (believers) apprehended 
 what was meant by the word Christ. Jesus addressed 
 the two travellers as " fools and slow of heart to believe," 
 and said, "Ought not Christ to have suffered?" plainly 
 indicating that their ideas of Christ were thoroughly mis- 
 taken ; so that the words, "Thou art the Christ of God," 
 might be a form of expression which had in it no meaning 
 that was near the truth. That it meant to them at the 
 time, a person who was " God of God, Light of Light, 
 very God of very God, begotten, not made," is incon- 
 ceivable, and cannot be true ; and if the word did not 
 mean this, what did it mean? "The apostles' creed," 
 whilst Jesus sojourned with them on earth, was mani- 
 festly a wholly different thing from what it was when 
 Luke wrote his Gospel. The historical language of Luke, 
 that which discloses the state of the apostle's mind and 
 belief at a given time, must be weighed and measured 
 against that which comes in, by way of commentary after- 
 wards. If it be true that the apostles, at the time of his 
 death, believed that Jesus was mortal as they were, and 
 regarded his resurrection as an " idle tale," in what 
 respect were they believers more than others ? Reading 
 the Gospels considerately, with a view to answer this 
 question, what do we find ? Again and again we are 
 told that people did not believe in Jesus ; that his brethren 
 did not believe in him. Did not believe — what ? 
 
 In what particulars can it be shown that, at the 
 time of the happening of these events, the belief of the 
 apostles differed from that of the rest ? They say after 
 his death, "We trusted it had been he which should 
 have redeemed Israel" (Luke xxiv. 21) ; and in the first 
 chapter of the Acts (said to be written by Luke) they ask, 
 "Wilt thou at this time restore the kingdom unto Israel?" 
 So that it is evident, up to the last moment, they clung
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 367 
 
 to the expectation of a temporal kingdom of some kind. 
 When this Gospel of Luke, therefore, was written, the 
 " apostles' creed " had very materially varied from what 
 it was when the events happened which are described in 
 the Gospel ; and if we seek an answer from the apostles 
 to the question, " What think ye of Christ ?" we must 
 ascertain from themselves what their state of mind was 
 at the time, and distinguish between this and the com- 
 ments made afterwards. There are in the narrative many 
 expressions of wonder at the mighty works done by Jesus, 
 and much surprise seems to have been felt at the un- 
 belief which was manifested ; but we are not told what it 
 was that was disbelieved. If the people did not believe 
 that Jesus was equal to the Father as touching the God- 
 head, neither, whilst he lived, did the apostles believe 
 this. If the people believed that Jesus would die as other 
 men, so did the apostles. If the people did not believe 
 that Jesus would become a temporal king to deliver them 
 from the Roman yoke, they apparently showed in this 
 respect a better judgment than the apostles. And it is 
 beyond measure surprising, after what is represented by 
 Luke to have been done and said throughout the life 
 and ministry of Jesus, that at last the apostles should 
 have no other belief respecting him than that which it 
 is proved they entertained upon the third day after his 
 crucifixion. 
 
 Any expressions, therefore, in the narrative which are 
 inconsistent with the state of mind disclosed by previous 
 facts must be modified. Very remarkable are the words 
 addressed to the travellers on the road to Emmaus — 
 " Fools and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets 
 have spoken " — not fools and slow of heart to believe and 
 understand words and wonders heard and seen. Yet how 
 pale are the words spoken by any prophets compared 
 with the words spoken by Jesus himself — " never man 
 spake like this man." And yet what he had said 
 did not produce the belief that he was a divine person,
 
 368 Essays and Papers. 
 
 equal to the Father. These two disciples are reproached 
 for their slowness of behef, because they had been un- 
 affected by what the prophets had spoken ; and yet they 
 had probably seen Jesus raise the dead. The narrator 
 says the world had come after him (John xii. 19) ; he 
 had entered Jerusalem amid hosannas ; miracles and 
 wonders had been performed by him, and by others com- 
 missioned by him ; and yet they are not reproached for 
 their slowness of heart, in remaining uninfluenced by such 
 manifestations of divine power as these, but because the}' 
 did not apprehend ambiguous prophesies, couched in 
 figurative and poetical language. It does seem strange 
 that those two disciples should have seen and heard 
 what Luke describes, and should have remained ignorant 
 of Christ's mission and character, and should be blamed, 
 not for this, but because they misunderstood obscure pro- 
 phesies, which they might have only heard in the syna- 
 gogue, and, moreover, have understood as there expounded. 
 How are we to explain the fact that these two men knew 
 Jesus of Nazareth, knew that he " was a prophet, mighty 
 in deed and word before God and all the people," and yet 
 did not get beyond this belief? though much more than 
 this is asserted in the narrative. They confess that the 
 women " made them astonished " by the report that Jesus 
 "was alive." How could they be "astonished," unless, 
 indeed, they had adopted the taunt of the Jews — " He 
 saved others, himself he cannot save " ? How could they 
 be unimpressed by a prophet, mighty in deed and word, 
 and be expected to interpret truly obscure prophesies 
 which might never have been expounded to them ? 
 
 Surely if the Pharisees took precautions against the 
 resurrection, or removal, of Jesus — remembering his words 
 — the disciples must have had some comprehension of 
 them, must have conversed about them, and could not be 
 " astonished " when they heard that he was alive; and 
 yet, so far as the narrative informs us, this was the state 
 of mind of them all. Once more we ask, what up to the
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 369 
 
 moment of his resurrection was the difference between 
 the behef of the apostles respecting Jesus and the belief 
 of those who were not his followers ? It is easy to treat 
 such a question with indifference and contempt ; much 
 easier than it is to give a satisfactory answer to it. John 
 sent disciples to ask Jesus, " Art thou he that should 
 come, or look we for another ? " and the answer is, 
 " Go your way, and tell John what tYdjngs ye have 
 seen and heard." (Luke vii. 22.) These were to con- 
 vince him, though he had not seen and heard ; and 
 yet " believers " who had both seen and heard " rolled 
 a great stone to the door of the sepulchre and de- 
 parted." " He called his twelve disciples together, and 
 gave them power and authority over all devils and to 
 cure diseases ; and the apostles, when they were re- 
 turned, told him all that they had done." (Luke ix. i.) 
 Immediately after this, Luke tells us that Jesus asked his 
 disciples, " Whom say the people that I am ? " Peter 
 replies, " The Christ of God." And he straightly charged 
 them and commanded them to tell no man that thing : 
 say-ing, " The Son of man must suffer many things, and be 
 rejected of the elders, and chief priests, and scribes, and 
 be slain, and rise again the third day." 
 
 " Then he took unto him the twelve, and said unto them, Behold, 
 we go up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets 
 concerning the Son of man shall be accomplished. For he shall be 
 delivered unto the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and spitefully 
 entreated, and spit on, and they shall scourge him, and put him to 
 death, and the third day he shall rise again. And they understood 
 none of these things, and this saying was hid from them, neither knew 
 they the things that were spoken." 
 
 That twelve men could be found who did not under- 
 stand what it was to be mocked, spitefully entreated, 
 spitted on, scourged, and put to death, is incomprehen- 
 sible ; and even more unintelligible is it, that when 
 within a short time all these things happened to him who 
 uttered the warning, the twelve men, being his friends, 
 
 24
 
 370 Essays and Papers. 
 
 should remember nothing of it, should not in any way be 
 influenced by it, should embalm his dead body, roll a 
 great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and utterly dis- 
 believe that he had risen from the dead. " There was a 
 strife among them which of them should be accounted 
 greatest." (Luke xxii. 24.) At that time, just prior to 
 the crucifixion, if the apostles had been asked, " What 
 think ye of Christ," how would they have answered ? 
 The evidence conclusively proves that to the very last 
 they looked for a temporal kmgdom, and that, in the 
 supreme moment of their Master's fate, " there was a 
 strife among them which should be greatest" — in that 
 kingdom. 
 
 There have been manifold and bitter contentions, cruel 
 and ruthless persecutions have been perpetrated, because 
 men differed as to the answer which should be given to 
 the question, " What think ye of Christ ? " We appeal 
 to the twelve men who saw and heard much more than 
 we can ever be acquainted with ; we put aside remarks 
 and commentaries made many years after ; and we ask, 
 whilst Jesus lived amongst them, what was their belief 
 respecting him ? What matters it that men a hundred, 
 years afterwards asserted one thing or another ? What 
 does it matter that three hundred years later Bishops 
 met in Council at Nicea, under the presidency of such 
 an one as Constantine, and solemnly affirmed after 
 what manner Jesus was born? What is the evidence 
 of contemporary inhabitants of Nazareth ? And which 
 evidence is the best? What is to be known upon the 
 subject is contained in a book, and is matter of fact de- 
 pendent on testimony of witnesses. One of the men who 
 wrote a declaration of the things most surely believed 
 respecting the birth and death of Jesus— which is the foun- 
 dation of all the superstructure of Christian creeds— tells 
 us that " things " were delivered unto him by persons who 
 were eye-witnesses. This is the whole authority which 
 he claims on behalf of what he writes ; and no number
 
 Jesus of NazarctJi and His Conteiitporaries. 371 
 
 of men coming after him can reverse real facts or 
 create new evidence. Facts concerning the birth and 
 parentage of a man are to-be ascertained by investigations, 
 and admissions, and concurrence of opinion made in the 
 place, and among the people where he was brought up. 
 What can be proved of a man's origin by the people who 
 knew his history and surroundings from his j'outh, are 
 reckoned to be facts which no mere rumours and repre- 
 sentations made long after can invalidate or disprove. They 
 are evidences of a higher quality, and they command the 
 assent of all men who know the value of evidence. 
 
 Alexander the Great might tell the Persians that he 
 was the son of Jupiter, and those ignorant people might 
 believe it ; and if they had written his history, they might 
 have asserted, and the people in Persia who read the 
 history might have believed it ; but the Greeks, who had 
 known Alexander from his youth, were not likely to 
 believe it ; and the assertions of men who had no means 
 of knowing facts are as nothing when weighed against the 
 evidence of others who had means and opportunities of 
 becoming acquainted with them. 
 
 The case then stands thus : We have a narrative 
 compiled by writers who were not eye-witnesses of what 
 they relate — for there is no evidence that any one of the 
 writers knew Jesus of Nazareth until he was over thirty 
 years of age. They knew nothing, therefore of his birth 
 and childhood. St. Luke expressly limits his own 
 knowledge to " things " " delivered unto " him by 
 " eye-witnesses." He asserts that he had " perfect under- 
 standing," derived from others who had evidence as 
 " eye-witnesses," of things which he records. When, 
 therefore, we come upon events of which we are quite 
 certain these persons were not " eye-witnesses," the test 
 fails, and we are left without the evidence which the writer 
 admits to be needful. There is no claim by St. Luke to 
 supernatural knowledge. What he knew came to him, as 
 
 24 *
 
 372 Essays and Papers. 
 
 he declares, through ordinary channels of information, 
 and came to him very long after the occurrences which he 
 describes. He provides us himself with a canon to test 
 the narrative which he has compiled. He was told certain 
 things, and he believed them. He does not allege that he 
 had supernatural guidance. He affirms that he was told 
 by an eye-witness what had happened. He admits that 
 he has no higher or more authoritative testimony than 
 this, and where this fails the narrative must stand or fall 
 by its own inherent and internal consistency and pro- 
 bability and coherence. 
 
 There are imbedded in the narrative certain state- 
 ments which (if true) must have been known to the 
 people amongst whom Jesus of Nazareth was born and 
 brought up. But, according to the narrative itself, not 
 one of these statements is made, or alluded to, by any of 
 the persons who were acquainted with Jesus of Nazareth 
 during his childhood, youth, or manhood. A statement 
 of his miraculous birth is found in the narrative, but it is 
 clear that this is a statement lying outside the testimony 
 of "the eye-witnesses" to whom St. Luke was indebted 
 for his information. We turn, therefore, to his own 
 narrative, and to the narrative of those who, like himself, 
 had taken in hand, to set forth in order, a declaration of 
 things believed amongst them ; and it then appears that, 
 instead of there being any knowledge of a supernatural 
 birth in the place where the mother of Jesus lived 
 amongst her own people, every particle of evidence which 
 the narrative contains proves that, then and there, Jesus 
 was regarded by everyone as the son of Joseph and Mary. 
 It is proved that his mother, in the most natural and 
 unaffected manner, publicly acknowledged Joseph as his 
 father ; moreover, that he was so announced to his 
 disciples ; that he lived thirty years in and about 
 Nazareth as the son of Joseph ; that he left the place for 
 a short time, and on his return was greeted by everyone 
 as the son of Joseph and Mary.
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contcviporaries. 373 
 
 The narrative is clear and precise, and natural in all 
 that relates to the parentage and family of Jesus ; and 
 the writer — be he who he may — puts the matter beyond 
 controversy by an incidental and casual admission, which 
 is of more value than any tradition or superstitions of a 
 later day. He says, " Jesus himself began to be about 
 thirty years of age, being (as was supposed) the son of 
 Joseph." (Luke iii. 23.) He was supposed to be the son 
 of Joseph just as other individuals are supposed to be the 
 children of those married persons under whose shelter 
 and protection they are born and nurtured ; who never 
 repudiate the parentage, but acknowledge it and discharge 
 its duties ; living in the midst of their own people who 
 know all their circumstances. The evidence of such 
 facts is not to be invalidated by subsequent statements, 
 the authenticity of which cannot be verified. The 
 testimony of Luke is unimpeachable. He tells us that 
 during at least thirty years of his life Jesus was regarded 
 as the son of Joseph. How could such an impression 
 arise, and how can it be refuted ? 
 
 The evidence of St. Matthew, who did not know Jesus 
 until after his thirtieth year, corroborates this conclusion, 
 for, in a genealogical statement, he says — " Jacob begat 
 Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, 
 who is called Christ." (Matt. i. 16.) If the writer of 
 these words meant to deny the paternity of Joseph he 
 adopted a mode of expression certain to be misunderstood. 
 If, on the other hand, he meant that the husband of Mary 
 was the father of her son Jesus, who is called Christ, then 
 he expressed the fact in a perfectly simple and natural 
 manner. 
 
 We know from the narratives how Jesus of Nazareth 
 was regarded during his lifetime by those who had the 
 best means of knowing him. We have the admission of 
 his mother, we have the assertion of his neighbours, and 
 we have the clear statements of his biographers, that 
 he was, without any exception, thought {ivofii^ero) to
 
 374 Essays and Papers. 
 
 be the son of Joseph. No hint whatever is given of 
 anyone having suggested anything to the contrary. How 
 unaccountable upon any other supposition is the remark 
 of Mary when she had reproved him for absenting himself 
 — ''' Thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." To 
 which he replies — " How is it that ye sought me ? Wist 
 ye not that I must be about my Father's business? And 
 they understood not the saying which he spake nnto them." 
 What ! — not understand this simple remark of a child 
 who had been ushered into the world in the mysterious 
 manner known to Mary — if known ? Is it conceivable 
 that a woman who had discoursed with an angel, as Mary 
 is represented to have done, should not understand words 
 like these ? 
 
 Let us look back once more to the reported interview 
 between the angel and Mary ; let us remember what is 
 related of Joseph ; and then ask ourselves whether it is 
 possible they should not understand so simple an 
 expression as that which Jesus had uttered. Again, let 
 us ask, whether it is possible that the disciples and 
 apostles of Jesus could have been acquainted with the 
 miraculous birth, and the many wonders connected with 
 it, and yet, when Jesus was crucified, that a great stone 
 should be rolled to the door of the sepulchre ; and that 
 when his resurrection is announced they should not only 
 disbeheve it, but treat it as an "idle tale.^' If the 
 resurrection was to them but an idle tale, how could they 
 ever have known of the miraculous birth ? The resur- 
 rection was surely a matter easy of belief to persons who 
 knew of the miraculous birth. Plainly the apostles at the 
 time of the crucifixion did not know of the miraculous 
 birth and of all that has since been connected with it. 
 
 That these narratives should be tested by the ordinary 
 rules of evidence, and not accepted as supernatural, is 
 plain from admissions made by the writers themselves. 
 Not only does Luke appeal for his facts to eye-witnesses, 
 but Peter says, after the death of Judas, that some person
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 375 
 
 must be appointed in his stead " to be a witness " ; and it 
 must, he asserts, " be some person who has companied 
 with us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out 
 among us, beginning from the baptism of John." (Acts i. 22). 
 Mark this Hmitation of time. Antecedent to the baptism 
 of John there is thus no testimony of witnesses. For a 
 " witness " is a person who has seen and heard that 
 which is asserted ; having, by actual auditory and visual 
 means, become acquainted with facts. In the twenty- 
 sixth chapter of the Acts, Paul says, that on his journey 
 to Damascus, the "voice" which he heard announced 
 that he was to be " a witness " of the things which he had 
 then seen, and of those which might hereafter appear. 
 This is the common test by which men govern their 
 affairs. The transactions of life are constantly brought 
 to this standard. " That which we have heard, which we 
 have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and 
 our hands have handled " (i John i. i), settles and 
 determines every disputable point which arises in the 
 business of life. "This thing," says St. Paul, " was not 
 done in a corner " (Acts xxvi. 26) : implying that facts 
 are worthy of beUef in proportion to the light and 
 publicity under which they have been performed, and 
 that when they are " done in a corner " they may, if 
 obscure and improbable, fairly and justly be doubted. The 
 common sense of mankind acknowledges the rectitude 
 of this rule ; recognises that the parentage of children 
 cannot be impeached, except by witnesses and evidence 
 sufficient to overturn all natural presumption, and all the 
 proceedings which mark and discriminate the conduct of 
 real parents and of the persons amongst whom they 
 have lived. The history and conduct of two persons, and 
 of their neighbours, is the foundation of that law and 
 practice which determines the parentage of children. 
 These are the " witnesses " whose evidence is not to be 
 gainsaid. 
 
 There is so much of reverential and devotional feeling
 
 37^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 connected with the history we have been considering that 
 very many persons would rather not look into it, if, as the 
 result of doing so, they are likely to find it not authentic. 
 They are content, without enquiry, to believe what they 
 have been taught. There is something to be said for such 
 a feeling ; but, though it is justified by some sort of reason- 
 ing, it is essentially immoral. 
 
 The belief of all mankind is not proof against evidence 
 which contradicts it. All mankind believed that the sun 
 moved, and that the earth was a plane surface and did 
 not move. This belief is proved to have been wrong. 
 At the time of the Reformation it must have been hard 
 and painful to reject cherished behefs which had been 
 received as essential to salvation. But men did this. 
 They were a small minority, and they fell under the bitter 
 malediction of those from whom they separated them- 
 selves ; but as time went on, and their numbers increased, 
 they gained courage and confidence, and the fear and the 
 faint-heartedness passed away ; and the beliefs persecuted 
 at the Reformation have now got a firm hold upon the 
 mind, and the denunciations of the olden times are dis- 
 regarded. All beliefs are founded upon some sort of 
 reasons. Persons who are ever ready to revile ration- 
 alism are themselves rationalists to a limited extent. If 
 their beliefs are assailed they have something to say for 
 them. If they are Romanists, they hold certain dogmas 
 because for some reason they believe their priests. If, on 
 the other hand, they are Protestants, they hold a special 
 creed because they think it is true. They have all and 
 each exercised their faculties and feelings more or less, 
 and well or ill, in the matter of their creed. The man 
 who " worships ignorantly," worships in some sort never- 
 theless, and is mostly unconscious of his ignorance ; but 
 he is not the less certain that he is right. Protestants — 
 the descendants of those who parted company with their 
 co-rehgionists at the Reformation — should remember the 
 obloquy which was then heaped upon their predecessors.
 
 Jesus of Nci'^arcth and His Cuntempuraries. 2>77 
 
 The persecutors of the Reformation had more justifica- 
 tion than the petty persecutors of the present time— the 
 Protestants who, having reasoned themselves out of 
 Romanism, would arrest the progress of reason, or revile 
 with bitter words those who are forced by an irresistible 
 conviction to carry further the principles upon which 
 the Reformation was founded. At the Reformation a 
 man rejected the doctrine of transubstantiation, and 
 because he did so, he was threatened with eternal 
 damnation. He persevered notwithstanding, because he 
 could not believe what seemed to him contradictory and 
 absurd. The very faculty of believing is violated and 
 outraged by the admission of what is regarded as an 
 absurdity. 
 
 " How can they believe," asks St. Paul, " in him of 
 whom they have not heard ? " There are conditions of 
 believing quite as unmanageable and impracticable as 
 that which St. Paul proposes. He implies that in certain 
 cases belief is not possible — the materials out of which it 
 is to be shaped do not exist. But if the materials offered 
 to us refuse to coalesce, if they are utterly refractory 
 and cannot be combined, then St. Paul's question is 
 strictly applicable — " How can they believe ? " The man 
 who proposes the belief is but a man, subject to like 
 passions with other men. Multiply him by three hun- 
 dred, or by any number of hundreds, call him and his 
 colleagues what you will, you have not lifted him or them 
 out of that slough of despond, that bog of doubt and 
 difficulty, in which human nature finds itself. They 
 cannot alter the nature of facts, and they cannot alter 
 the nature of that evidence which is needed for the proof 
 of facts. 
 
 Not many years ago an OEcumenical Council decreed 
 that the mother of Jesus was not conceived in sin, as 
 others are said to be, but was of immaculate conception. 
 This may be believed, so long as the positive assertions 
 of men, ignorant of a fact, pass for proof. Councils may
 
 37^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 asseverate ; they cannot make that to be a fact which is 
 not so, nor annihilate a fact which exists. Dr. S. R. 
 Maitland* says : — " Let it be remembered, to reflecting 
 readers such remarks may seem trite and commonplace ; 
 but for the sake of others I do not like to omit the 
 suggestion — that whatsover God has allowed to exist, or 
 to be done, is an eternal fact — that it has become part of 
 everlasting and immutable truth — that nothing subsequent 
 can alter it." 
 
 The facts recorded in the New Testament — miraculous 
 or otherwise — must be known and authenticated as other 
 facts, before they can properly be believed. To say that 
 a man believes them, who has only received them inertly 
 and unintelligently, is a solecism ; and no number of men 
 so receiving them add one iota to their validity ; no 
 generations of men do it, and no Councils can establish 
 as a fact that which is not so. They may collect evidence 
 and weigh it, they cannot dispense with it ; they may 
 conclude for their own time, but not for all time ; and no 
 dogmas respecting matters of fact which are based upon 
 fables can ultimately prevail. They may be propagated 
 by fire and sword ; they may triumph by the agency of 
 dungeons and darkness ; but the time will come when 
 force and brutality will fail, and when the questions must 
 be reopened and sifted, which have been shut up and 
 sealed by arbitrary power. 
 
 From the time of Theodosius the Great, through very 
 many centuries, no man could safely dispute the orthodox 
 creed. He could not do it even in very recent times. 
 He cannot do it comfortably even now. Ecclesiastics of 
 the highest rank, who are themselves charged with heresy, 
 are still ready to apply opprobrious epithets to those whose 
 conscience will not allow them to embrace the popular 
 creeds. Those conscientious persons may be wrong. 
 They are obviously in hosts of cases honest and sincere, 
 and they are admitted to be not less useful members of 
 
 * Eight Essays.
 
 Jestis of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 379 
 
 society than those who revile them. They possess no 
 pecuniary endowments to bias their judgment; they desire 
 to Kve soberly, righteously, and godly ; but they cannot 
 believe that which revolts and confounds their under- 
 standing. It is not pride of intellect which influences 
 them. Humbly and reverently they acknowledge the 
 narrowness of their powers, and they feel that these are 
 utterly inadequate to draw the vast conclusions which the 
 orthodox pronounce with so much facility and boldness. 
 Of things visible and palpable men have arduously and 
 slowly made conquest ; of the things invisible and super- 
 natural they have easily (as it seems) obtained the 
 mastery. When they were profoundly ignorant of the 
 solar system, they were apparently quite familiar with the 
 ways and counsels and nature and substance of Him who 
 was before all things, and by whom all things consist. 
 (Col. i. 17.) On the very threshold of their polity they 
 were confronted with the question — " Canst thou by 
 searching find out God ?" And yet, when a man doubted 
 or denied some marvellous proposition which they had 
 excogitated respecting this great Being, they racked him, 
 or burned him, or let loose upon an unoffending people, 
 who had no metaphysics, a blood-thirsty and ruthless 
 soldiery. Because a man could not believe what appeared 
 to be absurd, and was honest enough to say so, he was 
 deprived of the common rights cf humanity ; and only 
 after hard, bitter, and protracted struggles has this 
 Catholic and unrelenting spirit been partially subdued and 
 cast out. 
 
 Who were the parents of some particular person, is a 
 matter of fact, to be ascertained by rules of evidence 
 which have grown up under the teaching of experience. 
 Society has worked out for itself, upon this question, 
 methods of proof which are clear and simple, and which 
 cannot be set aside by unverifiable traditions and dogma- 
 tism. That a man lived from infancy to manhood with 
 persons of unblemished character, calhng themselves his
 
 380 Essays and Papers. 
 
 parents, that his neighbours and friends knew him as 
 their child, and that every person with whom he came 
 into contact so regarded him, is a chain of circumstances 
 final and conclusive ; and which, if it could be impeached 
 by mere reports circulated many years afterwards, by 
 persons having no real knowledge of these events, 
 would shake and disturb the very foundations of 
 society. 
 
 Proof is of different kinds and clearness, and men have 
 to be satisfied with less in one case than in another. 
 Individuals are convicted of crimes upon what is called 
 circumstantial evidence ; and lives are forfeited and 
 property is alienated, and the affairs of the world are 
 transacted with satisfaction, and of necessity, upon 
 evidence of this description. The legitimacy of a person 
 is proved by those circumstances which are the staple — 
 the warp and weft — of every-day life. The habits of 
 people, and how they live together ; what is the common 
 opinion and belief respecting them, founded upon 
 observation and knowledge extending over many years — 
 these are facts convincing and decisive. The quibbles 
 and refinements of captious objectors have no weight in 
 practical affairs. That persons are born in the natural 
 course of generation is taken for granted, unless some 
 overwhelming proof of the contrary is produced ; and 
 when all the actual circumstances known to us, or known 
 to anyone, are upon the side of what is customary and 
 common, then the unnatural and the abnormal lose all 
 credibility. 
 
 The "judicious Hooker" furnishes a canon on this 
 subject which may most appropriately close this dis- 
 cussion. He says : — " Now, it is not required, nor can it 
 be exacted at our hands, that we should yield unto any- 
 thing other assent than such as doth answer the evidence 
 
 which is to be had of that we assent unto 
 
 The truth is, that how bold and confident soever we may 
 be in words, when it cometh to the point of trial, such as
 
 Jesus of Nazareth and His Contemporaries. 381 
 
 the evidence is, which the truth hath either in itself or 
 through proof, such is the heart's assent thereunto ; 
 neither can it be stronger, being grounded as it should 
 be."^ 
 
 Ecclesiastical Polity," Book II., ch. vii., 5.
 
 THE JOURNEY TO EMMAUS. 
 
 " Why even of yourselves judge ye not what is rig-ht ? " — Luke xii. 57. 
 " Prove all things." — i Thess. v. 21. 
 
 After reading the painful narrative that closes at the 
 tomb of Jesus of Nazareth we come upon the journey 
 to Emmaus with a feeling of relief. We leave the 
 murky atmosphere of Jerusalem, the sanctimonious and 
 vindictive rulers, and the brutal and unfeeling mob, with a 
 sense of satisfaction : the fierce passions which have struck 
 down and trampled upon their most gentle victim are no 
 longer obtruded upon us. The rocky and winding road to 
 Emmaus, its green slopes and graceful trees, the clear air 
 and t|ie bright sunshine, are in grateful contrast to the 
 roar of the city multitudes, the dark tragedy of the cruci- 
 fixion, and the profound mournfulness of the tomb : the 
 exhilarating scene brings with it other and pleasanter 
 thoughts ; and though we may never in fact have made 
 the journey to Emmaus, we must often have pictured to 
 ourselves the aspect of the road and the rustic and homely 
 appearance of the village which has acquired so imperish- 
 able an attraction. 
 
 The two disciples to whom Luke introduces us may 
 have assisted at the entombment of Jesus ; they would 
 then keep the Sabbath, and did not set out on their 
 journey till after midday ; for the distance between 
 Jerusalem and Emmaus is about seven miles, and when 
 they arrived, it was towards evening, and the day was far 
 spent. And who were these disciples ? The name of one 
 is given — it was Cleopas ; nothing further is known of him.
 
 384 Essays and Papers. 
 
 There was a Cleophas, the husband of that Mary, who 
 stood beside the cross along with her sister Mary, the 
 mother of Jesus ; and the Cleopas who was walking to 
 Emmaus may have been the same person : but this is not 
 certain. His companion has never been clearly identified. 
 It has been conjectured that he was Luke, and many other 
 suggestions have been made, but none is supported by any 
 evidence. Of this, however, we may be sure, that they 
 were, one or both, persons of consideration ; faithful and 
 firm men, steadfast in friendship and not shaken by adver- 
 sity ; for Jesus himself chose them as his companions 
 under circumstances of indescribable interest. They had 
 tarried in Jerusalem until the third day after the crucifixion, 
 and they then turned their backs upon the city and took 
 the road to Emmaus. They could talk only of the sad 
 scenes they had witnessed, and of their blighted hopes ; 
 and the sadness which was in their hearts might be seen 
 in their countenances ; for " as they talked together of all 
 the things that had happened," a stranger drew near and 
 joined them ; and he noticed that they were sad, and he 
 asked, "What manner of conversation is this that ye have 
 with one another as ye walk and are sad?" And Cleopas, 
 wondering that anyone should be travelling from Jerusalem 
 just then who did not know what had happened there, 
 replied, "Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast 
 not known the things which are come to pass there in 
 these days?" And the stranger answers, "What things?" 
 The reply is given in the plural number,- — they said unto 
 him, " Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet, 
 mighty in deed and word before God and all the people." 
 This is the sum of their knowledge ; and the source of 
 their sorrow is that the chief priests and rulers had con- 
 demned him to death and crucified him ; whereas they had 
 trusted that it was he which should have redeemed Israel. 
 Here we have a short and decisive summary of 
 what these affectionate friends and followers of Jesus 
 thought of his actions and of his history, as they walked
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 385 
 
 to Emmaus on the afternoon of the third day after he was 
 crucified. We may be quite sure they knew all that Jesus 
 began both to do and teach until the day on which he was 
 crucified (Acts i. i, 2) ; they had witnessed his miracles 
 and heard his words ; and as they talked now, so they had 
 talked before, of the wonderful things they had seen and 
 heard. And meeting with this stranger, in their sad and 
 tender mood, they tell him who it was they mourned for — 
 Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet mighty in word and deed. 
 This was the measure of their knowledge and of their 
 feeling ; they trusted it had been he which should have 
 redeemed Israel from the galling yoke of the Romans ; 
 their patriotism was disappointed, the sceptre seemed 
 finally to have departed, and their grief was not alone for 
 the tender and gentle friend who had been their companion 
 and teacher, and who had suffered a cruel death ; but it 
 was the blasting of a hope to which they had clung for 
 their nation, — the glory and triumph of another David. 
 We cannot be mistaken in our conclusions on this subject-: 
 if human words have any meaning, and if the language 
 of human hearts can ever be understood, the words of 
 t'hese travellers are of no uncertain signification. Whoever 
 they might be, they were true men, and they tell us what 
 the impression was which they had derived from their 
 intercourse with Jesus of Nazareth ; — He was a prophet 
 mighty in word and deed. 
 
 We ought to consider what the effect of a miracle may 
 be at one era of the world and at another ; that is, what 
 effect it would have upon the minds of those who witnessed 
 it. Clearly the Egyptians who saw the miracles of Moses 
 and of the magicians, would infer that they were each a 
 manifestation of the same power : the divinities who gave 
 their assistance were regarded as of the same nature; one 
 might be more potent than the other, but they were not 
 of different orders. And so, when the Syrians said the gods 
 of Israel were gods of the hills and not of the valleys, they 
 acknowledged gods many and lords many ; and this was 
 
 25
 
 386 Essays and Papers. 
 
 the common belief. Miracles, therefore, works of power 
 in aid of their worshippers, were expected and looked for; 
 and so with the Jews, their history teemed with miracles, 
 worked at sundry times and in divers manners. God, as 
 they thought, had at various periods of their history, in 
 many ways and by different persons, inteifered in their 
 behalf; and they were also taught, as we may see from 
 their books, that evil spirits also worked miracles. If 
 devils were cast out, as they did not deny, Beelzebub 
 might have the credit of the deed ; and therefore miracles 
 were not such marvels as they would be reckoned in our 
 days. Let a miracle be performed now in the face of the 
 fiercest criticism, let it be tested by the keenest scrutiny, 
 and let it stand out clear and unimpeachable, its enemies 
 being judges (Deut. xxxii. 31), and the effect would be 
 much more startling than it would have been in the time 
 of Jesus. If we believe that Beelzebub can cast out 
 devils, then the evidence of miracles is ambiguous ; and 
 the man \vho sees them and tells us of them is not more 
 exact and careful in his narrative than a man who 
 describes an ordinary event. A man who was told 
 that it had rained for twelve hours in any part 
 of England at any period of the year need not dis- 
 believe it, — the statement might be true ; if he were 
 told that twelve inches of rain fell in the time, he 
 might require some further evidence than the mere word 
 of an unskilled informant ; but if a man residing in a 
 tropical climate were told that rain had fallen for twelve 
 consecutive hours, at a season when rain was never 
 known to fall, he would expect some very trustwortliy 
 and precise evidence before he believed it. And so a man 
 who regarded miracles as common things would need no 
 special evidence of their occurrence ; he would think it 
 likely enough that they should happen, for had they not 
 often occurred before? and he would not necessarily think 
 the worker of them greater than man, inasmuch as men had 
 frequently worked them ; neither would miracles prove to
 
 The Journey to Emniaus. 387 
 
 such a man that he who performed them was certainly 
 better than other men, seeing that Balaam and other 
 prophets are stigmatized as unrighteous persons. What 
 is the previous state of a man's mind in whose presence 
 miracles are performed, must be dispassionately weighed 
 before we can estimate them aright. " The simple 
 believeth every word ; but the prudent man looketh well 
 to his going" (Proverbs xiv. 15). Believing every word is 
 characteristic of the simple, and he who looketh well to 
 his going is prudent ; to look well or carefully about one 
 is to avoid being taken in by mere appearance, by mere 
 statements without evidence. We do not say, miracles 
 have not happened, but the simple we sa}^ believe every 
 word, and that as very many written and spoken words 
 are not true they must believe much that is false. 
 Persons are often commended because they believe 
 readily whatever is told them. Such a state of mind is 
 regarded as meritorious ; to believe improbable and 
 inconsistent and out-of-the-way things is reckoned by some 
 to be a peculiarly Christian-like attribute. Solomon, 
 however, calls persons of this sort simple ; and the simple 
 in his phraseology are only one remove from the silly. 
 We come, then, to this, that miracles to the men of a 
 particular age may not be proofs of a Divine mission nor 
 yet of a Divine character. 
 
 Let us return to the travellers on the road to Emmaus. 
 We get at the fountain head of their thought and feeling 
 as they talk and are sad ; whatever wonder had been 
 excited by the works of Jesus, whatever emotion had been 
 stirred up by his words, and whatever marvels had been 
 otherwise associated ^\'ith his name, we can now see the 
 extent and effect of them, we can observe the impression 
 which they had left on the mind and heart of these two 
 constant and reflective friends. At such a moment every 
 line of the portrait so recentl}' " marred " would be 
 deepened, and every feeling connected with it hallowed 
 and purified ; and we may be quite sure that we get the 
 
 25^
 
 388 Essays and Papers. 
 
 clear outcome of their experience and observation as they 
 discourse with the stranger who overtook them on their 
 journey. And they tell him, — what ? That Jesus of 
 Nazareth was a prophet mighty in word and deed before 
 God and all the people — not, in the language of the 
 Nicene Creed, that He was God of God, Light of Light, 
 very God of very God. Not a word of this do they utter. 
 
 We know what the answer is, but it is no answer; Jesus 
 had formerly said to his disciples, " Believe me for the 
 very works' sake " (John xiv. 11) ; and again, " If I had 
 not done among them the works which none other man 
 did they had not had sin" (John xv. 24). The works 
 referred to were clear and convincing, such as would 
 compel belief,— but belief of what ? The greatest fact 
 of all, the one without which the Christian creed as 
 subsequently developed would be as nothing, is — that 
 Jesus is equal to the Father as touching the Godhead ; 
 and yet these two disciples, who would then have been 
 reckoned believers, evidently knew nothing of it. 
 
 Let us consider the meaning of the word "believers" as 
 employed in the New Testament. In the Gospel of John 
 (xii. 42) we are told, many of the chief rulers believed ; 
 and in a previous chapter it is asked, " Have any of the 
 rulers or the Pharisees believed ? " And we naturally ask 
 — believed what ? what is the proposition or thing they 
 are said to believe or disbelieve ? Primarily we should 
 say, that he was the Christ, the expected Messiah ; this 
 would be shortly what their thoughts turned upon. 
 "Whom do men say that I am?" inquires Jesus. And 
 he is told, Some said one thing, and some another ; and 
 he asks, " But whom say ye ? what think ye of Christ ?" 
 
 These were the questions that were moving men's minds; 
 and when believers are spoken of, it must be meant 
 believers of some such circumstance as this. But then 
 we must go further, and ask — what the opinion was of 
 Messiah ? what was the expectation of the Jews concerning 
 him ? History enables us to answer this question : we
 
 The Journey to Emmaiis. 389 
 
 are not dependent upon subsequent changes of thought ; 
 we can get our materials at first hand. The travellers to 
 Emmaus give us the information : — ^' We thought it had 
 been he which should have redeemed Israel"; the mighty 
 works he had done pointed him out as the Messiah — the 
 Redeemer of Israel from the bondage of Rome ; it was a 
 matter of reproach to some that " though he had done so 
 many miracles before them yet they believed not on him" 
 (John xii. 37). Again we say, — believed what? In the 
 same chapter it is represented that the populace of 
 Jerusalem received him with branches of palm-trees and 
 with cries of " Hosanna ! blessed is the King of Israel 
 that Cometh in the name of the Lord." Then those men, 
 when they had seen the miracle that Jesus did, said, 
 " This is of a truth that prophet that should come into 
 the world." When Jesus, therefore, perceived that they 
 would come and take him by force to make him a king 
 he departed (John vi. 14, 15). Here the two ideas are 
 blended together, — the prophet that should come into the 
 world — the Messiah, distinguished by his miracles, being 
 compelled to accept the kingly office for which he was 
 designed. And after the resurrection, "being assembled 
 together," " they asked of him, saying. Lord, wilt thou at 
 this time restore again the kingdom to Israel?" (Acts i. 6). 
 This agrees exactly with the view entertained by Cleopas 
 and his companion — " We trusted it had been he that 
 should have redeemed Israel." This then, is what they 
 believed, with more or less clearness and definiteness ; 
 this was their hope and expectation ; it is so written, 
 plainly and conspicuously in the history, and it is gathered 
 from the private communication of the personal attendants 
 and disciples of Jesus. With wavering faith they clung 
 to this hope, — at some moments, their hopes were strong 
 and buoyant ; at others, they were feeble and flickering. 
 We may form some opinion of the simplicity — in 
 Solomon's sense — of the Jewish people at that time, when 
 we mark the foolishness of their political ideas, how they
 
 390 Essays and Papers. 
 
 expected that an unarmed peasantry, led by a teacher 
 Hke Jesus, could overturn the Roman power, and establish 
 an independent monarchy. They had listened to the 
 glowing poetry of psalmists and prophets, who depicted 
 the glories of their people and their land ; until they 
 dreamed that the hour had come, and the Man. What 
 these brilliant pictures particularly pointed to, they did not 
 inquire ; they had a general notion that another kingdom 
 like that of David was to be established, and that they were 
 once more to become the favoured and conquering people 
 of the Lord. How opposite to all this has been their 
 fate we know; and we may measure their national wisdom 
 and foresight by the utter collapse of their dream. 
 
 Our conclusions on this subject are derived exclusively 
 from the history, and not from comments and observa- 
 tions made long afterwards ; we are able to see into 
 the thoughts and expectations of the people ; they tell us 
 by their acts what they think and mean ; and we inter- 
 pret the words which are written by the commentary 
 which the events furnish. Jesus had died upon the cross 
 when these disciples were journeying to Emmaus ; his 
 life on earth was over ; and we can estimate from their 
 remarks what impression it had left behind. They 
 evidently had no expectation that he would rise from the 
 dead ; they had heard of the angels and of the state of 
 the tomb before they left Jerusalem ; but the news was 
 not of a kind to arrest their journey. "Certain women of 
 our company made us astonished." Their intercourse with 
 Jesus had not led them to look for his resurrection; when 
 the intelligence was first conveyed to the eleven it is said, 
 the words of the women seemed "as idle tales." More 
 contemptuous terms could hardly be applied to any story, 
 When the resurrection of Jesus is related to the eleven 
 apostles by the two Maries, and Joanna, who had come 
 straight from the tomb — their words seemed as " idle 
 tales." The teaching of Jesus had not, therefore, impressed 
 them with the expectation that he would rise from the
 
 The journey to Envnaiis. 391 
 
 dead ; and when they are told by women whom they had 
 long known they treated the information as an idle tale. 
 Now, it is very strange that the chief priests and Pharisees 
 took another view of the situation ; for they are repre- 
 sented to have said to Pilate, " Sir, we remember that 
 that deceiver said, while he was yet alive. After three 
 days I will rise again. Command, therefore, that the 
 sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his 
 disciples come by night and steal him away, and say to 
 the people, he is risen from the dead. And the last error 
 shall be worse than the first" (Matt, xxvii. 63). This is 
 certainly remarkable ; that his enemies should have heard 
 and understood this prediction, and that his disciples 
 were utterly in the dark about it. Cleopas had no 
 expectation that he would rise again, had no remem- 
 brance of any words that foretold it ; they " trusted " — 
 which implies their trust no longer existed. How are we 
 to explain this ? and how did Matthew become acquainted 
 with this particular conversation between Pilate and the 
 chief priests ? and is it at all probable that the chief 
 priests should remember what his own disciples who had 
 " companied " with him all the years of his ministry had 
 so utterly forgotten ? What we read in the Gospels was 
 written years after the journey to Emmaus. We know 
 something of the state of mind of the two travellers ; 
 they had made no forecasts like the chief priests ; but 
 what is it that is written on the subject of the resurrec- 
 tion, and said to have been spoken before this journey to 
 Emmaus ? There are plain warnings reported in the 
 sayings of Jesus. Let us look at one or two. 
 
 There are two distinct occasions on which Jesus appears 
 to speak very plainly, indeed, on the subject. The 
 three synoptic Gospels record them. We will take that of 
 Mark in the 8th chapter : — " And he began to teach them 
 that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be 
 rejected of the elders and of the chief priests and 
 scribes, and be killed and after three days rise again.
 
 392 Essays and Papers. 
 
 And he spake that saying openly. And Peter took 
 him and began to rebuke him (Matthew adds, saying 
 " Be it far from Thee, Lord "). But when he had 
 turned about and looked on his disciples, he rebuked 
 Peter, saying, ' Get thee behind me, Satan : for thou 
 savourest not the things that be of God but the things 
 that be of men.' " This takes place before the trans- 
 figuration in the region of Cesarea Philippi. Is it pro- 
 bable, is it possible, that Peter should have forgotten 
 this remaikable incident? Then later in the history, 
 when they were going up to Jerusalem not long before 
 the Crucifixion, it is said by Matthew (chap, xx), '^ Jesus 
 took the twelve disciples apart in the way, and said to 
 them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem ; and the Son of 
 Man shall be delivered unto the chief priests and unto 
 the scribes, and they shall condemn him to death, and 
 shall deliver him to the Gentiles to mock and to scourge 
 (' spitted upon' adds Luke) and to crucify him ; and the 
 third day he shall rise again." Luke adds, " They 
 understood none of these things." This, again, is most 
 remarkable ; the chief priests, it seems, understood, and 
 it is inconceivable that having had this warning so 
 recently and having had it formerly, it should have left 
 no impression on their minds. They are on their way 
 to Jerusalem, and he advertises them of what should come 
 to pass there ; they see him, awhile after, delivered to the 
 chief priests and to the Gentiles ; condemned, mocked, 
 scourged, spitted on ; crucified, just as he had told them; 
 — but the rising from the dead is utterly forgotten. It 
 was not many days after he had warned them that they 
 saw the beginning of the end, every single prediction was 
 being exactly fulfilled ; and it is a miracle of forgetfulness 
 and inattentiveness that when they see each act of the 
 dark tragedy unfolding itself, and closing with the tomb, 
 they never remember that when he predicted his fall, 
 as they witnessed it, he foretold his rising again. That 
 his words did not impress them while they did induce the
 
 The Journey to Euunans. 393 
 
 chief priests to adopt precautionary measures, is indeed 
 wonderful ; that they who had seen more than one or two 
 persons return from the dead — had seen the widow of 
 Nain's son, the daughter of Jairus, snatched from the 
 grave, and then the solemn, scenic, and recent resurrec- 
 tion of Lazarus — that they should, with these events 
 stamped upon their memories, lose all recollection of 
 what Jesus had said respecting his own resurrection ; 
 nay, that their first thought when they were told of it, 
 should be that it is an idle tale — this is indeed a mystery 
 wholly inscrutable. That they should not understand 
 plain words of such unequivocal import, after they had 
 been so long with Jesus, heard from him so much, seen 
 Peter so sternly rebuked when he deprecated his sufferings 
 and death, and then marked step by step the doom he 
 had foretold, without one thought of the promised triumph, 
 and which they treat as an idle tale when it is told them ; — 
 this is a state of mind mj^sterious and unparalleled, and 
 so we leave it ; at any rate that which is demonstrated 
 by other evidence is corroborated by this — they did not 
 believe that Jesus was equal to the Father as touching 
 the Godhead ; for they believed he was mortal and had 
 irrevocably died. 
 
 But the circumstance that is related of the chief priests 
 deserves further consideration. Matthew says (xxviii. 
 11-15), " Now when they were going, behold, some of the 
 watch came into the city and showed unto the chief priests 
 all the things that were done. And when they were 
 assembled with the elders and had taken counsel, they 
 gave large money unto the soldiers, saying. Say ye, his 
 disciples came by night, and stole him away while we 
 slept. And if this come to the governor's ears, we will 
 persuade him and secure you. So they took the money, 
 and did as they were taught ; and this saying is commonly 
 reported among the Jews until this day." He does not 
 say until which day, whether the note was made fifty or 
 a hundred years after the event.
 
 394 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Now let us consider the facts. Matthew had previously- 
 told us, "Behold, there was a great earthquake; for the 
 angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and 
 rolled back the stone from the door and sat upon it. His 
 countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as 
 snow, and for fear of him the keepers did shake and 
 became as dead men." It is not said at what hour this 
 happened ; but the women — " very early in the morning" 
 (Mark xvi. 2), "when it was yet dark" (John xx. 2) — 
 came to the sepulchre, and found the stone rolled away. 
 So that it occurred earlier and while it was dark. The 
 keepers, being in such great fear, would, no doubt, make 
 their escape into the city ; but this is not mentioned till 
 later. Now, what would be the conduct of these men 
 after so terrible a visitation — the great earthquake and 
 the angel ? Surely they would have sought out their 
 comrades and told them. The soldiers had taken an active 
 part in the cruelties of the crucifixion day. Soldiers are 
 said to have crucified him, and parted his garments ; 
 soldiers broke the legs of the crucified thieves, and one 
 pierced the side of Jesus with a spear. They must also 
 have heard of the terrors that occurred around them ; for 
 there was the darkness, and it is said " the earth did 
 quake and the rocks rent ; and the graves were opened." 
 These tidings must have come to their ears or have been 
 witnessed by them. Such men are usually superstitious ; 
 and these startling phenomena must have worked upon 
 their fears, and those who were selected for the night 
 watch must have been acquainted with the fact that they 
 were to guard the tomb of him at whose death such 
 strange manifestations took place. Jesus had lately come 
 into Jerusalem with popular acclamations ; and his trial 
 and execution were notorious events ; the soldiers, 
 therefore, must have known what their duty was. Two 
 malefactors had been crucified, and with them, one called 
 the King of the Jews, about whom a great stir had been 
 made. These extraordinary events must have impressed
 
 The Journey to Emmans. 395 
 
 even their rude natures ; and as they took their station at 
 the tomb some sort of superstitious awe must have 
 affected them ; and then when there was another " great 
 earthquake," and the fearful apparition of an angel, whose 
 face was like lightning, they might well shake and become 
 as dead. They would lose no time in returning to their 
 quarters, and they would certainly acquaint their comrades 
 and their friends with what had happened. That they 
 should go at so unseasonable an hour to the chief priests 
 is improbable. It is therefore reasonable to suppose that 
 some considerable interval elapsed before the " chief 
 priests assembled with the elders and took counsel." 
 The story must have got abroad ; the soldiers would be 
 eager to tell what they had seen — such men always take 
 pleasure in reporting anything remarkable that happens 
 to them. The money of the chief priests would therefore 
 come too late ; we say nothing of the bunghng invention 
 that the soldiers were to tell what took place when they 
 were asleep. Nevertheless, the historian says they took 
 the money, and did as they were taught ; and the story 
 prospered and survived " until " some distant " day." 
 The improbabilities of it are, indeed, many and great. 
 The contest with the chief priests was not concluded. A 
 little while after these events, the priests, the captain of 
 the Temple, and the Sadducees, came upon Peter and 
 John as they taught the people, and preached through 
 Jesus the resurrection from the dead (Acts iv. i) ; and on 
 the morrow their rulers, and elders, and scribes, and 
 Annas, the high priest, and Caiaphas, and John, and 
 Alexander, and as many as were of the kindred of the 
 high priest, were gathered together at Jerusalem ; and 
 before them Peter and John were arraigned and put upon 
 their defence, and they alleged that the miracle they had 
 performed was done "in the name of Jesus Christ of 
 Nazareth, whom ye crucified, whom God raised from the 
 dead." Here was a direct challenge, and the obvious 
 answer of the Court would be : — This representation will
 
 39^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 not deceive us ; we have here the deposition of the 
 soldiers, which declares that the disciples of Jesus came 
 by night and stole him away. Is it conceivable that this 
 story, so well known, as to be recited by Matthew, and 
 for which the chief priests had paid so liberally, should 
 not have been made use of ? The Court discovered that 
 Peter and John had been with Jesus ; the soldiers had 
 been bribed to account for his disappearance ; and in full 
 Court, in the presence of all their great authorities, these 
 " unlearned and ignorant men " assert that God had 
 raised Jesus from the dead. Surely the answer would 
 have been ready, "We have proof that you stole him 
 away." Not many days after this occurrence the same 
 apostles are again in custody, and again brought before 
 the council, who charge them that they have filled 
 Jerusalem with their doctrine, and intend to bring this 
 man's blood upon us ; and they reply, " The God of our 
 fathers raised up Jesus, whom ye slew and hanged on a 
 tree." Here, again, the answer would be prompt and 
 plain if it were in existence — " Ye stole the body of 
 Jesus ! " But no word of this kind is uttered. And 
 Gamaliel was of this council, a Pharisee and a doctor of 
 the law, had in reputation of all the people : while Joseph 
 of Arimathea, ''an honourable councillor, who had not 
 consented to the counsel and deed of them " (Luke xxiii. 
 51) ; and " Nicodemus, a master of Israel, a man of the 
 Pharisees, a ruler of the Jews" (John iii. i), were both 
 actively engaged on behalf of Jesus. Is it to be believed 
 that this conspiracy of the chief priests and rulers to bribe 
 the soldiers should not come to the ears of any of them ? 
 and is it likely that so potent a weapon should not have 
 been employed by them ? Gamaliel pleaded the cause of 
 the apostles in words of reason and moderation ; but had 
 he known of this plot would he have concealed it ? If the 
 true story had been told by the soldiers and the fabricated 
 one by the chief priests, Gamaliel must have heard of it ; 
 Nicodemus would have known it, and Joseph of Arimathea
 
 The Journey to Enunans. 397 
 
 also ; and would the apostles not have taunted their 
 accusers with the fraud and perfidy they had perpetrated ? 
 The apostles are charged with filling Jerusalem with their 
 doctrine, that Jesus had risen firom the dead ; and the - 
 chief priests, so apt at producing false witness (Mark xiv. 
 56), could have produced the testimony of the soldiers, if 
 they possessed it ; or, if it was abroad or current, the 
 apostles would have appealed to it, and convicted their 
 enemies out of their own mouths. It is not possible to 
 believe that the story as presented to us has the image 
 and superscription of truth upon it. If the story had been 
 in existence when the apostles were brought to trial, the 
 chief priests, who had bought so fatal a piece of evidence 
 would have produced it to the discomfiture of the 
 apostles ; and if the soldiers had received the " large 
 money " they were not like other soldiers if, as they spent 
 the money in their usual haunts, they did not tell their 
 comrades how they came into possession of it. As the 
 apostles filled Jerusalem with their doctrine, the talk of 
 the soldiers and their store of money would tell the tale 
 of the chief priest's treachery, and the apostles would not 
 be slow to avail themselves of it. We have seen that the 
 soldiers returned from the sepulchre very early in the 
 morning ; the two travellers to Ernmaus, though they did 
 not leave Jerusalem till past noon, and had heard of the 
 angels appearing to the women, had heard nothing of the 
 discomfiture of the soldiers or of the earthquake. Again, 
 the language of Peter on the day of Pentecost and all 
 through the period corresponds with that of the travellers 
 to Emmaus. In his first public utterance he says, " Ye 
 men of Israel, hear these words . Jesus of Nazareth, a 
 man approved of God among you by miracles and wonders 
 and signs which God did by Him in the midst of you." 
 No man could use this language in its natural sense, 
 respecting one whom he believed to be equal to the 
 F^ather as touching the Godhead. But this evidence of 
 Peter's state of mind can be strengthened by further 
 unequivocal proof.
 
 39^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 The last command given by Jesus to his disciples as 
 recorded by Matthew is this — " Go ye therefore and teach 
 all nations." A few years after receiving this command, 
 we find Peter at Joppa sent for by Cornelius, a Roman 
 centurion ; hesitatingly he accompanies the messengers, 
 and arriving at Cesarea, enters the house of Cornelius, 
 whom he greets with these words, " Ye know how that it 
 is an unlawful thing for a man that is a Jew to keep com- 
 pany or to come unto one of another nation ; but God 
 hath showed me that I should not call any man common 
 or unclean." This had been shown to him by an obscure 
 vision on the previous day, while in a trance at Joppa. 
 Seven or eight years had probably elapsed since on the 
 mountain in Galilee, Jesus had laid upon Peter the com- 
 mand to make disciples of all nations. The day of 
 Pentecost was long past, and much had happened since 
 then; but the parting injunction was not likely to have 
 been forgotten ; or how did it ever find a place where it 
 is ? Well, Peter has an opportunity of delivering his 
 message to a Roman centurion, " of good repute" among 
 all the nation of the Jews ; but he remembers that it is 
 unlawful for a Jew to come unto one of another nation, 
 and his scruples are only overcome by a vision. Who 
 made it unlawful for a Jew to act in the manner described ? 
 and who made it the duty of Peter to teach all nations? 
 Cornelius was a man whom as a Jew it was unlawful for 
 him to visit ; and Jesus had enjoined him to make disciples 
 of all nations, and he evidently did not regard the second 
 commandment as releasing from the obligation of the 
 first. The original unlawfulness was not obliterated by 
 the new commandment ; and why ? The authority was 
 not co-ordinate ; Peter did not even then acknowledge 
 that Jesus was equal to the Father as touching the 
 Godhead. 
 
 We will now turn back to the earliest chapter in the 
 history of Jesus, and it can only be touched upon with a 
 feeling of pain. But it is impossible to pass it by ; so 
 much has been built upon it that we must look at the
 
 The Journey to Emrnaus. 399 
 
 foundation. Luke, who admits that his " knowledge " 
 was derived from others, introduces the subject of the 
 birth of Jesus in these words : — " The angel Gabriel was 
 sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to 
 a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of 
 the house of David ; and the virgin's name was Mary." 
 The angel tells her she shall have a son, that "the Lord 
 God shall give him the throne of his father David, and he 
 shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever." Then said 
 Mary unto the angel, " How shall this be, seeing I know 
 not a man ? " Then follow some mysterious words. The 
 inquiry put into Mary's mouth appears unwomanly. She 
 was espoused to Joseph, and the angel's words would 
 naturally be taken as a prophecy. How under such 
 circumstances could Mary have proposed such a question ? 
 It reads like the interrogatory of a man framed to suit a 
 theory. Matthew's words are, " Now the birth of Jesus 
 Christ was on this wise : When as his mother Mary was 
 espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was 
 found with child of the Holy Ghost. Then Joseph her 
 husband, being a just man and not willing to make her a 
 public example, was minded to put her away privily." 
 Upon these words we ask whether what was known to 
 Joseph was not also known to Mary's neighbours ? Mary 
 must have had neighbours who knew her circumstances ; 
 knew that she was betrothed, and knew what else was to 
 be known. The neighbours of Mary in this towai of 
 Nazareth were very unlike other folks if they did not 
 discover what was known to Joseph. 
 
 We read this story with prepossessions, we lisp it in 
 our creed, we have heard it from our childhood ; but 
 we must strip it of all accessories and associations if we 
 would look at it as it occurred. Joseph is minded to put 
 Mary away ; but " the angel of the Lord appeared to him 
 in a dream," and he alters his purpose. We are obliged 
 to ask. Is it a probable event that a dream should bring 
 about such a result ? What is the state of a man's mind
 
 400 Essays and Papers. 
 
 whose actions are guided by dreams, and who is satisfied 
 to accept such evidence of such a fact ? Can testimony 
 Hke this be received ? and how did Matthew become ac- 
 quainted with it ? Again, is it probable that Mary, be- 
 trothed to Joseph, would not have told him of the angel's 
 visit and of his communication ? Would she leave the 
 announcement that had been made to her without inform- 
 ing her betrothed, and preparing him for so great an 
 event? Was she to run the risk of being "put away" 
 when she could make all clear as the sun ? Would her 
 neighbours have disbelieved her, and her betrothed have 
 disowned her if she had made it plain to them that an 
 angel had visited her and told her what has been told to 
 us ? The greatest event in the world's history was 
 coming to pass — should it be left equivocal and suspicious, 
 when it might be unimpeachable ? Was the message of the 
 angel kept secret, and a painful suspense created, in order 
 that another angel in a dream might dispel it ? Had she no 
 friend or sister or parents to whom she could confide so 
 wonderful a revelation ? or was it only when her condition 
 was discovered that she secured the protection of a husband 
 by the intervention of an angel ? The story is truly 
 burdened with heavy improbabilities ; not chargeable so 
 much upon the fact as upon the circumstances with which 
 it is surrounded. We are not arguing against the event ; 
 we are trying to make out how the actions and conduct of 
 the several persons are consistent with one another, and 
 with the circumstances related. And now let us follow 
 the history. It is said, " his parents " went to Jerusalem 
 every year at the feast of the passover ; and when he was 
 twelve years old they went up, and as they returned they 
 missed him and went back to seek him ; and his mother 
 reproachfully said, "Why hast thou thus dealt with us ? 
 Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." 
 Here it is " his parents " who are introduced, and " Thy 
 father and I have sought thee." Jesus lived with themi as 
 their child ; and their neighbours — were they in ignorance
 
 The Journey to Emmatis. 401 
 
 or did they know the truth ? could they be kept in 
 ignorance, and was it Hkely that they would be, even 
 though they could ? Were Joseph and Mary — the former 
 a " just man," the latter such a woman — likely to keep 
 back and to hide what was so needful for the world to 
 know ? Had Mary lived these twelve years with Joseph 
 and never referred to the predictions of the angel ? Had 
 she not friends and acquaintances to whom she talked of 
 the real parentage of her son ? Where is the woman to 
 whom such an event could happen who would not speak 
 of it ? If " all generations were to call her blessed," why 
 not the generation with whom she lived ? Yet we read 
 she was "amazed" when she found him in the temple. 
 What should have amazed her? If he had been an 
 ordinary child, her amazement would have been natural, 
 but not so if he was " conceived by the Holy Ghost." 
 
 We must not look at the deified Mary as depicted by 
 painters and poets ; we must look at that poor town of 
 Nazareth, and at a family resembling its neighbours; and 
 we must judge of the feelings of men and women by what 
 we know of other men and women. The people of 
 Nazareth saw no difference between their own circum- 
 stances and those of Joseph and Mary. " Is not this the 
 carpenter's son ? is not his mother called Mary ? and his 
 brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas, and 
 his sisters, are they not all with us ? " Clearly, then, in 
 their own neighbourhood, among their own people the 
 mystic story of Mary's child was not known ; he was the 
 carpenter's son ; there was nothing dubious about his 
 birth, and there was no halo hanging around it. The 
 angel had told her, he was to have the throne of his 
 father David and to reign for ever. There was no Jew to 
 whom such a promise was not a feasible one, and who 
 had not a hope and expectation of such a person and such 
 a time ; it was a real material kingdom that was 
 anticipated, and it was not in the nature of a Jewish 
 mother to conceal such a destiny when it had been 
 
 26
 
 402 Essays and Papers. 
 
 promised and ensured to her by proofs that she must have 
 felt to be incontrovertible and infallible. If doubt would 
 ever cloud the mind of others, it would never invade that 
 of Mary ; she had an evidence and a testimony that nothing 
 could shake or disturb ; and if she could foresee that all 
 generations would call her blessed, why not her own 
 generation ? and why should the secret be hidden from 
 them ? For it was not his neighbours only who knew him 
 as Joseph's son. In the first chapter of John, Philip, it 
 is said, " findeth Nathaniel and saith unto him. We have 
 found him of whom Moses in the law and the prophets 
 did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph." The 
 appeal is to Moses, and the prophets ; and why designate 
 him son of Joseph if he were not so ? how had the true 
 fact become perverted and obscured ? If there was one 
 part of his history more than another which it concerned 
 his disciples and the world to know, it was this — that 
 Joseph was not his father. If there was one proof of a 
 divine mission more clear than another, it was to be 
 found in the circumstance known to Mary — one which 
 could not be admitted upon the uncorroborated word of 
 any person, in a world where deception is so common, 
 and the human mind so liable to be imposed upon. " The 
 simple believeth every word ; " the genealogies of their 
 great men were by the Jews preserved with care ; people 
 understood how needful it was that proof should be forth- 
 coming ; and shall the pedigree of Jesus be left in doubt ? 
 Would Mary be content that a lineage so derogatory 
 should be attributed to him ? could Joseph countenance 
 so injurious and untruthful an impression ? For unques- 
 tionably to his first disciples he was Jesus of Nazareth, 
 the son of Joseph ; and there is no evidence that this 
 information was ever doubted. The term " son of man " 
 by which he is so commonly designated, was the one 
 term of all others which was inapplicable to him, and 
 could not but raise a conclusion at variance with the 
 history found in the early part of Matthew. We appeal
 
 The Journey to Emmaiis. 403 
 
 to any canons of evidence by which such questions are 
 decided. Mary herself calls Joseph his father ; her 
 neighbours, who knew her history and her betrothal, and 
 must have been acquainted with her marriage and her 
 circumstances, without qualification and without excep- 
 tion recognize Joseph and Mary as his parents ; he grows 
 up to manhood in his native place as their son ; he com- 
 mences his mission at thirty years of age, and is introduced 
 to his first followers, as Jesus of Nazareth, the son of 
 Joseph. Is a chain of testimony Hke this to be set aside 
 by unauthenticated and uncertified words, written no one 
 knows when nor by whom ? But one thmg at least is 
 clear, — the writer, whoever he was, reported only a 
 tradition which will not bear confronting with the facts ; 
 the writer could not know what he avers, and the 
 improbabilities which surround his statement on every 
 side destroy its credibility ; the central fact has none of 
 the characteristics of truth about it. If it related to an 
 ordinary event, and were so beset with inconsistencies, we 
 should reject it. Can we believe what is so mysterious 
 upon evidence that would not sustain the most inconsider- 
 able statement ? That a Jewish woman should become 
 the mother of the Messiah was the greatest honour they 
 could desire ; all generations of Jews should call her 
 blessed. It is said that Mary had incontestible proof 
 that she was the favoured person — proof that she could 
 not and would not wish to disguise ; and yet she makes no 
 announcement of what has been predicted and performed, 
 and does not discover the parentage and destiny of her 
 son. He goes to Jerusalem with " his parents " year by 
 year ; he grows up and the secret is not told, and he begins 
 his public career as Jesus of Nazareth^ the son of Joseph. 
 We say again that neither Mary nor Joseph would have 
 hidden this candle under a bushel. 
 
 " Believe me for the very works' sake," — " believe the 
 works " — " if I had not done among them the works 
 which none other man did they had not had sin." In 
 
 26 ^
 
 404 Essays and Papers. 
 
 these several expressions Jesus recognizes the force of 
 facts to produce conviction, and the fact which Mary 
 could have disclosed and could have supported by proof, 
 more than any other fact, would have testified to his 
 Divine mission. Much more would it have confirmed 
 and enlightened his disciples; for that they could not 
 have known or beheved it is plain; they believed that his 
 existence had terminated on the cross, and they regarded 
 it as an "idle tale" that he should revive. How could they 
 have done this if they had known what Matthew relates ? 
 The travellers to Emmaus were overwhelmed with sorrow 
 at his fate ; for they trusted it had been he which should 
 have redeemed Israel ; but they trusted no longer. And 
 yet they must have known Matthew's story, if it were 
 current ; and if it were not, how and when did it arise ? 
 
 This brings us to the question respecting the history of 
 the works known as the Gospels, and the authorship of 
 them. We are apt to have a wrong impression of them, 
 because from our childhood we find them bound together 
 as one book with the name of the author prefixed to each. 
 But it is necessary for us to transport ourselves back to 
 the times of the apostles, and if we ask when and under 
 what circumstances each book was written, we shall 
 discover that there is no real evidence of authorship. It 
 is not known that one of the persons whose names are 
 attached to the works could write at all ; and as the 
 oldest manuscript we possess was transcribed centuries 
 after the Apostles' time, it is pretty certain to have been 
 a copy of a copy of a copy — quite certain to have been a 
 document made from some other document which had no 
 signature or mark to show it had been authorized and 
 verified by any competent judge or scribe. What does 
 Paul say? "Ye see how large a letter I have written 
 with my own hand" (Gal. vi. 11) ; " The salutation of me 
 Paul with mine own hand " (i Cor. xvi. 21) ; " I, Tertius, 
 who wrote this epistle salute you" (Rom. xvi. 22) ; "The 
 salutation of Paul with mine own hand, which is the 
 
 I
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 405 
 
 token in every epistle, so I write" (2 Thess. iii. 17). 
 What we say, then, respecting the Gospels is, that this 
 token is wanting. How should the Galatians know that 
 it was Paul who wrote ? The salutation was in his own 
 hand : — " See in what large letters I write unto you with 
 mine own hand " — are his words to the Galatians, more 
 exactly translated. Paul's educated mind felt the need of 
 some authentication. Besides this, a letter or work of art 
 has character and individuality, which point to author- 
 ship ; there is style that may be compared ; there are 
 thoughts which are characteristic ; letters, too, are 
 addressed to some public body or to those who could 
 read, and works of art are collected by those who 
 appreciate and preserve them and who have ancestors and 
 posterity. But the disjointed memoirs and discourses of 
 one who has lived mostly in obscure places, and among 
 illiterate people, may lack the " tokens " which Paul felt 
 to be necessary ; and then we have to consider how it is 
 probable they came into existence. The very title of the 
 books leads us to their origin. " According to Matthew " 
 may mean many things ; it would be quite consistent 
 with this title that not a word of it was actually written 
 by Matthew. Placing ourselves in Judea in the time of 
 Jesus we find that very few persons write, and not many 
 read ; books are scarce, and so are writing materials. In 
 our own country in the i8th or even the igth century we 
 know what a large proportion of the people neither read 
 nor write — cannot even sign their names when they 
 marry ; our fishermen have little occasion for pens, and 
 the fishermen of Judea, as we know, were " unlearned 
 and ignorant men." We do not expect them, therefore, 
 to write ; a man who has not been taught can no more 
 write than he can make a pair of shoes ; speak he may, 
 and that eloquently, — but the mechanical art of writing 
 and composing must be acquired by long practice, unless 
 it has been taught in childhood. We know how rare the 
 accomplishment has been in our own country in past
 
 4o6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 times, when even monarchs and great men had much 
 trouble to write intelligibly even their own name. Well 
 then, we may conclude that there were few writers among 
 the early disciples, and that until after the crucifixion no 
 part of the history of Jesus was written down ; and then 
 when persecution overtook them, and they were scattered, 
 their preaching, their organizing, their fleeing from one 
 city to another, would forbid their writing. But it is 
 highly probable that some to whom the duty of preaching 
 did not belong — men of the type of Nicodemus, or 
 Joseph of Arimathea, or many others who have left no 
 name in the world, would write down what they heard 
 respecting "all that Jesus began both to do and to teach." 
 Such papers would accumulate, and would be marked 
 by the names of the persons from whom the writer 
 derived his information. He would endorse one roll 
 according to Matthew, and another according to Luke, 
 and another according to Mark or John ; and such 
 precious relics as these would come into possession of 
 the church to which the owner belonged, and be 
 laid up among its most cherished treasures ; and the 
 simple people who on Sunday listened to the minister as 
 he read to them from the roll according to Matthew 
 would or might know nothing of its origin. This same 
 process might be repeated all over the land, wherever 
 preachers came and made disciples, and wherever any 
 person was able to write and desired to have a record of 
 what he heard. There might in this way be innumerable 
 manuscripts in existence which remained in private 
 hands ; and as in Antioch or some leading city the most 
 eminent preachers might remain a long time, it is highly 
 probable that the amplest materials would be gathered 
 there. If the roll according to Matthew were found in such 
 a city, it would become the standard, and if some other 
 were found differing from it, various marks of annotation 
 would be made, and other particulars and corrections would 
 be collected, and transcribers might incorporate marginal
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 407 
 
 notes as part of the text. Again, some transcriber 
 more learned than the rest might add an introduction or 
 a genealogy which had fallen in his way ; and Matthew's 
 Gospel has all the marks of such manipulation upon it. 
 The first chapter might easily have been prefixed to a 
 manuscript beginning as the 2nd chapter does — " Now 
 when Jesus was born in Bethlehem," &c. Bethlehem had 
 not been mentioned before, and the story of the miracu- 
 lous conception is wholly contained in the first chapter, 
 which might quite naturally be added by the scribe who 
 heard of it and placed in the roll. 
 
 In this way for fifty years after the death of Jesus records 
 would be growing until it became necessary to adapt 
 them to the circumstances and wants of the Church. 
 Luke asserts that " many had taken in hand to set forth 
 in order a declaration of those things which are most 
 surely believed among us." To set them forth in order — 
 consecutively, chronologically, — this is just what we have 
 conjectured. Luke was not an eye-witness, but the 
 things were delivered to him by eye-witnesses. He does 
 not say that those who had been eye-witnesses had set 
 forth any declarations, \\z., had written any. The impli- 
 cation is they had not, and so he undertakes to write for 
 Theophilus, that he might know the certainty of the 
 things wherein he had been instructed. It is quite con- 
 sistent with this opening that the narrative was written 
 from previous memoirs ; indeed, it seems probable that 
 it may have been the work of another hand. For what 
 could have been the age of Theophilus, to whom it is 
 addressed ? He must have been a man, he had been 
 instructed in the doctrines of Christianity, which implies 
 that he must have been born after the apostles began to 
 preach the Gospel ; the certainty of those things wherein 
 he had been instructed must mean all the things relating 
 to Jesus ; and this could not be until those things had 
 been formulated and consolidated. How would a child 
 be instructed in what his parents were not informed of?
 
 4o8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Therefore, we must assume that Theophilus was over 
 twenty years old at the time ; and we rnust give at least 
 ten years after the death of Jesus for the Church to have 
 been in a condition to do what it is said had been done 
 for Theophilus. Moreover, as many had already taken in 
 hand to set forth in order a declaration of things which 
 were believed, it seems clear that the words imply a series 
 of events which must have occupied many years. How- 
 ever these memoirs were collected together, we may be 
 certain from what Luke says that he had seen many 
 others, and that he proposed to himself the production of 
 a more orderly narrative. The narrative he wrote would, 
 therefore, be a compilation. What he aimed at doing 
 was to gather into a focus the scattered rays of light 
 which had been brought to his knowledge ; " to set forth 
 in order " the materials he had collected. Now, what- 
 ever he might have written no one now can say that the 
 Gospel we possess in our Bibles is a verbatim copy — 
 neither more nor less, — of what he wrote. This " token " 
 is wanting. There has been no " authorized version " of 
 what any evangelist wrote, with which our oldest manu- 
 script is known to have been compared. All that we 
 find asserted is — " according to Luke," &c. 
 
 In modern times, if a play is attributed to Shake- 
 speare, critics compare it with his known productions, 
 and they reject it or receive it according to their skill and 
 tact and knowledge. And how can we expect the " not 
 many noble," the " not many mighty," of the early 
 Church to pass judgment on productions which were 
 said to be " according to Luke " ? Bad faith is charged 
 upon no one ; we may believe that each transcriber did 
 his best. But we know that words have been interpolated 
 — nay verses and even paragraphs. The twelve closing 
 verses of Mark are missing in some copies ; the verses 
 respecting the three witnesses are allowed to be spurious ; 
 and there may be many other like faults which could be 
 discovered if we had — not something "according to
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 409 
 
 Luke " — but, something with the sign manual of Luke 
 or with the " token " Paul speaks of — a narrative com- 
 pared page by page with an authentic manuscript, a 
 narrative which we could know with a moral certainty 
 had passed under the eye of Peter or of John, concerning 
 things they had looked upon, and which their hands had 
 handled (i John i. i). Therefore, when we find a state 
 of mind in the disciples inconsistent with the state of 
 facts recorded in the history, we are compelled to reject 
 the latter evidence, and to receive the former. We are 
 compelled to remember that the narrative was put 
 together many years after the events and by unknown 
 hands ; that it had been transcribed again and again, has 
 been probably the result of many additions and revisions, 
 until the original text cannot be ascertained. Nay, it 
 cannot be proved that an original, authorized text ever 
 existed from which other verbatim copies were made ; 
 and in the absence of this we can only look at the circum- 
 stances of the times, at the lowly and scattered condition 
 of the early disciples. " The common people heard 
 him gladly ; " and of such people the disciples came. 
 How could they judge of the genuineness of documents 
 which they could not read ? We do not certainly know 
 that the men who wrote our Gospels were in any case 
 the men who saw and heard. The liability to error is 
 therefore incalculable ; and when the work of different 
 scribes was collected, the roll according to Matthew 
 might be altered or amended by reference to the judg- 
 ment of some respected authority ; and at last the least 
 perfect copy might be preserved. Paul recognizes and 
 John recognizes the value of original evidence ; the 
 writing of one who saw and heard, and was competent to 
 report. Much lower down comes that which proceeds 
 from him who writes only from the report of others, and 
 lower still is the unknown copy of the inferior copyist. 
 We know that errors exist in our most trusted copies, for 
 they vary ; but we do not know how much they vary
 
 4IO Essays and Papers. 
 
 from the original unmutilated and unchanged copy which 
 had suffered neither addition nor subtraction ; and we 
 know not if such copy ever existed. The work of one hand 
 and one mind has a coherence and a signification which is 
 denied to miscellaneous memoirs, derived from different 
 sources, and which in all good faith and pious feeling may 
 have been the repositories of traditions that an adequate 
 knowledge would have rejected. And then follows a scribe 
 whose state of mind is in harmony with the traditions ; 
 and he incorporates them with his text, which may happen 
 to survive and become the standard of that which is 
 ultimately adopted. We repeat, there is the widest 
 difference possible between a work of art and a collection 
 of memoirs which had been floating about before they 
 were committed to writing. The mere craft of the penman 
 is needed in one case, but genius and idiosyncrasy are 
 necessary in the other. The number of the disciples was 
 great, and the next generation, who only knew Jesus by 
 report, would eagerly seek after some permanent narrative 
 of his life and teaching ; and whoever could gratify this 
 wish — whoever among them could write — would adopt the 
 course described in Jeremiah : " Baruch wrote from the 
 mouth of Jeremiah all the words of the Lord which he had 
 spoken unto him, upon a roll of a book." " And they asked 
 Baruch, How didst thou write all these words at his 
 mouth? Then Baruch answered them. He pronounced 
 all these words unto me with his mouth and I wrote them 
 with ink in the book." " Then took Jeremiah another 
 roll, and gave it to Baruch the scribe, the son of Neriah ; 
 who wrote therein from the mouth of Jeremiah all the 
 words of the book which Jehoiakim King of Judah had 
 burned in the fire ; and there were added besides unto 
 them many like words " (xxxvi. 4, 17, 18, 32). Here is the 
 process in full operation, which we assume to have been 
 followed a few generations later. Nothing was materially 
 changed in the habits of the people ; the scribes are con- 
 spicuous enough in the time of Jesus; and where writing
 
 The Journey to Emmatis. 411 
 
 was a craft, it would hardly be acquired as an accomplish- 
 ment. Says Hamlet, " I once did hold it, as our statists 
 do, a baseness to write fair, and laboured much how to 
 forget that learning." The Christian religion was propa- 
 gated by oral communication ; the Gospel was preached ; 
 and as Baruch wrote from the mouth of Jeremiah, we may 
 be quite sure that scribes wrote also from the mouth of 
 those who had been *' eye-witnesses and ministers." 
 
 Let the last word be noted, and we can have no doubt that 
 the manuscripts written from the mouth of such persons 
 would be inscribed with the name of the person from 
 whom directly or indirectly it came. Hence it would be 
 " according to Matthew," whoever might have been the 
 communicant ; and we know there were " many who had 
 taken " this business in hand. The work of very few 
 indeed has remained to us, a considerable number having 
 been rejected ; but the words of Luke imply that " many 
 genuine declarations " were existent when he wrote. 
 Where are they ? and how do we know that what remain 
 to us are the pure unadulterated words written or 
 authorized by the names they bear ? This is not an 
 unreasonable question ; for we know that even the earliest 
 writing was the work of scribes who wrote long after the 
 events they described ; and we find there is a discord 
 between the facts recorded and the mental state of the 
 men who were living and acting. In the plainest possible 
 words Jesus foretells a short time before his death every 
 circumstance that should befal him, and as they happened; 
 and he adds and repeats it that on the third day he would 
 rise again ; he communicates this to the twelve privately, 
 and he speaks of it openly; and the chief priests are 
 reported to have taken precautions on account of it ; and 
 yet the apostles and near friends of Jesus regard his 
 resurrection as an " idle tale." Words are found in the 
 Gospel of John which, if spoken as they are written, make 
 it impossible to beheve that the apostles could have 
 regarded Jesus as a mere man, whom the chief priests
 
 412 Essays and Papers. 
 
 could destroy ; and yet when he was crucified they buried 
 him^ " bringing spices " to embalm him ; and the cry of 
 the first visitors is, " They have taken away the Lord." 
 " Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the 
 sepulchre." Not the faintest hope or thought existed in 
 the mind of any one that Jesus had risen from the dead. 
 How is this to be reconciled with what he had himself told 
 them, with the fact that other persons whom they saw and 
 knew had risen from the dead ? How is it consistent with 
 words that are found in John's Gospel, which no one could 
 have heard from a man of truth and soberness, and yet 
 have believed that the speaker could be finally worsted by 
 the chief priests ? That Jesus was equal to the Father as 
 touching the Godhead is now thought to be proved by his 
 words and works ; and yet it appears that those men 
 saw and heard— not only what is left to us — but "also the 
 many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they 
 should be written everyone, I suppose that even the world 
 itself could not contain the books that should be written" 
 (John xxi. 25). These "many other things" they also 
 saw ; and yet when Jesus was crucified, a disciple besought 
 Pilate that he might take away the body ; he came, there- 
 fore, and took it; and Nicodemus also "came and brought 
 a mixture of myrrh and aloes about an hundred pounds 
 weight ; and they took the body and wound it in linen 
 clothes with the spices, as the manner of the Jews is to 
 bury their dead ; " and he was buried just as other men 
 were, if perchance with more love and reverence. That 
 he should rise again was not thought of, and when they 
 were told of it by those who had seen him they disbelieved 
 it as an idle tale. How could they have heard all the 
 words that are said to have been spoken to them ? That 
 they should not understand certain obscure prophecies is 
 probable enough ; but that they should fail to understand 
 plain words is not only incomprehensible, but would go 
 far to discredit their general testimony and competence as 
 witnesses. If they had heard certain words which we are
 
 The Journey to Emmans. 413 
 
 told they did hear, how could they believe that Jesus 
 would die as the two malefactors would die ? How could 
 Peter after so many years say to Cornelius that it was 
 unlawful for him, a Jew, to come unto one of another 
 nation, when the last injunction Jesus had laid upon him 
 was, " Go and make disciples of all nations " ? 
 
 The two disciples journeying to Emmaus were not 
 behevers in the resurrection; but it is said Jesus " ex- 
 pounded unto them in all the Scriptures the things 
 concerning himself." How gladly should we have read 
 this exposition, and how remarkable it is that, if the plain 
 words and facts they were acquainted with had made no 
 impression on their minds, any ambiguous prophecies 
 should have done so ! Then the story of the chief priests 
 plot, that was to disappoint the prophesied resurrection, 
 is full of improbabilities when it is tested by the recorded 
 conduct of the several parties. Nobody is shown to have 
 acted as though it were true ; the chief priests could 
 hardly have blundered so egregiously; the watch could 
 not have acted so inconsistently, nor the apostles have 
 failed to appeal to such a confirmation of their words ; 
 but then we may not overlook the writer's remark, 
 " This saying is commonly reported among the Jews 
 until this day ; " meaning undoubtedly some distant 
 day when he was writing. And things "commonly 
 reported" among hostile parties are not necessarily 
 true, but emphatically need proof, of which none is here 
 given ; for it is not said the writer had any knowledge of 
 the fact otherwise than from common report or rumour. 
 The statements of Matthew and Luke respecting Joseph 
 ard Mary need not be further referred to ; only we may 
 say they are void of all proof. Neither Matthew nor 
 Luke were competent to give any evidence on the 
 subject ; they might not have been born at the time of 
 Jesus' birth, and at any rate all they knew about it could 
 only have come to their knowledge many years after, and 
 is much more likely to have been added by some copyist
 
 414 Essays and Papers. 
 
 who had received it or reasoned it out. Matthew, the 
 publican, if born, was a child when it happened, employed 
 for years as a tax gatherer ; what is his evidence against 
 that of contemporaries on the spot ? What event in the 
 life of Jesus confirms the story? What act done by any 
 body implies they were acquainted with it ? We have no 
 argument against the circumstance itself; we only say 
 the facts recorded are inconsistent with the theory. And 
 as a universal rule of human conduct it may be asserted 
 that when the actions of all persons who have the best 
 means of knowing an event are consistent with certain 
 statements, the actions confirm the statements ; but 
 when the actions which are recorded directly contradict 
 the statements or are not in correspondence with them, 
 the statements are thereby discredited, and for all 
 practical purposes disproved. We know from the his- 
 tory how the people of Nazareth acted and what they 
 thought. We have the words and actions of Joseph 
 and Mary. What is " commonly reported among the 
 Jews " is adduced by Matthew as some proof of an 
 event ; but what is " commonly reported " in a small 
 country town of the circumstances and relations of 
 persons whose lives have been spent there, is evidence 
 which common sense — elevated and purified into law 
 and reason — everywhere accepts. And a mere statement 
 made in a book many years after and confirmed by no 
 authority would not for one moment be received against it. 
 We are not arguing against a great and well attested 
 mystery ; nor asking with Mary, " How shall this be ? " 
 though, as she was not rebuked for it, why should we ? 
 Our inquiry is, How does it come to pass that no one 
 in the history acts as though there were any mystery 
 existing ? We are told, " Neither did his brethren 
 believe in him " (John vii. 5). Again we say — believe 
 what ? for it is proved that to the last day of the life 
 of Jesus, his disciples all believed him to be mortal. 
 What was it, then, that his brethren did not believe ?
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 415 
 
 That he was the Messiah. If they had known what we 
 now find written, their behef must indeed have been 
 great and wonderful ; but it was nothing of the kind. 
 If Mary and Joseph had disclosed that history which 
 indeed could not have been concealed, the conduct of 
 his brethren and of every one else is inexplicable ; and if 
 they did not tell the supernatural history of Jesus — and 
 we know that out of the abundance of the heart the 
 mouth speaketh — how did Luke and Matthew, many 
 years after, become acquainted with the circumstances ? 
 Even Bishop Pearson admits that this article of the 
 Creed has varied since it was reduced to writing. What 
 it was precisely before that time, who can tell ? 
 
 Another point deserves notice. Matthew says, " All 
 this was done that it might be fulfilled which was spoken 
 of the Lord by the prophet, saying. Behold a virgin shall 
 be with child and shall bring forth a son, and they shall 
 call his name Emmanuel; which being interpreted is God 
 with us." Mary evidently knew nothing of this prophecy, 
 nor did the angel unfold it, but said the child should be 
 called Jesus, and there is no evidence that in his lifetime 
 he was ever called Emmanuel ; and every act of every 
 person that can be tested proves, that neither in name 
 nor fact whilst he lived was Jesus ever regarded as " God 
 with us." The word Emmanuel occurs nowhere else in 
 the New Testament, and the words in Isaiah are strangely 
 torn away from the context, and, taken as they stand, 
 could not be applied with Matthew's interpretation. 
 That such a paragraph should be inserted by some copyist 
 as elucidating the text is very probable, and that it should 
 suit the feeling of many minds is also obvious. In the 
 first chapter of John's Gospel one of the disciples on his 
 introduction to Jesus is represented as saying to one of 
 his friends, " We have found the Messias." How easily 
 was so great a fact assented to, and upon what evidence ? 
 A little further on some one else says, " We have found 
 him of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did
 
 41 6 Essays and Papers. 
 
 write." Very credulous and soon satisfied these men 
 must have been — " the simple believeth every word." 
 What had then been done which justified these assertions, 
 and how is it that the same men, so apt to believe, did 
 not understand the unambiguous words of Jesus which 
 foretold his resurrection ? and how, hearing such words 
 and other marvellous words in John's Gospel, did they 
 ever come to regard the resurrection as an idle tale ? 
 And when they aver that they have found Messias — him 
 of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write — 
 what was it they believed respecting him ? Whom say ye 
 that I am ? " We trusted it had been he which should 
 have redeemed Israel" is the answer which, after all their 
 knowledge and experience of his life and work, is given 
 by the travellers to Emmaus. 
 
 In our own days we have seen how an article may 
 get added to the Creed, and how grave men may bring 
 themselves to believe that they can infallibly determine 
 what they call the immaculate conception of the Virgin 
 Mary herself; and so great a man as Dr. Newman can 
 accept their prodigious dogma, as having been at some 
 time or other borne upon the aromatic breeze — much 
 rather was it born in the foul stithy of monkish minds. 
 But if in the broad daylight of modern times such an 
 addition could be made to the Creed, if floating specu- 
 lations of ancient times could be so concreted and 
 consolidated, how easy was it in a superstitious and 
 illiterate age to introduce words into a Creed ! The 
 organization of the early Church, when 3,000 were added 
 in one day, must have been loose, and belief must have 
 been of the vaguest kind ; and public formulas must have 
 been very slowly put into writing. It is not possible to 
 say what precisely was the creed of the apostles, for it 
 varied ; and though we call a certain formula the Apostles' 
 Creed, there is no evidence that any apostle ever saw it, 
 though it might be gathered from traditions or writings. 
 As a matter of course, the Creed could only be derived
 
 The Journey to Emmaus. 417 
 
 from these sources, and if the writings are uncertain, the 
 Creed cannot possess higher authority than the writings. 
 
 We know the ready answer to all this — scepticism, 
 rationalism, or some such abusive epithet. We know 
 how easy it is to give this answer, and how easy to retort 
 that indolence, dulness, love of reputation, hope of gain, 
 and advancement in the world, keep men passive and 
 uninquisitive. There are endowments for them every 
 where — rectories, deaneries, canonries, bishoprics, and 
 other such hke things; and it is just as fair to attribute 
 belief to these endowments, as it is to attribute unbelief 
 to immoral inducements of any other kind. The day is 
 gone for these recriminations; though it must be admitted 
 that all worldly advantages are now on the side of belief. 
 What does it profit a man that he should lose a dry, inert 
 acquiescence in formulas that few trouble themselves to 
 understand ? Why should he rise up early and late take 
 rest, in order to obtain an intellectual hold upon what he 
 has been mechanically taught ? Why should he do this 
 painfully and laboriously when it is certain that he will 
 be reviled and persecuted according to the method of 
 modern days, if he moves from the anchorage where the 
 staid and respectable members of society find a refuge 
 and a haven ? But this peril is one that has had to be 
 encountered at all times — for the water must needs be 
 troubled before any healing could be accomplished ; and 
 as one observes the lethargic acquiescence that prevails 
 in one quarter and the drowsy dogmatism in another, it 
 may not be inopportune, nay, it may even be useful, to 
 ask of these somnolent authorities — " What meanest 
 thou, O sleeper ? " (Jonah i. 6.) 
 
 The present writer does not go beyond this modest 
 enquiry. He has meditated according to his opportunity 
 and ability upon what he has been taught ; and the 
 things in which he has been instructed refuse to adjust 
 themselves as they were wont to do. Therefore he submits 
 the matter to his " spiritual pastors and masters," whose 
 
 27
 
 4i8 Essays and Papers. 
 
 name is legion, and he beseeches them not to rail, which 
 is cheap and facile ; but to inform, which is more arduous, 
 as it is also more profitable alike to him who gives and 
 him who takes. Perfunctory advice and explanations 
 have no light in them, and are no longer serviceable ; 
 there may be solvents of the difficulties herein stated, 
 which the present writer is not cognizant of; and he 
 asks only to be made acquainted with them. He would 
 fain believe what is true, if it be discoverable ; and if not, 
 it seems better to wait and "feel after'* it, than to dog- 
 matize and to denounce. In matters of faith it is reckoned 
 an error in some quarters to seek for that which is 
 " reasonable ;" and yet this word has the comm.endation 
 of Paul. Moreover, Pearson and Butler and Paley and 
 many others have done their best in the way of argument 
 to convict opponents and remove obstacles ; and it seems 
 unfair, when their particular reasoning is proved to be 
 defective, that the very faculty of reason should be con- 
 demned and traduced. Those who get worsted in argu- 
 ment are usually the persons who speak opprobriously of 
 the process. But assuredly if reason be potential and 
 legitimate to build up and to construct an orthodoxy, 
 it is not less valid and effectual to pull down and to 
 destroy a heterodoxy ; and in the end " if it be of God " 
 (Acts V. 39) it will prevail, to enlighten and to edify, and 
 ye cannot overthrow it. 
 
 We have made our appeal to the recorded facts of 
 history ; we have produced the evidence of events as they 
 occurred ; we have gathered up the living testimony of 
 persons as they spoke and acted ; we have contrasted 
 these things with remarks and commentaries made many 
 years after in connection with the same events ; and 
 we say by all rules of evidence that the first series of 
 circumstances is more cogent and convincing than the 
 second, that the actions are of more authority than the 
 words. If we were called upon by any Court to determine 
 an issue respecting the birth and parentage of a man
 
 The Journey to Emmans. 419 
 
 which came to be disputed after his death ; and if it 
 were proved that he hved from infancy in a small country 
 village as the child of parents, natives of this village and 
 well-known there ; if it appeared that his mother publicly 
 recognized her husband as the child's father ; if the 
 neighbours testified that they had known the child from 
 his infancy as the offspring of these parents ; if he had, 
 to their knowledge, lived with his family as one of their 
 children until he grew to manhood ; if he had afterwards 
 occupied a public position, and had become the acknow- 
 ledged founder of an important religious body; and if 
 his first friends and followers had recognized him in 
 some distinct manner as the son of these parents, — would 
 any evidence derived from a document written many 
 years after his death, be allowed to invalidate such 
 testimony ? We know it would not ; neither father nor 
 mother would be allowed to contradict such evidence ; 
 much less would a stranger be permitted, after the 
 parents' death, to say he had been told by some one that 
 his parentage was not what these facts proved it to be. 
 The business of the world could not be carried on if mere 
 uncorroborated assertions were to prevail over unques- 
 tioned facts. No human being is exempt from the law of 
 reason and common sense, which are God's instruments 
 for governing mankind ; and no human being can be 
 asked to believe as a fact what contradicts the rules and 
 methods which experience has proved to be essential for 
 the conduct and guidance of human affairs. 
 
 The " Indian Evidence Act " teaches us something on 
 this subject, and embodies a rule of common sense in 
 these words : " When one person has, by his declaration, 
 act or omission, intentionally caused or permitted another 
 person to believe a thing to be true and to act upon such 
 belief, neither he nor his representative shall be allowed, 
 in any suit or proceeding between himself and such 
 person or his representative, to deny the truth of that 
 thing." Applying this rule to the case proposed — the 
 
 27 *
 
 420 Essays and Papers. 
 
 parents, by declaration, act and omission, intentionally 
 caused or permitted other persons to believe a thing to 
 be true — (viz., that this child was their son) — and they 
 would not therefore be allowed afterwards to deny the 
 truth of that thing ; much more could no other person 
 deny it, especially after their death, and without a scintilla 
 of evidence to support the assertion. 
 
 Tf Matthew knew what passed between Mary and the 
 angel, and knew what was afterwards recorded on the 
 subject " according to Matthew and according to Luke," 
 he must have been the most unbelieving of unbelievers, 
 or the most unreflective and unobservant of men, if, 
 having followed Jesus through his ministry, he regarded 
 the resurrection as an " idle tale," Of the two events 
 which was the more improbable ? or, given the first 
 event, would anything less than the second be looked 
 for? 
 
 When we meet with discrepancies in historical docu- 
 ments, we endeavour to account for and explain them, a 
 thing no unprejudiced person can object to. Now, un- 
 doubtedly, the most remarkable fact at present before us, 
 is that the apostles and followers of Jesus universally 
 disbelieved in the resurrection. All the discourses 
 " according to John," and all the words and wonders at 
 Bethany did not prevent any of them from regarding his 
 resurrection as an idle tale. When the Pharisees were 
 told of what had been done at Bethany they said — " If we 
 let him thus alone all men will believe on him." What 
 they would believe we are not told ; but the expectation 
 that they would believe something extraordinary of him 
 was very natural ; and yet the Apostles who saw and 
 heard what we now read, and much more (John xx. ^o, 
 and xxi. 25) had no thought or hope of any resurrection 
 from the dead ; their anticipations were plainly of an 
 earthly kingdom, in which they were " to sit on his right 
 hand and on his left ; " and when he was crucified, this 
 prospect vanished utterly, and with it all the glory and
 
 The Journey to Emmans. 421 
 
 greatness they had contemplated. In presence of such a 
 fact we must conclude that the warnings so distinctly 
 given in the history were not spoken as we find them. 
 These warning words were written many years after the 
 events. Jesus saw the danger in which the enmity of the 
 rulers and the Pharisees placed him and spoke of it, but 
 not in the detailed manner now presented to us. The 
 copyist, writing long after the events, not unnaturally added 
 the particulars which did happen, but which in reality 
 were not foretold. The copyist himself feels the difficulty; 
 for he says, — " they understood none of these things, 
 neither knew they the things that were spoken " (Luke 
 xviii. 34). On another occasion when they did not com- 
 prehend a parable, Peter said to Jesus " Declare unto us 
 this parable " (Matt. xv. 15) ; and again they ask, " What 
 might this parable be ? " and they are themselves asked 
 at another time, " Have ye understood all these things? " 
 They say unto Him, "Yea Lord" (Matt. xiii. 51), and 
 thereupon Jesus contrasts their condition with that of 
 others, — who, " hearing, hear not, neither understand," — - 
 because of their grossness, dulness, and blindness ; their 
 mental vision was gone — eyes, ears, and heart were 
 closed ; but of the disciples Jesus says, "Blessed are your 
 eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear " (Matt. xiii. 
 15). That they should not be able to interpret a parable 
 is fairly probable ; but, with " eyes " and " ears," that 
 they should not understand what it was to be condemned 
 to death, to be delivered to the Gentiles, to be mocked^ 
 scourged, spitted upon, crucified, and to rise again the 
 third day ; this is indeed incomprehensible ; and of the 
 two it is much more probable that the copyist added these 
 particulars to the text, than that the disciples did not 
 understand them. 
 
 The acts of the apostles, Peter, and John, and the acts 
 of the Chief Priests are inconsistent with the story of the 
 soldiers at the tomb, as commonly reported among the 
 Jews, " according to Matthew," many years after the
 
 422 Essays and Papers. 
 
 crucifixion. The report will not bear testing by the events 
 of the time, and we may well ask how it comes to pass 
 that a " great earthquake " left no m.ark of its action 
 which might be appealed to ? Once, indeed, at Thrasy- 
 mene 
 
 " An earthquake reeled unheededly away ; " 
 but its destructive effects were distinctly visible, and a 
 " great earthquake " near a town could hardly occur 
 without leaving evidence that might be produced ; and 
 yet neither friends nor foes allude to it, although the 
 opportunity was so signally afforded. 
 
 Jesus enjoins Peter to make disciples of all nations, and 
 yet years after, he tells Cornelius that it is unlawful for 
 him, a Jew, to come in unto one of another nation ; and 
 his scruples are only overcome by a strange vision which 
 he sees in a trance, and to which he pays more respect 
 than to the parting words of Jesus. 
 
 The confession of faith by the travellers to Emmaus, 
 that Jesus was a prophet mighty in word and deed, and 
 that they trusted it had been he that should have redeemed 
 Israel, was not only their own belief, but that of all the 
 apostles and disciples, as far as it can be ascertained ; 
 and when he had expired upon the Cross they abandoned 
 this cherished hope, and consigned him to the tomb as 
 his final resting place, bringing spices as the manner of 
 the Jews is to bury. Nothing that Jesus had said or 
 done, none of the wonderful sayings found in the writing 
 *' according to John," and none of the wonderful works 
 described in it, had impressed them with the belief that 
 he was more than mortal ; for when the men in shining 
 garments said to the women, " He is not here but risen ; 
 remember how he spake unto you when he was yet in 
 Galilee, saying, The Son of Man must be delivered into 
 the hands of sinful men and be crucified, and the third 
 day rise again. And they remembered his words, and told all 
 those things tmto the eleven and to all the rest.'' It was Mary 
 Magdalene and Joanna, and Mary the mother of James,
 
 The Journey to Emnians. 423 
 
 and other women that were with them who told these 
 things unto the apostles. And " their words seemed to 
 them as idle tales, and they believed them not.'' (Luke xxiv. 
 6, II.) 
 
 What, in particular, the apostles and disciples did 
 believe respecting Jesus of Nazareth, as in their sorrow 
 they consigned him to the tomb, it is not possible now to 
 prove ; but in obeying the apostolic injunction — " prove 
 all things " — we arrive unequivocally at this negative 
 result, that nothing which he had done or taught induced 
 them to believe that he was " equal to the Father as 
 touching the Godhead."
 
 SOCRATES AND THE ATHENIANS. 
 
 The present inhabitants of Greece, whether they be the 
 descendants of that imperial race which once occupied 
 the country, or whether they be the posterity of those 
 barbarous tribes which subsequently despoiled and depo- 
 pulated it, are said to feel that they lie under some sort 
 of obloquy and opprobrium on account of the judicial 
 condemnation and death of Socrates, for which the 
 Greece of more than 2000 years ago made itself respon- 
 sible ; and it has been suggested that in some Court or 
 other a motion should be made for a new trial, and that 
 the cause should be re-heard. 
 
 The verdict of the civilized world has not confirmed 
 and approved the verdict of Athens ; at least, it has 
 not done so with anything Hke unanimity. It is true 
 there have been writers who have defended Athens ; but 
 it is most material, if we would pass a fair judgment 
 upon the case, that we should regard it from the point 
 of view of contemporaries. How did it come to pass 
 that two such admittedly intelligent forces were brought 
 into conflict ? What was it that caused the collision ? 
 and how did it happen that it resulted so disastrously ? 
 It is easy to denounce the Athenians and to exonerate 
 Socrates, and it is not difficult to extenuate Athens and 
 to blame Socrates. Modern criticism has done both. 
 Counsel has been heard on behalf of Socrates and on 
 behalf of Athens ; and another age, uninfluenced by the 
 passions and prejudices which prevailed when the cause 
 was first tried, have reconsidered the facts and the
 
 426 Essays and Papers. 
 
 pleadings, and have decided it, some in one way and 
 some in another. There is no new evidence to be 
 adduced on the subject ; no new facts or documents 
 have been brought to Hght. What Plato and Xenophon 
 said at the time is the most authentic information which 
 remains ; but each generation is apt to look at the 
 evidence from its own point of view. What is really 
 wanted is that we should put ourselves as far as possible 
 in the position of the actors in this drama, making all 
 due allowance for the feelings, the temper, and the pre- 
 judices of those who were concerned in the transaction ; 
 and we must remember that what is called prejudice by 
 a later generation was very often by a contemporary one 
 denominated by the word " principle," or by some other 
 equally eulogistic name. That which in one man or one 
 era is a real and strong prejudice is only discovered to 
 have been so when the man is dead and the era has 
 passed away. 
 
 A few years ago it was hardly possible for an English- 
 man who was not a Greek scholar to make himself 
 acquainted with the true history of Socrates as it pre- 
 sented itself to the Athenian people. The works of 
 Plato were practically inaccessible to English readers, 
 and a real history of Greece, depicting the institutions, 
 character, surroundings, and mental condition of its 
 people, was not within the reach of an ordinary English 
 reader. All this has now been reversed. The Master of 
 Balhol College, Oxford (Professor Jowett), has published 
 a translation of Plato's works, with copious introduc- 
 tions, which enable an English reader to appreciate the 
 Socratic dialogue, even if many of its beauties are lost 
 in the process of translation ; and though some of the 
 dialogues may seem trifling and tedious, those relating to 
 the trial and death of Socrates ought to be read by every- 
 one. Then the "History of Greece," by George Grote, is 
 a picture of the Greek people such as no Englishman ever 
 produced before. It is the work of a man who brought
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 427 
 
 before his own mind and presented to his readers the 
 many phases of Greek hfe and the various phenomena 
 which marked and distinguished that remarkable people 
 and made them what they were. Grote was an English 
 politician, a member of Parliament, a man of profound 
 culture and attainments, and a practical London banker, 
 possessing warm and wide sympathies. To him the 
 Greeks were living men, not dim and remote shadows ; 
 and the events of their history and the springs of action 
 operating upon them were as familiar to him as the things 
 of his daily life. He felt and appreciated their struggles 
 and aspirations ; and so his history has about it a vivacity 
 and reality which stamp it in vivid colours upon the 
 reader's mind. No picture of Socrates can be more 
 distinct and clear than that which is drawn by Grote. 
 It bears the impress of impartiality and truth, doing 
 justice, as one must think, to the Athenian people, and 
 not less so to Socrates. I can only gather from these 
 and other sources the facts which relate to the history of 
 Socrates, and place them before you in such a way as 
 seems to me to give a fair, though it must necessarily be 
 a very meagre, outline. 
 
 Political and judicial institutions in all ages have been 
 imperfect and fallible. Men in all ages, however excellent 
 and well intentioned, have been the creatures of their 
 own era ; and if here and there one man has happened 
 to rise above his own age, his fellow-men have usually 
 regarded him with suspicion and antagonism. The man 
 and the institutions have come into conflict, and the 
 weaker — the individual — has usually gone to the wall. 
 We may pass over so much of the personal history of 
 Socrates as does not concern his philosophical character. 
 There is no dispute about the events of his life, and there 
 is not much to distinguish them from that of an ordinary 
 Athenian. He served his country as a soldier, and per- 
 formed those ordinary public duties which were expected 
 of a man in his position, though he did not seek public
 
 428 Essays and Papers. 
 
 employment. It is his philosophy and the peculiar 
 methods by which he illustrated and enforced it that 
 have distinguished him from the rest of his countrymen ; 
 it was the mental and moral habits of the man which 
 marked him out from the crowd ; it was his originality 
 and force of character which made him so illustrious ; 
 and what we have to consider is, how these special 
 characteristics of his manifested themselves, how they 
 iniiuenced and affected the Athenian people, and how the 
 conflict between them originated, and at last culminated 
 in so fatal a manner. In order to understand this, we 
 must try to make out what sort of man Socrates was, 
 what sort of people and institutions it was amongst which 
 he lived, and how it was they came to be placed in such 
 antagonism to each other. 
 
 The greatness of Athens may be dated from about 500 
 years before our era. The battle of Marathon was fought 
 490 years B.C. ; and the battle of Marathon may be 
 reckoned as the opening act of that great drama which 
 unfolded the power and glory of Athens. The victory 
 thus achieved over the vast forces of Persia was one of 
 those events which form the landmarks of history, and it 
 roused a patriotic pride in the minds of the Greek people 
 which sustained them through long and desperate 
 conflicts, and which, in fact, never wholly died out. Con- 
 temporaneously with this military greatness there was 
 developed an intellectual and political greatness such as 
 the world has never seen before or since. Athens rolled 
 back the tide of Persian invasion, and her military 
 success was followed by intellectual triumphs not less 
 marvellous. There may have been in the history of the 
 world poets, orators, philosophers, statesmen, and artists 
 individually equal to the most eminent of the Greeks ; 
 but there has nowhere been a group of men, belonging to 
 the same time and place, who could compare with them. 
 The population of Athens was that of only a moderate 
 provincial town in England, but it produced during the
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 429 
 
 era of which we are speaking, not here and there a star 
 of the first magnitude, but a whole constellation — archi- 
 tectural, philosophical, poetical — which continues to this 
 day the most brilliant and distinguished in the intellectual 
 firmament. 
 
 While kings in dusty darkness hid 
 Have left a nameless pyramid, 
 Thy heroes, though the general doom 
 Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
 A mightier monument command — 
 The mountains of their native land ! 
 There points thy Muse to strangers' eye 
 The graves of those who cannot die ! 
 
 Much of the work done at this period in Greece has 
 been lost. Statues and temples and columns have dis- 
 appeared, but enough remain to prove the pre-eminent 
 power that existed. Dramas innumerable have left only 
 a name, but some few, tragic and comic, have escaped 
 the ravages of time, and are universally held to be of 
 unmatched beauty and excellence, ^schylus, Sophocles, 
 Euripides, Aristophanes, would each have made any 
 literature famous ; and they all appeared, with competitors, 
 who surpassed them, on the stage of Athens at the same 
 period. The historians of later times acknowledge that 
 Greek models are unapproachable, and the world's orators 
 unanimously give precedence to those of Greece. 
 
 We may form some notion of a people whom we have 
 not seen when we come to know their habits, pursuits, and 
 amusements. If a people find pleasure in killing and 
 tormenting animals, in bull-baiting, or cock-fighting, or 
 sports of this kind, we may safely conclude that they are 
 gross and barbarous. On the other hand, a people may 
 prove by their amusements that they are frivolous and 
 foolish. The Athenians do not come under any category 
 of this kind. 
 
 The Greeks may be said to have created the theatre, 
 and to have forthwith put upon the stage the most con-
 
 430 Essays and Papers. 
 
 summate series of dramas which have ever illustrated the 
 dramatic art. The theatre at Athens was a national 
 institution. It was provided for the whole male popula- 
 tion. Thirty thousand persons, it is said, could be accom- 
 modated in it, and tickets were freely issued to those who 
 were not able to buy them. Such a theatre was, of 
 course, very httle like ours. The performance took place 
 in the daytime, under the open sky ; there could be no 
 roof to so vast a building ; it was circular in form, the 
 seats raised one above another so that all could hear 
 and see. The Romans built places of amusement, on the 
 same model in form and style, and they devoted them to 
 conflicts between wild beasts and to gladiatorial shows. 
 The contrast between the Greeks and the Romans in this 
 respect is as that between light and darkness, between 
 barbarism and civilization. The amusement of the Greeks 
 was of an intellectual order ; that of the Romans was 
 brutal and savage. Theatrical performance with the 
 Greeks was associated with their religious feasts, and was 
 originally devoted to the service of one of their gods. 
 
 When we are estimating the Athenian people it is 
 essential that we should remember the points in which 
 they differed from their neighbours, the nations which 
 surrounded them, and the nations which followed in their 
 wake — Egyptians, Babylonians, Carthaginians, Romans. 
 The poetry and philosophy of Athens could only have 
 flourished among a highly-cultivated and intellectual 
 people, and what they knew and what they did was of 
 their own growth. They had no predecessors, and they 
 have had no successors. The men who lived hundreds of 
 years after them might criticize and condemn them, but in 
 many things they have never yet reached their level. We 
 judge of a man by his actions and conduct, by the book 
 he reads, by his style of thought, and by the coarseness or 
 refinement of his language. We judge of a nation by its 
 literature, its laws, its intelligence, and its humanity. The 
 Greek language is allowed by all to be an instrument of
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 431 
 
 incomparable power and precision. Greek thought has 
 been the most influential, far-reaching, and vivifying 
 which the world has known ; and we may safely infer 
 that the people who created and used such an appa- 
 ratus, and for such high purposes, stood in the very first 
 rank. What they were politically is a question which may 
 be postponed ; but here again they worked out problems 
 of government more worthily than their contemporaries 
 or predecessors. If their methods were imperfect and 
 their success incomplete, they at least were pioneers of 
 self-government, if they did not themselves permanently 
 attain it. There was a very strenuous political life at 
 Athens ; and politics, even in this igth century of grace, 
 and in this intelligent and Christian England of ours, is 
 not always a school of moderation and good manners, 
 of good temper and generous feeling and polite language. 
 It is not the fashion even now among political partisans 
 to put the best construction upon their opponents' acts, 
 or to regard their faults with forbearance and kindliness ; 
 and therefore, if it is alleged against the Athenians that 
 the oligarchical Socrates when brought to trial was 
 obnoxious to a turbulent democracy, we must not deny 
 to the Athenians as jurymen the instinct of fair play, 
 unless we are prepared at the same time to acknowledge 
 that our own politics have eaten out entirely the very 
 heart and vitals of our judicial faculty and feeling. Let it 
 be admitted that the Athenians, though they were hard 
 hitters, could and did when they entered the jury box 
 leave behind them political malevolence. 
 
 There is another most important factor in the history 
 of the Athenians which we must consider, if we would 
 do justice between Socrates and his judges. The accusa- 
 tion against Socrates was that he was not loyal to the 
 religion of his country : the specific charge will come out 
 by-and-by. We must not suppose that, because the 
 religion of the Athenians seems to us extravagant and 
 absurd, it therefore had no hold upon the feelings and
 
 432 Essays and Papers. 
 
 thoughts of the Athenians themselves. It is very easy 
 for people who look at a religion which has passed away, 
 and which possessed innumerable gods, to speak of it 
 slightly and contemptuously ; but this is not doing justice 
 to it. What we have to ask is, How did those people 
 regard their religion ? Did it affect their minds ? Did it 
 move their feelings ? Did it create fear and hope, and 
 joy and terror ? If it did, then it was a potent agent and 
 a powerful influence which overshadowed their life. It 
 might be full of folly and falsehood, but it might be not 
 the less real in its operation. When we are thinking of 
 a religion which existed thousands of years ago we are 
 not to judge of it by what it seems now, but by what it was 
 then — by its effects. Did it sometimes create alarm and 
 sometimes kindle hope ? for if it did, however unreason- 
 able it may now seem, it was once a living agency that 
 influenced men. That this was the character of the Greek 
 religion is clear. It had religious services of all sorts, 
 and it was woven up with all the events of Greek life. 
 The age of which we are speaking was not an age of books, 
 but of teaching by the living voice, by poetry and mythical 
 romances which were recited by impassioned speakers, 
 whose narratives were received with unquestioning faith, 
 and became the staple of the national religion. The stories 
 of Homer were the quarry from which the rehgion of 
 Greece was shaped and fashioned. Homer, it has been 
 said, was the Bible of the Greeks. Professor Mahaffy, in 
 his " Social Life in Greece," says : " To the old-fashioned 
 Athenian, his mythology was the source of his morals and 
 of his highest culture. He had framed for himself ideals 
 of bravery, of honour, and of greatness from his Homer ; 
 he had seen the tragic poets draw their most splendid 
 inspiration from these legends ; he had seen the Epos 
 inspire the painter, the sculptor, and the architect — in 
 fact, the whole glory of Athens, literary, social, and 
 artistic, was bound up with the Homeric theology. Sup- 
 posing him, therefore, to be persuaded by the philosophers,
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 433 
 
 and to abandon in secret the faith of his forefathers, we 
 can well imagine him arguing, with even more apparent 
 force than the modern sceptic, that, however false or 
 fictitious were these ancient legends, however unproved 
 or doubtful this ancient creed, yet at all events under it, 
 and through it, Athens had grown in splendour, and 
 become perfect in culture — that, therefore, no citizen 
 versed in the annals of Athens, and appreciating her true 
 greatness, could venture to speak disrespectfully of her 
 creed, even were it proved to be obsolete." 
 
 The gentlemen assembled at Xenophon's Symposium 
 express themselves satisfied with their faith^ and Xenophon 
 tells them that the gods inform him, by signs, voices, 
 dreams, and omens, what he should do and forbear, and 
 that when he obeys them he never has reason to repent. 
 Socrates replies, " None of these things are the least 
 incredible ; but this I should like to hear, how you serve 
 them so as to make them such friends of yours." " So 
 you shall," is the reply, " and I do it at a very moderate 
 expense, for I praise them without any cost to myself, and 
 of what they grant me I always return them a share. I 
 speak of them respectfully as far as I can, and when I call 
 them to witness, I never intentionally tell a lie." " Well, 
 by Jove 1" says Socrates, " if by so doing you have the 
 gods your friends, the gods too, it seems, are pleased with 
 gentlemanly conduct." 
 
 We may think ourselves much better than Xenophon ; 
 but what we have to consider is that, with all its apparent 
 absurdity in the eyes of this 19th century, it was two or 
 three thousand years ago an institution which challenged 
 the homage and directed the movements and feelings of 
 intelligent men. We must never forget that what is 
 folly and nonsense to one age may be a most potent and 
 governing influence in another. If the mythology of 
 Greece were not an agency of this kind, then the case 
 against Socrates was stronger than at first it may appear. 
 
 He was accused of a sort of impiety, of disregarding 
 
 28
 
 434 Essays and Papers. 
 
 and disbelieving in his country's gods. He, in fact, denied 
 this allegation, and contended that in truth he was a 
 sincere worshipper. He claimed to associate himself with 
 his countrymen in his regard and reverence for their 
 common divinities. Was this true or not ? Socrates, by 
 his defence, admitted that the people of Athens had certain 
 recognized gods whom they worshipped, and he asserted 
 that he was a fellow-worshipper with them. We must not, 
 therefore, assume, because they were polytheists, that they 
 had no real religion, or that the religion they professed had 
 no hold upon their feelings. What we have to remember 
 is, that religion with the Athenians was, perhaps, not asso- 
 ciated with a lofty and pure morality out of which it grew 
 and which sustained it, but that mainly it manifested 
 itself in ceremonies, feasts, sacrifices, invocations, and a 
 variety of acts intended to propitiate, to appease, or to 
 please their divinities. These acts were visible, palpable 
 things ; and so long as a man performed them according 
 to custom he was safe. I lay some stress on this, for 
 reasons which will hereafter appear; and there is one 
 other piece of evidence which I wish to produce before 
 quitting this part of the subject. St. Paul visited Athens 
 three or four hundred years after the death of Socrates. 
 Religion in the meantime had not taken deeper root in 
 Athens ; indeed, it had lost much of its hold upon the 
 more educated people ; but St. Paul said, addressing a 
 body of Athenians, " I perceive that in all things ye are 
 too superstitious, for as I passed by and beheld your, 
 devotions, I saw an altar," &c. Now this word " super- 
 stition " means generally, an expectation of supernatural 
 results, by means incompetent or absurd. Shakespeare 
 uses the word in this sense. Addressing Pericles, one of 
 the sailors says : " Sir, your queen must overboard ; the 
 sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
 ship be cleared of the dead." To which Pericles replies : 
 " That's your superstition ;" and the sailor responds : 
 '•Pardon us, sir; with us on sea it hath been still
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 435 
 
 observed; and we are strong in custom." There was no 
 real connection between throwing the dead body over- 
 board and the ceasing of the storm, but the sailors had 
 been brought up to think there was ; and as this was a 
 mere delusion it is properly called superstition. St. Paul 
 tells the Athenians in his time that they were in all things 
 too superstitious — that is, they expected to gain certain 
 ends or attain special objects through some religious 
 instrumentality, which was altogether irrational. On this 
 account he called them superstitious ; and he connects it 
 with their devotions, so that it is clear he recognized the 
 acts which they performed in connection with their altars 
 as religious acts, for he calls them devotions. He implies, 
 nevertheless, that the acts, however well meant on their 
 part, were futile, and could not accomplish the effects 
 which were intended, but, on the contrary, were mere 
 superstitions. My construction of this statement is, that 
 the Athenians in the time of St. Paul continued to be a 
 religious people after their fashion and in the sense of 
 performing religious acts, in honour of or propitiatory of 
 certain superior beings whom they called gods, and that 
 this superstitious state of mind had a strong and lively 
 hold upon their feelings. 
 
 We have, then, at Athens in the time of Socrates a 
 highly intellectual people, self-governed, and impressed 
 with religious or superstitious feelings ; and there is 
 another point which must also be mentioned. St. Paul at 
 the same time said of the Athenians that they were 
 always seeking after new things. Anterior to the battle 
 of Marathon the national life was comparatively unde- 
 veloped ; they were governed by old traditions, and the 
 history of their gods and the source of their religious 
 ideas were not subjects of inquiry. What was contained 
 in the teaching of their poets they clung to without 
 investigation ; but there came a new race of poets, and 
 there sprung up philosophers who wanted to know the 
 origin and cause of everything, and the sentiments of the 
 
 28 *
 
 43^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 poets and the discussions of the philosophers created 
 doubts which disturbed many quiet people. These people 
 — and clever people they were — did not like the new style 
 of talking and the new ideas. They preferred the old- 
 fashioned ways and days, when no one questioned their 
 customs or the stories connected with their gods. There 
 was, therefore, a considerable gulf between one set of 
 Atheniaas and another on the subject of religion. But 
 the characteristic of the Athenians, that they sought after 
 new things, prevented these matters going to sleep, and 
 in various ways — upon the stage and in the schools of 
 the philosophers — the religion of the country was dis- 
 paraged, and was losing its hold upon the better educated 
 classes. 
 
 Amongst this keen-witted, superstitious, inquisitive, and 
 fermenting people Socrates lived. He seems to have 
 followed no occupation, but to have devoted himself to 
 the teaching and instruction of the people in his own 
 peculiar and original manner. The Athenians lived out 
 of doors, and Socrates in all public places devoted himself 
 to the one occupation of interrogating and conversing 
 with whoever was willing to talk with him. We must 
 read Plato's Dialogues if we would understand the 
 Socratic method. Early in the morning Socrates fre- 
 quented the public walks, the gymnasia for bodily train- 
 ing, and the schools where the youth were receiving 
 instruction. He was to be seen in the market-place at 
 the hour when it was most crowded, among the booths 
 and tables where goods were exposed for sale ; his whole 
 day was usually spent in this public manner. He talked 
 with anyone, young or old, rich or poor, who sought to 
 address him, and in the hearing of all who chose to stand 
 by. Not only did he never either ask or receive any 
 reward, but he made no distinction of persons, never 
 withheld his conversation from anyone, and talked upon 
 general topics to all. He conversed with politicians, 
 sophists, soldiers, artisans, and studious or ambitious
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 437 
 
 youths. He visited all persons of interest in the city, 
 male and female. Nothing could be more public, per- 
 petual, and indiscriminate as to persons than his conver- 
 sation. And as it was engaging, curious, and instructive 
 to hear, certain persons were accustomed to attend him 
 in public as companions and listeners. These men, a 
 fluctuating body, were commonly known as his disciples 
 or scholars ; though neither he nor his personal friends 
 ever employed the terms " teacher " and " disciple " to 
 describe the relation between them. Many of them came, 
 attracted by his reputation during the later years of his 
 life, from other Grecian cities. No other person, so far 
 as is known, in Athens or in any other Grecian city, 
 appears to have manifested himself in this perpetual and 
 indiscriminate manner as a public talker for instruction. 
 All teachers either took money for their lessons or at least 
 gave them apart from the multitude in a private house or 
 garden to special pupils, with admissions and rejections at 
 their own pleasure. By the peculiar mode of life which 
 Socrates pursued, not only did his conversation reach the 
 minds of a much wider circle, but he became more widely 
 known as a person. While acquiring a few attached 
 friends and admirers, and raising a certain intellectual 
 interest in others, he at the same time provoked a large 
 number of personal enemies. 
 
 This extreme publicity of life and conversation was one 
 among the characteristics of Socrates, distinguishing him 
 from all other teachers before or after. Next was his 
 persuasion of a special religious mission, impulses and 
 communications sent to him by the gods. Taking the 
 belief of such intervention generally, it was indeed in no 
 way peculiar to Socrates ; it was the ordinary faith of the 
 ancient world ; and explanations of the phenomena of the 
 world, resolving them into general laws, were regarded 
 with disapprobation. Xenophon defends Socrates from 
 the charge of religious innovation by asserting that he 
 pretended to nothing which was not included in the creed
 
 438 Essays and Papers. 
 
 of every pious man. But this is not precisely what 
 Socrates said in his defence before the judges. He had 
 been accustomed, he said, constantly to hear, even from 
 his childhood, a divine voice, interfering at moments 
 when he was about to act, in the way of restraint, but 
 never in the way of instigation. Later writers speak of 
 this as the daemon or genius of Socrates, but he himself 
 does not personify it, but treats it merely as a divine sign, 
 a prophetic or supernatural voice. He was accustomed 
 not only to obey it implicitly, but to speak of it publicly 
 and familiarly to others, so that the fact was well known to 
 his friends and to his enemies. Though his persuasion on 
 the subject was unquestionably sincere and his obedience 
 constant, yet he never dwelt upon it himself as anything 
 grand or awful, or entitling him to peculiar deference, but 
 spoke of it often in his usual strain of familiar playfulness. 
 But to his enemies and to the Athenian public it appeared 
 in the light of an offensive heresy, an impious innovation 
 on the orthodox creed, and a desertion of the recognized 
 gods of Athens. Such was the daemon or genius of 
 Socrates as described by himself, and as conceived in the 
 genuine Platonic Dialogues — a voice always prohibiting 
 and bearing exclusively upon his own personal conduct. 
 That which Plutarch and other admirers of Socrates con- 
 ceived as a daemon or intermediate being between God 
 and man was looked upon by the Fathers of the Christian 
 Church as a devil, and by some moderns as mere ironical 
 phraseology on the part of Socrates himself. But though 
 this peculiar form of inspiration belonged exclusively to 
 him, there were also other ways in which he believed 
 himself to have received the special mandates of the gods. 
 Such distinct mission had been imposed upon him by 
 dreams, by oracular intimations, and by every other means 
 which the gods employed for signifying their special will. 
 In his defence he said : " My service to the god has not 
 only constrained me to live in constant poverty and neglect 
 of political estimation, but has brought upon me a host of
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 439 
 
 bitter enemies in those whom I have examined and exposed, 
 while the bystanders talk of me as a wise man, because 
 they give me credit for wisdom respecting all the points 
 on which my exposure of others turns. The difference 
 between me and others is that I was fully conscious of 
 my ignorance, whilst they were not ; I was exempt from 
 that capital error." Then he adds : " Whatever may be 
 the danger and obloquy which I may incur, it would be 
 monstrous, indeed, if, having maintained my place in the 
 ranks as a soldier under your generals at Delium and 
 Potidese, I were now, from fear of death or anything else, 
 to disobey the oracle and desert the post which the god 
 has assigned to me, the duty of living for philosophy and 
 cross-questioning both myself and others ; and should you 
 even now offer to acquit me, on condition of my renouncing 
 this duty, I should tell you, with all respect and affection, 
 that I wall obey the god rather than you, and that I will 
 persist until my dying day in cross-questioning you, ex- 
 posing your want of wisdom and virtue, and reproaching 
 you until the defect is remedied. My mission as your 
 monitor is a mark of the special favour of the god to you, 
 and if you condemn me it will be your loss, for you will 
 find none other such. Perhaps you will ask me, ' Why, 
 cannot you go aw^ay, Socrates, or live among us in peace 
 and silence ? ' This is the hardest of all questions for me 
 to answer to your satisfaction. If I tell you that silence 
 on my part would be disobedience to the god, you will 
 think me in jest, and not believe me. You will believe 
 me still less if I tell you that the greatest blessing which 
 can happen to a man is to carry on discussions every day 
 about virtue and those other matters which you hear me 
 canvassing when I cross-examine myself as well as others ; 
 and that life without such examination is no life at all. 
 Nevertheless, so stands the fact, incredible as it may seem 
 to you." This is the way in which Socrates defended 
 himself before the judges as reported by Plato. It 
 is plain evidence that he believed he was executing a
 
 440 Essays and Papers. 
 
 supernatural mission which he felt himself compelled to 
 follow. 
 
 Nothing could well be more unpopular and obnoxious 
 than the task which he undertook of cross-examining and 
 convicting of ignorance every distinguished man whom he 
 could approach. So violent, indeed, was the enmity 
 which he occasionally provoked, that he was sometimes 
 struck and maltreated, and frequently laughed to scorn. 
 One cannot fail to be reminded, in reading the style of 
 defence adopted by Socrates, of some words in the 
 Acts of the Apostles, spoken before a Jewish tribunal, 
 "Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken to 
 you more than to God, judge ye," and, "we cannot but 
 speak." St. Paul asks, " Am I become your enemy 
 because I tell you the truth ? " and then he says, 
 " Necessity is laid upon me, and woe is me if I preach 
 not." Stripped of any special signification, these ex- 
 pressions would convey the same meaning to the hearers, 
 viz., that each of the speakers had, in his own opinion, 
 some divine mission, and was, as it were, constrained to 
 speak. The Athenians called St. Paul a babbler, but they 
 said also, " We would know what these things mean," 
 and in this spirit they listened to Socrates. The apostle 
 who stood upon Mars Hill and the philosopher with mean 
 garments and ill-favoured features who addressed them 
 daily in the streets were, no doubt, regarded at Athens as 
 men of the same stamp, and we cannot but be struck 
 through all the differences with a certain similarity which 
 marks the one set of circumstances and the other, and we 
 may say also with the same result, for each was subjected 
 to violence. Dislike of contradiction, unwillingness to 
 consider and to treat with respect another man's point of 
 view, determination to resist any modification of thought 
 or feeling, and an obstinate adherence to unintelhgent 
 custom, have been characteristics not of men here and 
 there, but of all sorts and conditions of men in nearly all 
 climes and times. When the men of Ephesus were foiled
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 441 
 
 in argument they overpowered their antagonists by force 
 of lungs, shouting for the space of two hours, " Great is 
 Diana of the Ephesians," and this sort of insensate shout- 
 ing has often enough in the history of the world drowned 
 the still small voice of reason and conscience in its appeals 
 to men's better judgment and feelings. 
 
 But in order to be fair and just we must remember that 
 Socrates and men of his stamp touch their contemporaries 
 in a very tender part. Socrates admits that his mode of 
 addressing his contemporaries was unpleasant to them, 
 but then he alleges that it was a sort of medicine which 
 was good for them. This they did not perceive; its pre- 
 sent flavour and quality were disagreeable, and roused a 
 feeling of hostihty, and there did not exist at Athens, and 
 there has not existed elsewhere amongst the common 
 people generally, an openness of mind, a calmness of 
 temper, and a judicial faculty which would enable them to 
 weigh and measure the statements put before them. There 
 has been no disposition to do this. " Am I become your 
 enemy because I tell you the truth ? " asks St. Paul, but 
 this in the main is what people did, and do think, when- 
 ever that which the speaker calls truth happens to conflict 
 with what the hearer has been accustomed to consider the 
 truth. If we would do justice to the Athenians we must 
 take account of this general infirmity of mankind, and 
 then we shall have to ask ourselves also whether the 
 Athenians were more or less tenacious and intemperate in 
 their opposition and resistance to new teachers than their 
 neighbours. There was, then, this antagonism between 
 Socrates and a large part of the Athenians, mixed up also, 
 as it may be assumed, with some political feeling, of 
 which there was not a little in Athens. Socrates, be it 
 remembered, was one of that party who thought that the 
 functions of government belonged legitimately to those 
 who knew best how to exercise them for the good of the 
 governed. The legitimate king or governor was not the 
 man who held the sceptre, nor the man elected by some
 
 442 Essays and Papers. 
 
 vulgar persons, nor he who had got the post by lot, nor 
 he who had thrust himself in by force or fraud ; but he 
 alone who knew how to govern well ; just as the pilot 
 governed on shipboard, and the surgeon in a sick man's 
 house, and the trainer in the palaestra, simply because 
 their greater knowledge was an admitted fact. It was 
 absurd, Socrates contended, to choose political officers by 
 lot, when no one would trust himself on shipboard under 
 care of a pilot picked up by chance. 
 
 Under these circumstances, a time came when his 
 opponents determined to bring him before the tribunal, 
 and the mode of doing it was this : Athens at that time 
 was governed by ten Archons. One of these was called 
 the King Archon, and his functions were almost all 
 connected with religion. He was, as his title shows, the 
 representative of the old kings in their capacity of high 
 priest, and had to offer up sacrifices and prayer; moreover, 
 indictments for impiety and similar offences were laid 
 before him. 
 
 In the year 399 B.C., Meletus, Anytus, and Lykon 
 presented against Socrates, and hung up in the appointed 
 place, the portico of the office of the King Archon, an 
 indictment in the following terms : " Socrates is guilty of 
 crime, first, for not worshipping the gods whom the city 
 worships, but introducing new divinities of his own; next, 
 for corrupting the youth. The penalty due is death." 
 The matter and manner of this proceeding are brought 
 before us vividly in the dialogue of Plato named " Eu- 
 thyphro," the scene of which is the porch of the King 
 Archon where Socrates meets Euthyphro, who com- 
 mences the conversation thus (I take it from Jowett's 
 translation) : — 
 
 Why have you left the Lyceum, Socrates ; and what are you doing 
 in the porch of the King Archon ? Surely you are not engaged in an 
 action before the King as I am. 
 
 Socrates. — Not in an action, Euthyphro; indictment is the word the 
 Athenians use.
 
 Socrates and the A thenians. 443 
 
 Euth. What ! I suppose some one has been prosecuting you, for 
 I cannot believe that you are the prosecutor of another. 
 
 Soc. Certainly not. 
 
 Euth. Then some else has been prosecuting you? 
 
 Soc. Yes. 
 
 Euth. And who is he ? 
 
 Soc. A young man who is little known, Euthyphro ; and I hardly 
 know him. His name is Meletus. Perhaps you may remember his 
 appearance. He has a beak, and long straight hair, and a beard 
 which is ill grown. 
 
 Euth. No, I do not remember him, Socrates. And what is the 
 charge he brings against you ? 
 
 Soc. What is the charge? Well, a very serious charge, which 
 shows a great deal of character in the young man, and for which he is 
 certainly not to be despised. He says he knows how the youth are 
 corrupted and who are their corrupters. I fancy that he must be a 
 wise man ; and seeing that I am anything but a wise man, he has 
 found me out, and is going to accuse me of corrupting his young 
 friends. And of this our mother the State is to be the judge. Of all 
 our political men he is the only one who seems to me to begin in the 
 right way, with the cultivation of virtue in youth, and if he goes on as 
 he has begun he will be a very great public benefactor. 
 
 Euth. I hope that he may, but I rather fear, Socrates, that the 
 reverse will turn out to be the truth. My opinion is that in attacking 
 you he is simply aiming a blow at the State in a sacred place. But 
 in what way does he say that you corrupt the young ? 
 
 Soc. He brings a wonderful accusation against me, which at first 
 hearing excites surprise. He says that I am a poet or maker of gods, 
 and that I make new gods and deny the existence of old ones. This 
 is the ground of his indictment. 
 
 Eutli. I understand, Socrates ; he means to attack you about the 
 familiar sign which occasionally, as you say, comes to you. He thinks 
 that you are a neologian, and he is going to have you up before the 
 Court for this. He knows that such a charge is readily received, for 
 the world is always jealous of novelties in religion. And I know that 
 when I myself speak in the Assembly about divine things, and foretell 
 the future to them, they laugh at me as a madman ; and yet every 
 word that I say is true. But they are jealous of all of us. I suppose 
 we must be brave and not mind them. 
 
 Soc. Their laughter, friend Euthyphro, is not a matter of much 
 consequence. For a man may be thought wise ; but the Athenians, I 
 suspect, do not care much about this, until ho begins to make other
 
 444 Essays and Papers. 
 
 men wise; and then, for some reason or other — perhaps, as you sa)', 
 from jealousy — they are angry. 
 
 Euth. I have no desire to try conclusions with them about this. 
 
 Soc. I daresay you don't make yourself common, and are not apt 
 to impart your wisdom. But I have a benevolent habit of pouring out 
 myself to everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and I am 
 afraid the Athenians know this ; and therefore, as I was saying, if the 
 Athenians would only laugh at me as you say they laugh at you, the 
 time might pass gaily enough in the court ; but perhaps they may 
 be in earnest, and then what the end may be you soothsayers only 
 can predict. 
 
 Euth. I daresay the affair will end in nothing, Socrates, and that 
 you will win your cause ; and I think I shall win mine. 
 
 Soc. By the powers, Euthyphro ! how little does the common herd 
 know of the nature of right and truth ! 
 
 Euth. And how little do they know, Socrates, of the opinions of 
 the gods about piety and impiety. 
 
 Soc. Good Heavens, Euthyphro ! have you any precise knowledge 
 of piety and impiety, and of divine things in general ? 
 
 Euth. The best of Euthyphro, and that which distinguishes him, 
 Socrates, from other men, is his exact knowledge of all these matters. 
 
 Soc. Rare friend ! I think I cannot do better than be your disciple 
 before the trial with Meletus comes on. Then I shall challenge him, 
 and say that I have always had a great interest in all religious 
 questions, and now, as he charges me with rash imaginations and 
 innovations in religion, I have become your disciple. I suppose that 
 people think me wrong because I cannot believe all the current stories 
 about the gods. But as you are so well informed about them and 
 approve them, I cannot do better than assent to your superior wisdom. 
 What else can I do, confessing as I must that I know nothing of 
 them ? I wish you would tell me whether you really believe that they 
 are true. 
 
 Euth. Yes, Socrates ; and things more wonderful still of which the 
 world is in ignorance. 
 
 Soc. And do you really believe that the gods fought with one 
 another, and had dire quarrels, battles, and the like, as the poets 
 say, and as you may find represented In the works of great artists? 
 The temples are full of them ; and notably the robe of Athene, 
 which is carried up to the Acropolis at the great Panathenaea, is 
 embroidered with them. Are all these tales of the gods true, 
 Euthyphro ? 
 
 Euth. Yes, Socrates.
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 445 
 
 The conversation is carried on much further, until 
 Euthyphro says at last : — 
 
 I really do not know, Socrates, how to say what I mean, for some- 
 how or other our arguments, on whatever ground we rest them, seem 
 to turn round and walk away. 
 
 Euthyphro was one of those superficial and self-satisfied 
 people who are as numerous in the world now as they 
 were then. Socrates flatters his vanity in order that he 
 may convince him of his ignorance ; but he does not 
 succeed, and the conversation ends as it began, leaving 
 Euthyphro with the same good opinion of himself. The 
 dialogue shows us that there was, in the conversation of 
 Socrates, what was likely to create distrust and dissatis- 
 faction among those who believed without inquiry all the 
 stories they had learned about the gods, and this feeling 
 was at the bottom of the opposition to Socrates. 
 
 The change which was making itself felt in Athens 
 during what may be called the Socratic period is visible 
 in the writings of her poets and philosophers, ^schylus 
 looks at human affairs from the standpoint of those 
 mysterious powers which filled the early world with 
 fear and terror ; Sophocles tones down this austerity ; 
 Euripides introduces yet more largely the human ele- 
 ment, and disparages much which was reckoned divine. 
 Mrs. Browning has described their characteristics in a 
 very general way. 
 
 Oh, our i^schylus the thunderous, 
 How he drove the bolted breath 
 
 Through the cloud, to wedge it ponderous 
 In the gnarled oak beneath ! 
 
 Oh, our Sophocles the loyal. 
 Who was born to monarch's place, 
 
 And who made the whole world royal 
 Less by kingly power than grace ! 
 
 Our Euripides, the human, 
 With his droppings of warm tears, 
 
 And his touches of things common. 
 Till they rose to touch the spheres !
 
 446 Essays and Papers. 
 
 The older-fashioned Athenians regarded Euripides with 
 suspicion. The new aspects which he introduced, the freer 
 handhng which he adopted, unsettled the traditions and 
 beliefs which formerly ruled at Athens ; and there was thus 
 a large party with whom Euripides was unpopular. The 
 feeling of this party was embodied in the fierce ridicule of 
 Aristophanes. We may judge of the growth of new notions 
 by comparing ^schylus with Euripides, but the invective 
 of Aristophanes brings into much stronger contrast the dif- 
 ference that actually existed. No doubt Aristophanes was a 
 violent caricaturist, but he was the mouthpiece of a party 
 which clung to that past which Euripides and his party were 
 prone to discredit. We are thinking of Socrates, we are 
 thinking of his accusers, we are thinking of the charge of 
 impiety brought against him, and we must take account of 
 the contest which was being waged at the time between 
 the old thought and the new, and neither was wholly good 
 or wholly bad, Aristophanes exaggerated, but we may be 
 sure there was a basis of reality in his caricatures. Many 
 people believed that the men with whom Socrates 
 associated were such as Aristophanes depicted, and it is 
 men's beliefs which lead to actions. Aristophanes wrote a 
 comedy called the " Clouds," which was acted in Athens 
 some twenty years before the trial of Socrates, and he 
 wrote it for the express purpose of holding up Socrates 
 to public ridicule. I will read you part of a scene from 
 this play, from which you will see in what light Socrates 
 was exhibited to his fellow-citizens, and what sort of an 
 opinion so keen an intellect as that of Aristophanes formed 
 of him and his teaching. It must be remembered that 
 Socrates and Aristophanes were on friendly terms, though 
 it seems rather surprising that they should be. 
 
 The theatre of Athens, as we are told, held an audience 
 of 30,000 persons, and the science and skill of Greek artists 
 furnished all manner of contrivances which gave effect 
 to the performance. In the scene from which I make my 
 extract there are on!}- two persons on the stage, Socrates
 
 Socrates and the A thenians. 447 
 
 and Strepsiades,and by some means clouds are represented 
 which fulfil the part of the chorus — a very important part 
 of a Greek play. The scene introduces us to Socrates. 
 Strepsiades is a stupid sort of Athenian, in debt and 
 difficulty, who has determined to visit what he called " the 
 thought shop," to learn the new logic which he hopes 
 will enable him to cheat his creditors. He knocks loudly 
 at the door, which is opened to him, and being admitted, 
 a conversation intended to ridicule the new notions takes 
 place, the clouds, as the chorus, joining in it. The chorus 
 has just spoken, and Strepsiades exclaims : — 
 
 Streps. Oh, Earth ! what a sound, how august and profound ! it fills 
 
 ine with wonder and awe. 
 Soc. These, these then alone, for true Deities own, the rest are all 
 
 God-ships of straw. 
 Streps. Let Zeus be left out : He's a god beyond doubt : come, that 
 
 you can scarcely deny. 
 Soc. Zeus, indeed ! there's no Zeus : don't you be so obtuse. 
 Streps. No Zeus up aloft in the sky ! 
 
 Then, you first must explain, who it is sends the rain ; or I 
 really must think you are wrong. 
 Soc. Well, then, be it known, these send it alone : I can prove it by 
 arguments strong. 
 Was there ever a shower seen to fall in an hour when the sky 
 
 was all cloudless and blue ? 
 Yet on a fine day, when the Clouds are away, he might send 
 one, according to you. 
 Streps. Well, it must be confessed that chimes in with the rest : your 
 words I am forced to believe. 
 Yet before, I had dreamed that the rain-water streamed from 
 Zeus and his wonderful sieve. 
 But whence then, my friend, does the thunder descend? that 
 does make me quake with affright ! 
 Soc. Why ! 'tis they, I declare, as they roll through the air. 
 Streps. What the Clouds ? did I hear you aright ? 
 Soc. Ay: for when to the brim filled with water they swim, by 
 Necessity carried along, 
 They are hung up on high in the vault of the sky, and so by 
 
 Necessity strong 
 In the midst of their course, they clash with great force, and 
 thunder away without end.
 
 448 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Streps. But is it not He who compels this to be ? does not Zeus this 
 
 Necessity send ? 
 Soc. No Zeus have we there, but a Vortex of air. 
 Streps. What! Vortex? that's something, I own. 
 
 I knew not before, that Zeus was no more, but Vortex was 
 
 placed on his throne ! 
 But I have not yet heard to what cause you referred the 
 thunder's majestical roar. 
 Soc. Yes, 'tis they, when on high full of water they fly, and then, as 
 I told you before, 
 By Compression impelled, as they clash, are compelled a 
 terrible clatter to make. 
 Streps. Well, but tell me from Whom comes the bolt through the 
 gloom, with its awful and terrible flashes; 
 And wherever it turns, some it singes and burns, and some it 
 
 reduces to ashes ! 
 For this 'tis quite plain, let who will send the rain, that Zeus 
 against perjurers dashes. 
 Soc. And how, you old fool of a dark-ages school, and an ante- 
 diluvian wit, 
 If the perjured they strike, and not all men alike, have they 
 
 never Cleonymus hit ? 
 Then of Simon again, and Theorus explain : known perjurers 
 
 yet they escape. 
 But he smites his own shrine with these arrows divine, and 
 
 ' Sunium, Attica's cape,' 
 And the ancient gnarled oaks : now what prompted those 
 strokes ? 
 
 Tliey never forswore I should say. 
 Streps. Can't say that they do: your words appear true. Whence 
 comes then the thunderbolt, pray ? 
 
 Soc. When a wind that is dry, being lifted on high, is suddenly 
 
 pent into these. 
 It swells up their skin, like a bladder, within, by Necessity's 
 
 changeless decrees : 
 Till compressed very tight, it bursts them outright, and away 
 
 with an impulse so strong, 
 That at last by the force and the swing of its course, it takes 
 
 fire as it whizzes along. 
 
 We have seen Socrates at the porch of the Kin^ 
 Archon, and we have heard what he had to say about the
 
 Socrates and the A ihenians. 449 
 
 prosecution. We must now inquire what sort of a tribunal 
 it was before which he was arraigned. 
 
 At Athens, in the time of Socrates, 6,000 citizens were 
 elected annually under the name of dikasts, for the purpose 
 of dealing with the civil and criminal business of the city 
 which came before the courts of law. These 6,000 dikasts 
 were divided into what we should call ten juries of 500 
 each ; the remaining 1,000 being reserved for unavoidable 
 vacancies. These ten juries had to hear and determine 
 during the year such complaints and breaches of law as 
 were brought for trial. They were chosen by lot, and 
 they were sworn as our juries are. Which of the ten 
 should be taken on any particular occasion was decided 
 by lot. It is not certain of what exact number each 
 dikastery actually consisted, but it is known they were 
 always numerous. A jury with us must consist of twelve ; 
 under the Athenian system 500 were told off to form a 
 jury, though less than 500 might try cases. None of the 
 dikasts could know in what causes they would be employed, 
 so that no one could tamper with them beforehand. They 
 were in reality nothing but jury trials applied, on a scale 
 broad, systematic, unaided, and uncontrolled, and they 
 exhibit in exaggerated proportions both the excellence 
 and the defects of the jury system as compared with 
 decisions by trained and professional judges. The di- 
 kasts judged of the law as well as of the fact ; the 
 laws were not numerous, and were expressed in few, 
 and for the most part familiar, words. Each dikas- 
 tery construed the law for itself without being bound 
 by decisions which had been given previously. This 
 method of procedure was, no doubt, adopted to protect the 
 citizens against the domination of the rich and powerful. 
 Good or bad, it was applicable to all, and Socrates fell 
 under its operation. The dikast must be considered to 
 represent the average men of the time and neighbourhood, 
 exempt, indeed, from pecuniary corruption or personal 
 fear, deciding according to what he thinks justice or to 
 
 29
 
 450 Essays and Papers. 
 
 some genuine feeling of equity, mercy, religion, or 
 patriotism which, in reference to the case before him, he 
 thinks as good as justice, but not exempt from sympathies, 
 antipathies, prejudices, all of which act the more 
 powerfully because there is often no consciousness of their 
 presence, and because they even appear essential to his 
 ideas of plain and straightforward good sense. We need 
 only look to our own State trials, or to] trials which 
 have taken place in times of political excitement, to 
 notice how widely and wildly juries have given verdicts, 
 and we may safely say that five hundred Athenian dikasts 
 would be as likely to return a fair and reasonable verdict, 
 according to their means of judging, as an English jury. 
 
 The actual number of dikasts who tried Socrates is 
 said to have been 501. The accusers of Socrates had to 
 prove their indictment against him. They addressed the 
 dikasts, and produced such evidence as they thought 
 necessary ; and we must bear in mind that the sort of 
 offence with which he was charged is not difficult to 
 establish, and is difficult to disprove. We see that 
 Euthyphro thought that the genius or daemon by which 
 Socrates professed to be guided would be classed by the 
 Athenians with the gods. In the Acts of the Apostles, 
 the Athenians say of St. Paul, " he seemeth to be a setter 
 forth of strange gods." In the original the word translated 
 goods is 8aifjLovio)u ; so that if this word daemon was at 
 Athens connected with the directing voice which Socrates 
 so often referred to, the Athenians might not unfairly do 
 what our translators have done — interpreted it by the word 
 " gods." We do not know what Socrates meant by the 
 word, and the Athenians did not know. Xenophon makes 
 use of it in connection with Socrates. Was it a person, or 
 what was it ? What did the Athenians think of it ? For 
 that is the criterion to which we must bring it ; and if the 
 language of Socrates was ambiguous and left it doubtful 
 what was meant, the more religious of the dikasts would be 
 apt to put a bad construction upon his language. His duty
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 451 
 
 as an Athenian citizen, according to the notions prevail- 
 ing there and then, was to conform to the rehgious customs 
 of his countrymen, and all his searching and probing of 
 men's minds would tend to create suspicion, and his 
 talk about the daemon or voice which directed him would 
 puzzle his audience still more, and add to the suspicion 
 with which he was regarded. Existences are divided 
 into persons and things. Into which of these categories 
 was this admonisher of Socrates to be placed ? His 
 accusers could, without doubt, put their case in such 
 a way that their charge would seem to be made out ; 
 it was precisely the ordinary conduct of Socrates which 
 was alleged against him. The bulk of the Athenians 
 were content with their religion. Socrates had, day by 
 day for twenty years, tried to make them dissatisfied 
 with themselves in connection with subjects which had 
 relation to their gods. He had perplexed and vexed 
 them ; he had convicted them of ignorance, and wounded 
 their self-love ; he had interrogated them respecting 
 justice and piety and devotion ; and he had shown them 
 how hollow their notions were respecting them, and they 
 were naturally irritated. Socrates very well knew that 
 they disliked him on account of his conduct, but he was 
 not to be turned from his purpose, and whether they 
 would hear or whether they would forbear, as the old 
 Hebrew prophet says, he would persevere. 
 
 We see, then, that the accusers of Socrates might not 
 have a difficult task in making out their accusation. They 
 were the plaintiffs ; they made their speeches and produced 
 their evidence, and then Socrates had to reply. His reply 
 is contained in that dialogue of Plato called " The 
 Apology." We do not know how much of it was actually 
 spoken by Socrates, but we may be sure that it represents 
 the substance and spirit of what he said. Xenoplion tells 
 us that Socrates might have been acquitted if in any 
 moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of 
 the dikasts; but his speech throughout breathes a spirit of 
 
 29 ^
 
 452 Essays and Papers. 
 
 defiance. He stood before his judges with a lofty sense 
 of conscious rectitude ; he appealed from the decision of 
 a tribunal necessarily composed of men who were in 
 different degrees prejudiced against him to that higher 
 judicature which sprang from his own reason and con- 
 science ; moreover, he was not afraid to face the conse- 
 quence of his actions. It was not an uncommon thing 
 for a man who was accused before the dikasts to bring his 
 wife and children into court, and through them to appeal 
 to the compassion of his judges. Socrates would do 
 nothing of the kind. He knew that his course of life had 
 laid him open to the charges made against him ; he 
 knew that his freedom of speech had offended the 
 Athenians ; he knew that, in fact, there was a great gulf 
 between him and them ; not that he disowned or denied 
 his country's gods, but he sought to awaken and arouse 
 some new thought among his countrymen, and to trans- 
 late the forms and shams which made up much of their 
 religion into some intelligent and living reality. Socrates 
 knew that his purpose had been good and noble, but he 
 knew also that it had been misunderstood and misrepre- 
 sented, and he was prepared to pay the penalty. He had 
 for a long series of years attempted to teach the Athen- 
 ians in an indirect but searching manner ; he was con- 
 vinced that in no other way could he get a hearing, and 
 so he persevered. The proof of his judgment and his 
 skill, and of the general fairness and toleration of the 
 Athenians, is that he was allowed to exercise his self- 
 imposed and irritating vocation for so many 3^ears. We 
 have only to recollect what sharp and sudden commotions 
 occurred when the special religious feelings of Jews 
 and Asiatics were assailed in order to measure the 
 intellectual difference between the one set of people and 
 the other. 
 
 One or two extracts may be made from the defence of 
 Socrates. He says : " The young men who followed me 
 about, who are the sons of wealthy persons and with
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 453 
 
 much leisure, by nature dclig-ht in hearing men cross- 
 questioned ; and they often imitate me among them- 
 selves. Then the}^ try their hand at cross-questioning 
 other people, and I imagine they find a great abundance 
 of men who think that they know a great deal when, in 
 truths they know little or nothing. And then the persons 
 who are cross-questioned are angry with me instead of 
 with themselves, and say, Socrates is an abominable 
 fellow who corrupts the young. And when they were 
 asked. Why, what does he do ? what does he teach ? 
 they have nothing to say. But not to seem at a loss, they 
 repeat the stock charges against all philosophers, and say 
 that he investigates things in the air and under the earth, 
 and that he teaches people to disbelieve in the gods, and 
 to make the worst appear the better reason. And so they 
 have filled your ears with their fierce slanders for a long 
 time, for they are zealous and fierce and numerous. They 
 are well disciplined, too, and plausible in speech. On these 
 grounds Meletus and Anytus .and Lykon have attacked 
 me. Meletus is angry with me for the poets, Anytus 
 for the artisans and public men, and Lykon for the orators. 
 And I should be surprised if I were able in so short 
 a time to remove this prejudice of yours which has 
 grown so great." We see from this the extent of the ill- 
 feeling which existed against Socrates. He knew it, and 
 he seems to admit that it was natural for the Athenians 
 in their then state of knowledge to dislike and oppose his 
 teaching. Further on he says : " If you were to say to 
 me, ' Socrates, this time we will let you go on condition 
 that you cease from carrying on this search and from 
 philosophy. If you are found doing this again you 
 shall die ' — I say, if you offered to let me go on these 
 grounds I should reply : ' Athenians, I hold you in the 
 highest regard and love, but I will obey the god rather 
 than you; and as long as I have breath and power I will 
 not cease from philosophy and from exhorting you and 
 setting forth the truth to any of you whom I meet, say-
 
 454 Essays and Papers. 
 
 ing as I am wont : " My excellent friend, you are a citizen 
 of Athens, a city very great and very famous for wisdom 
 and power of mind ; are you not ashamed of caring so 
 much for the making of money and for reputation and 
 honour ? Will you not spend thought or care on wisdom 
 and truth and perfecting your soul ? " ' And if he dispute 
 my words, and say that he does care for these things, I 
 shall not forthwith release him and go away; I shall 
 question him and cross-examine him ; and if I think that 
 he has not virtue, though he says that he has, I shall 
 reproach him for setting the lowest value on the most 
 important things and the highest value on the most worth- 
 less." He winds up in this way : *' I do not think it right 
 to entreat the judge nor to gain acquittal by entreaties : he 
 should be convinced by argument. He does not sit to make 
 a present of justice, but to give judgment ; and he has 
 sworn to judge according to law, and not to favour a man 
 whom he likes. And so we ought not to ask you to forswear 
 yourselves ; and you ought not to allow us to do so, for 
 then neither of us would be acting righteously. Therefore, 
 Athenians, do not require me to do these things, for I hold 
 them to be neither good nor just nor holy, more especially 
 now when Meletus is indicting me for impiety. To you, 
 therefore and to God, I commit my cause, to be determined 
 by you as is best for you and me." 
 
 The dikasts, having heard the accusation and the 
 defence, gave their votes. For acquitting Socrates 
 there were 220 : he was condemned by 281, so that 
 the majority against him was 61. His accusers were 
 then asked what punishment they proposed, and Meletus 
 replied " Death." Socrates was then at liberty to propose 
 a lighter penalty, and he said : " There are many reasons, 
 O men of Athens, why I am not grieved at the vote of con- 
 demnation. I expected this, and am only surprised that 
 the votes are so nearly equal, for I thought the majority 
 against me would have been larger. And so he proposes 
 death as the penalty. And what shall I propose on my
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 455 
 
 part, O men of Athens ? Clearly that which is my due. And 
 what is that which I ought to pay or to receive ? What 
 shall be done to the man who has never had the wit to 
 be idle during his whole life, who has been careless of 
 what the many care about — wealth and family interests 
 and military offices, and speaking in the Assembly and 
 magistracies and plots and parties ? What shall be done 
 to such an one ? Doubtless some good thing, if he has 
 his reward ; and the good should be of a kind suitable to 
 him. What would be a reward suitable to a poor man 
 who is your benefactor, and who desires leisure that he 
 may instruct you ? Perhaps you may think I am braving 
 you in saying this, as in what I said before about the tears 
 and prayers ; but this is not so. I speak rather because 
 I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged any- 
 one. I will not say of myself that I deserve any evil, or 
 propose any penalty. Why should I ? Because I am afraid 
 of the penalty of death which Meletus proposes ? When 
 I do not know whether death is a good or an evil, why 
 should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an 
 evil?" He then mentions imprisonment or banishment, 
 which, he says, are real evils, and he will not propose them ; 
 and as to a fine, he asserts that he has no money, but that 
 perhaps his friends might be security for a small sum. 
 In the end, as he proposes no mitigation of the penalty, 
 which is even possible, the sentence of death is passed. 
 On this part of the subject. Dr. Thirlwall, late Bishop of 
 St. David's, says : " It seems that the law required 
 judgment to be passed according to the proposal either of 
 the prosecutor or the defendant." 
 
 Having named Dr. Thirlwall, I will make another ex- 
 tract from his work, as it throws light on the subject, and 
 raises a question which we are bound to discuss. He says : 
 " The time in which Socrates was brought to trial was 
 one in which great zeal was professed, and some was 
 undoubtedly felt, for the revival of the ancient institutions, 
 civil and rehgious, under which Athens had attained her
 
 45^ Essays and Papers. 
 
 past greatness ; and it was to be expected that all who traced 
 the public calamities to the neglect of the old laws and 
 usages should consider Socrates a dangerous person." 
 This is an admission which is made by all the writers I 
 am acquainted with. That Athenian life and thought 
 were in a state of transition everyone is compelled to 
 admit, and it is important, coming from Dr. Thirlwall ; 
 and we are bound to follow it up by the further con- 
 sideration that a fermentation of civil and religious ideas, 
 and a feeling that false ones were gaining the ascendancy 
 and were tending to national calamity, was a state of 
 mind unfavourable to what maybe called judicial fairness. 
 The Athenians thought, as Dr. Thirlwall allows, that 
 certain public calamities were attributable to the decay 
 and the neglect of old laws and usages, and if they believed 
 that the teaching of Socrates promoted this decay and 
 neglect, then it was a respectable feeling which led them 
 to dislike and to oppose him. His notions and theirs 
 were at variance. They believed him to be wrong ; he 
 believed them to be so. He was much wiser than they 
 were ; but where is the people who are willing to admit 
 this under such circumstances ? On their side they had 
 the prescription of the past, the persuasion that their 
 country had grown great by means and instrumentalities 
 which were, in their opinion, crumbling in pieces, and 
 which it seemed to them Socrates was helping to under- 
 mine, and which it is probable he was really doing. 
 Dr. Thirlwall has a very elaborate note in reply to 
 German criticism on the case of Socrates, and he con- 
 cludes in these words : " There never was a case in which 
 murder was more clearly committed under the forms of 
 legal procedure than in the trial of Socrates. Judicial 
 murders more atrocious in their circumstances may have 
 been perpetrated by the Roman Senate under the Em- 
 perors, by the Holy Office, and by the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal under the Reign of Terror." 
 
 Dr. Thirlwall was a man of great learning and of sound
 
 Socrates and the A thenians. 457 
 
 judgment ; but this dictum of his appears to me, though 
 it seems rash to say it, a hasty and inconsiderate one. 
 He had just before said in respect of rehgious opinion in 
 Athens: "There was no canon, no book by which a 
 doctrine could be tried ; no hving authority to which 
 appeal could be made for the decision of religious con- 
 troversies. Beyond the bare fact of the existence of the 
 beings who were objects of public worship, there was 
 hardly a circumstance in their history which had not been 
 related in many different ways ; and there was no form of 
 the legend which had more or less claim to be received 
 than another. So that if Socrates rejected every version 
 of the fable which appeared to him to have an immoral 
 tendency, he was only exercising a right which could not 
 be legally disputed, and was taking no greater liberty than 
 had been used by many others without any scandal." 
 
 This argument is in every way, as it seems to me, a 
 fallacious one. If there was an offence concerning religious 
 belief and practice, dealt with as impiety by Athenian 
 law, and if there existed no canon or book by which 
 religious opinions were to be tested, by what means were 
 the dikasts to ascertain when the offence was committed, 
 and how are they to be blamed if, in a confusedly un- 
 definable offence which they were bound to try, they 
 came to a conclusion in accordance with those views and 
 beliefs which, however imperfectly understood by them, 
 were almost universally acknowledged ? To know whether 
 a man has committed an offence, it is absolutely needful 
 that the offence should be defined. Legal murder is not 
 killing a man, but killing him under defined circumstances 
 and with particular intentions ; and impiety, if not defined, 
 is just what each man thinks it to be, and no two men 
 may exactly agree about it ; who then is to blame — the 
 law or the jury? Besides, no one knew better than the 
 Bishop that the meaning of such words as these was just 
 the main controversy between Socrates and his hearers. 
 It is the very essence of the discussion between him and
 
 458 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Euthyphro. " What," he asks, " is impiety ?" Euthyphro 
 answers, but his answers fail when tested. It was pre- 
 cisely this want of critical faculty which Socrates was for 
 ever denouncing. The Bishop admits that there was no 
 canon or book by which religious opinions were to be 
 tested, and he blames the Athenian dikasts because they 
 could not supply the deficiency. He had surely forgotten 
 the causes which had come before our own Ecclesiastical 
 Courts of late years, and which his letters prove he had 
 considered so deeply ; and how the keenest intellects of 
 a trained legal profession had been unable to agree upon 
 the meaning of documents which they had to construe. 
 He must have forgotten how conflicting are the interpre- 
 tations which our Judges and Law Courts put upon the 
 words of the same Act of Parliament; and yet he impugns 
 the honesty of the Athenian dikasts because, being sworn 
 without the aid of any canon or book to determine whether 
 certain words and acts amounted to impiety and to the 
 disparagement of their gods, they came to a conclusion 
 which is not acceptable to an English Bishop of the nine- 
 teenth century who has access to books and commentaries 
 which they never heard of, and which, in fact, did not exist. 
 The Bishop acknowledges that the biographies of these 
 fabulous divinities were in a most chaotic condition. 
 Their genealogies were utterly out of joint, their actions 
 apocryphal, contradictory, and absurd. Put into the 
 Bishop's critical crucible, no doubt these inconsistencies 
 and extravagances emerge ; but then he forgets to tell us 
 that this apparatus of criticism the dikasts did not possess, 
 and that they had to decide according to that version of 
 the history in which they had been instructed and which 
 had fallen in their way. The Bishop knew very well, 
 when writing his history in a secluded parish in York- 
 shire, that if he had asked his Sunday congregation a few 
 plain questions upon high matters of theology, they would 
 not have given very intelligent answers, though they had 
 been taught their catechism and their creed, and for
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 459 
 
 years had had the advantage of his own, no doubt, most 
 instructive teaching. The Athenian dikasts lacked this 
 special hght and guidance ; they had as hard a question 
 to solve; and when w-e are measuring their merits and 
 demerits, we must compare them not with the profoundest 
 scholar and divine of this century, but with the average 
 people we meet with, and we must give them the benefit 
 of any doubt that we may feel. Further, Dr. Thirlwall 
 quite overlooks the fact that, though the right of dis- 
 cussing what he calls these fables might be exercised by 
 a writer of poetry or of philosophy without shocking the 
 sentiments of the populace, Socrates took a course which 
 brought him into active, ceaseless, and personal conflict 
 with every man upon whom he could fasten his interro- 
 gatories. Once more, Dr. Thirlwall alleges " the diffi- 
 culty which most persons in modern times have felt in 
 reconciling the pure and lofty ideas which Socrates 
 appears to have formed of the Divine nature with a belief 
 in the doctrines or fables of the Greek polytheism." He 
 does not notice the circumstance that what to him is 
 now fable, to an Athenian was once fact ; and if he is 
 astonished that Socrates, with pure and lofty ideas, 
 believed what are now reckoned absurd fables, had he no 
 excuse or toleration for the Athenian dikast, who had not 
 reached the pure and lofty ideal of Socrates, but only 
 that meaner level of those absurd fables which Socrates, 
 while professedly believing, handled in such way that the 
 simple Athenian dikast was unable to reconcile with 
 honest belief and sincerity ? Dr. Thirlwall was puzzled 
 that Socrates held what appeared to him to be contra- 
 dictory and antagonistic beliefs. To the Athenian dikast 
 it was equally inconceivable that Socrates really believed 
 the common creed, while speaking and acting as he did ; 
 he could not make these two things fit, as Dr. Thirlwall 
 could not make the others fit. Let us do justice to the 
 Athenian dikast and to the Athenian people, remembering
 
 460 Essays and Papers. 
 
 that the events we are considering happened something 
 Hke four hundred years before the Christian era. 
 
 It is clear that there existed at Athens in the time of 
 Socrates some law against what was then reckoned im- 
 piety ; some legal condemnation of the conduct which 
 disregarded or outraged the general feeling respecting the 
 gods and their worship. There are such laws in England 
 now. That which Englishmen hold sacred the law pro- 
 tects, and it punishes those who violate it. What is such 
 a violation as the law intends to forbid may be difficult to 
 determine, and honest men may easily disagree about it ; 
 and whatever the particular acts might be which Athenian 
 law meant to put down might be very dubious and debat- 
 able ; but a jury must give a verdict, and our own law and 
 practice, until lately, famished the jury and left them 
 without fire and light until they agreed. Something at 
 Athens, as well as in England, was and is offensive to the 
 religious feelings of the people, and, for this reason, liable 
 to legal penalty. It is curious to notice how the strong 
 sense of a Roman proconsul broke through this kind of 
 accusation ; and, moreover, what a striking contrast there 
 is between the Jew and the Greek in the presence of that 
 which contradicted his custom and belief. We are told 
 in the Acts of the Apostles that the Jews made insurrection 
 with one accord against Paul, and brought him to the 
 judgment seat, because, as they said, he " persuadeth 
 men to worship God contrary to the law." This was 
 substantially the same charge as that brought against 
 Socrates, and, moreover, it was at the Greek city of Corinth 
 that this happened, and it produced an instant outburst of 
 insurrection by the Jews. Before Paul had time to make 
 any defence the Roman proconsul Gallio said : " If it 
 were a matter of wrong or wicked lewdness, O Jews, reason 
 would that I should bear with you ; but if it be a question 
 of words and names and of your law, look ye to it ; for I 
 will be no judge of such." This Roman proconsul had a
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 461 
 
 clear perception of the province of government. But the 
 other idea was, and had been, far more prevalent — the 
 idea that g-overnment should not only restrain bad and 
 unjust acts, but should control and punish speculative 
 opinions and what it might consider the misuse of Gallio's 
 " words and names." 
 
 We should have to travel very far back to find the 
 origin of this notion. But we are all famihar with the 
 history of Nebuchadnezzar, which was not of much 
 earlier date than that of Socrates. There was no circum- 
 locution or beating about the bush with this ruler of 
 Babylon. He decreed in the most peremptory style that 
 everybody was to worship as he wished, on pain of being 
 burned to death. Athens was much more moderate than 
 this Oriental monarch ; nevertheless, his example was 
 followed everywhere, with more or less stringency, not 
 amongst Pagans only of that era, but amongst Christians 
 of a much later one. In the 4th century of our era, 
 Theodosius the Great made certain religious acts of his 
 heathen subjects punishable as high treason with death, 
 and for other acts of the same sort he inflicted ruinous 
 fines and forfeitures. Gibbon tells us that he repeatedly 
 enforced these persecuting decrees with the applause of a 
 large portion of his subjects. The latest English historian 
 of these times — a most painstaking, pictorial, and impartial 
 writer, Mr. Hodgkin — says : " For some generations, with 
 quiet, earnest deliberateness, the whole power of the 
 Emperors was employed in making all Christians think 
 alike, and in preventing non-Christians thinking at all."^ 
 
 The Theodosian code remains to testify to the severity 
 of its enactments. It is a sort of landmark in the region 
 we are traversing ; and for many centuries such legislation 
 was in the ascendant. Two or three examples from the 
 many which might be selected will be enough for our 
 purpose. In the i6th century of grace, Giordano Bruno, a 
 
 * Italy and her Invaders.
 
 462 Essays and Papers. 
 
 man of literary eminence and of blameless life, was burned 
 at Rome on account of his religious opinions, one of the 
 official spectators of the burning exclaiming, " Such is the 
 way in which we at Rome deal with impious men," 
 impiety being exactly the offence with which Socrates 
 was charged. In the same century, Michael Servetus, a 
 man of unimpeachable character, and an author of distinc- 
 tion, was burned at Geneva because his writings were 
 judged to be heretical. These men, and a host of others 
 who might be named, were put to death, not for any 
 crime which they committed, but because, like Socrates, 
 they held opinions and propagated them, which were con- 
 demned by their contemporaries. History could furnish 
 us with a long catalogue of such cases. I will select one 
 more from our own annals. Whoever has been to Oxford 
 and taken note of its beauties will have observed in one of 
 the streets a monument, erected some few years ago to 
 commemorate the public burning, near the spot where it 
 stands, of three English Bishops — Latimer, Ridley, and 
 Cranmer. There was no crime proved against these 
 men ; they were put to death because, like Socrates, they 
 diverged from the then dominant religion. Our apology 
 for the Athenian dikast is that he believed Socrates to be 
 a heretic ; and it is exactly this offence which was charged 
 against those three Bishops, and for which they suffered. 
 Socrates, as a man and a citizen, could fearlessly appeal 
 to his judges and say: " I never intentionally wronged 
 anyone," and not less truly could these three Bishops 
 make the same challenge; as citizens they were in all 
 respects the equals, it may be the superiors, of Socrates. 
 Shakespeare, who lived not many years after Cranmer, 
 knew his history and the traditions connected with it, 
 and he puts into his mouth these words, addressed to 
 the Council : — 
 
 My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress 
 Both of my life and office, I have laboured, 
 And with no little study, that my teaching-
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 463 
 
 And the strong course of my authority 
 
 Might go one way and safely ; and the end 
 
 Was ever to do well ; nor is there living — 
 
 I speak it with a single heart, my lords — 
 
 A man that more detests, more stirs against 
 
 Both in his private conscience and his place, 
 
 Defacers of the public peace, than I do. 
 
 Pray Heaven, the King may never find a heart 
 
 With less allegiance in it. Men that make 
 
 Envy and crooked malice nourishment 
 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships 
 
 That in this case of justice, my accusers, 
 
 Be what they will, may stand forth face to face 
 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 It is not pertinent to inquire into the particular opinions 
 and beliefs which have brought men into peril and to 
 death. We stand beside the culprit and his accusers, and 
 it is a charge of impiety which is brought against him. 
 On such a charge it was that Socrates was arraigned. 
 The impiety of one age is not in its form that of another; 
 the divinities may be different, but so far as the offender 
 is concerned, he has always contravened the public 
 estimate of them, and for this he is condemned. 
 
 We are not concerned with this general question, 
 except so far as it is applicable to Athens. We have a 
 right to compare her case with that of others, and it is 
 needful to revive these old stories in order that we may 
 relieve Athens of some odium, if we find that other 
 States were not only as harsh as she was, but that, having 
 better opportunities and wiser teaching, they were even 
 more unrelenting and harder of heart. Let us carry 
 our comparison to the bitter end, and for this purpose I 
 quote from Tennyson's "Queen Mary" the account of 
 the burning of Cranmer. 
 
 Enter Peters. 
 
 Peters, my gentleman, an honest Catholic, 
 Who follow'd with the crowd to Cranmer's fire. 
 One that would neither misreport nor lie,
 
 464 Essays and Paper's. 
 
 Not to gain paradise ; no, nor if the Pope 
 Charged him to do it — he is white as death. 
 Peters, how pale you look ! you bring the smoke 
 Of Cranmer's burning with you. 
 
 Peters. 
 
 Twice or thrice 
 
 The smoke of Cranmer's burning wrapt me round. 
 
 Ho-ward. 
 
 Peters, you know me Catholic, but English. 
 Did he die bravely ? Tell me that, or leave 
 All else untold. 
 
 Peters. 
 My lord, he died most bravely. 
 
 Howard. 
 Then tell me all. 
 
 Paget. 
 Ay, Master Peters, tell us. 
 
 Peters. 
 
 You saw him how he passed among the crowd ; 
 
 And ever as he walk'd the Spanish friars 
 
 Still plied him with entreaty and reproach : 
 
 But Cranmer, as the helmsman at the helm 
 
 Steers, ever looking to the happy haven 
 
 Where he shall rest at night, moved to his death ; 
 
 And I could see that many silent hands 
 
 Came from the crowd and met his own ; and thus, 
 
 When we had come where Ridley burnt with Latimer, 
 
 He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind 
 
 Is all made up, in haste put off the rags 
 
 They had mock'd his misery with, and all in white, 
 
 His long white beard, which he had never shaven 
 
 Since Henry's death, down-sweeping to the chain, 
 
 Wherewith they bound him to the stake, he stood. 
 
 More like an ancient father of the Church, 
 
 Than heretic of these times ; and still the friars 
 
 Plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head, 
 
 Or answer'd them in smiling negatives ; 
 
 Whereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cry : — 
 
 *' Make short ! make short 1 " and so they lit the wood.
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 465 
 
 Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven, 
 And thrust his right into the bitter flame ; 
 And crying, in his deep voice, more than once, 
 " This hath offended — this unworthy hand !" 
 So held it till it all was burned, before 
 The flame had reached his body ; I stood near — 
 Mark'd him — he never uttered moan of pain ; 
 He never stirr'd or writhed, but, like a statue, 
 Unmoving in the greatness of the flame, 
 Gave up the ghost ; and so past martyr-like — 
 Martyr I may not call him — past — but whither ? 
 
 " Look on that picture and on this." 
 I quote again from " Social Life in Greece," by the 
 Rev. Professor Mahaffy. 
 
 There is a very different point suggested by the life of Socrates, 
 which proves the refined culture of the Athenians from another side. 
 It is an universal contrast between civilized and semi-civilized societies 
 (not to speak of barbarians), that the penalty of death, when legally 
 incurred, is in the former carried out without cruelty and torture, 
 whereas in the latter the victim of the law is farther punished by insults 
 and by artificial pains. The punishments devised by kings and barons 
 in the middle ages, the hideous torments devised by the Church for 
 the bodies of those whose souls were doomed to even worse for ever 
 and ever — these cases will occur to any reader from the history of 
 semi-civilized nations. It will not perhaps strike him that our own 
 country was hardly better even in the present century, and that the 
 formula now uttered by the judge in sentencing to death suggests by 
 its very wording horrible cruelties threatened almost within the memory 
 of living men. " That you be hanged by the neck, till you are dead," 
 points to the form uttered in the courts of Dublin within this century, 
 though not then literally carried out. It ran thus : " It is therefore 
 ordered by the Court that they and each of them be taken from the 
 bar of the Court where they now stand, to the place from whence they 
 came — the gaol : that their irons be there stricken off, that they be 
 from thence carried to the common place of execution, the gallows ; 
 and that they and each of them be hanged by the neck, but not until 
 they be dead, for whilst they are yet alive they are to he taken down, 
 their entrails are to be taken out of t/ieir body, and whilst they are 
 yet alive they are to be burned before their faces ; their heads are then 
 to be respectively cut off ; their bodies to be respectively divided into 
 four quarters ; and their respective heads and bodies to be at His 
 Majesty's disposal." 
 
 30
 
 466 Essays and Papers. 
 
 Let us now compare these formulae, used by the most cultivated 
 and humane European nation in the nineteenth century, with the 
 enactments of the Athenian democracy four hundred years before 
 Christ. In the first place, there was no penalty permitted severer 
 than a quiet and painless death. There were no antecedent insults 
 and cruelties, no aggravations, no exhibitions before a heartless and 
 ribald mob. In the next place, care had been taken to ascertain the 
 most easy and gentle death, as Xenophon distinctly implies {Apol. 
 Socr. § 7), and for this reason death by poisoning with hemlock was 
 introduced— at what exact period, we cannot say. Here, again, the 
 Athenians were in advance even of the present day, when death by 
 hanging, in the hands of ignorant and careless ofificials, is often a slow 
 death, and a death of torture. But all this is to my mind far less 
 significant than the manner oi Athenian executions, as compared with 
 those even of our day. We have fortunately in Plato's " Phaedo " a 
 detailed account of this scene, which, however imaginary as to the 
 conversations introduced, must have lost all its dramatic propriety and 
 force to Plato's contemporaries, had not the details been reproduced 
 from life with faithful accuracy. 
 
 There is, I think, in all Greek literature no scene which ought to 
 make us more ashamed of our boasted Christian culture. The 
 condemned, on the day of execution, was freed from his chains, and 
 allowed to have his family and friends present in his cell, as they had 
 already been during the nights of his imprisonment. 
 
 The condemned then was left with his family and friends, to make 
 his arrangements and bequests, to give his last directions, to comfort 
 and to be comforted by those dearest to him. When the hour of 
 death approached, the gaoler came in, and left the cup of poison with 
 the victim, giving him directions how to take it, and merely adding 
 that it must be done before a certain hour. He then retired and left 
 the prisoner in his last moments to the care of his friends. They 
 sat about him as life gradually ebbed away, and closed his eyes in 
 peace. 
 
 Compare all this humane and kindly feeling with the gauntness 
 and horror of our modern executions, as detailed to us with morbid 
 satisfaction by our daily newspapers. The whole scene in Socrates' 
 prison is, as I said, the greatest proof I know in Greek literature of a 
 culture exceeding in refinement and humanity that of our own day. 
 
 We have to consider, in relation to all these various 
 acts, that at the times of which we have been speaking, it 
 w^as an offence, a crime, to disbelieve and to dispute the 
 publicly-approved religion ; and we may fairly ask which
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 467 
 
 State, upon the whole, was mildest and most tolerant in 
 its method of punishing-, and we may at least award to 
 the State so distinguished the palm of humanity. 
 
 Let us now follow Socrates into his prison. The story 
 of his last hours is to be found in Plato's dialogue, 
 *' Phaedo," and it is introduced in this fashion : After an 
 interval of some months or years, and at PhHus, a town of 
 Sicyon, Echecrates and some of his friends meet Phaedo 
 and ask him to narrate to them the circumstances of the 
 death of Socrates, as the minutest particulars of the 
 event are interesting to distant friends. Thereupon 
 Phaedo commences the narrative, from which I can only 
 select a few passages. Echecrates asks Phaedo : — 
 
 Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates on the day 
 when he drank the poison ? 
 P/i. Yes, Echecrates, I was. 
 
 Ech. I wish you would tell me about his death. What did he say 
 in his last hours? We were told that he died by taking poison, but 
 no one knew anything more ; for none of us ever go to Athens now, 
 and Athenians do not come here, so that we have had no account of 
 what happened. 
 
 P/i. Did you not hear of the proceedings of the trial ? 
 Ech. Yes ; some one told us about the trial ; and we could not 
 understand why, having been condemned, he was put to death, not at 
 the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of this? 
 
 Ph. An accident, Echecrates. The reason was that the stern of 
 the ship which the Athenians send to Delos happened to have been 
 crowned on the day before he was tried. 
 Ech. What is this ship ? 
 
 Ph. This is the ship in which, as the Athenians say, Theseus went 
 to Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was the 
 saviour of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed to 
 Apollo at the time that if they were saved they would make an annual 
 pilgrimage to Delos, Now this custom still continues, and the whole 
 period of the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the Priest of 
 Apollo crowns the stern of the ship, is a holy season, during which the 
 city is not allowed to be polluted by public executions. The ship was 
 crowned on the day before the trial, and this was the reason why 
 Socrates lay in prison and was not put to death till long alter he was 
 condemned. 
 
 Ec/i. What was the manner of his death, Phsedo ? What was said 
 
 30^
 
 ^68 Essays and Papers. 
 
 or done ? and which of his friends had he with him ? or were they not 
 allowed by the authorities to be present ? and did he die alone ? 
 Ph. No ; there were several of his friends with him. 
 Ech. If you have nothing to do, 1 wish you would tell me what 
 passed as exactly as you can. 
 
 Ph. I have nothing to do, and I will gratify your wish ; for to me, 
 too, there is no greater pleasure than to have Socrates brought to my 
 recollection, whether I speak myself or hear another speak of him. 
 
 Ech. Vou will have listeners who are of the same mind with you, 
 and I hope you will be as exact as you can. 
 
 Ph. I remember the strange feeling that came over me at being 
 with him, for I could hardly believe I was present at the death of a 
 friend, and therefore I did not pity him, Fxhecrates; his mien and 
 his language were so noble and fearless in the hour of death that to 
 me he appeared blessed. I thought that in going to the other world 
 he would not be without a divine call, and that he would be happy, if 
 any man ever was, when he arrived there, and therefore I did not 
 pity him, as might seem natural at such a time. But neither could I 
 feel the pleasure which I usually felt in philosophical discourse (for 
 philosophy was the theme of which we spoke). I was pleased, and I 
 was also pained, because I knew that he was soon to die, and this 
 strange feeling was shared by us all ; we were laughing and weeping 
 by turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus. You know the sort 
 of man. 
 Ech. Yes. 
 
 Ph. He was quite overcome, and I myself and all of us were 
 greatly moved. 
 
 Ech . Who were present ? 
 
 Ph. Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus, Crito- 
 bulus and his father Crito, Hermogcnes, Epigenes, y^schines, and 
 Antisthenes ; likewise Ctesippus, Menexenus, and some others ; but 
 Plato, if I am not mistaken, was ill. 
 Ech. Was there any strangers ? 
 
 Pit. Yes, there were ; Simmias the Thcban, and Cebes, Phajdondes, 
 Euclid, and Terpsion, who came from Megara. 
 
 Ech. And was Aristippus there and Cleombrotus ? 
 Pli. No, they were said to be in yEgina. 
 Ecli. Anyone else ? 
 Ph. 1 think these were about all. 
 
 Ech. And what was the discourse of which you spoke? 
 PIi. I will begin at the beginning and endeavour to repeat the 
 entire conversation. You must understand that we had been previously 
 in the habit of assembling early in the morning at the court in which
 
 Socrates and the A thenians. 469 
 
 the trial was held, and which is not far from the prison. There we 
 remained talking- with one another until the opening of the prison 
 doors (for they were opened very early), and then went in and passed 
 the day with Socrates. On the last morning the meeting- was earlier 
 than usual. This was owing to our having heard on the previous 
 evening that the sacred ship had arrived from Delos, and therefore we 
 agreed to meet very early at the accustomed place. On our going to 
 the prison, the gaoler who answered the door, instead of admitting us, 
 came out and bade us wait and he would call us, "for the eleven," 
 he said, "are now with Socrates, they are taking off his chains and 
 giving orders that he is to die to-day." He soon returned and said 
 that we might come in. On entering we found Socrates just released 
 from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know, sitting by him, and 
 holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she uttered aery and 
 said, as women will : "O, Socrates, this is the last time that either you 
 will converse with your friends or they with you." Socrates turned to 
 Crito and said : " Crito, let some one take her home." Some of Crito's 
 people accordingly led her away crying out and beating herself. And 
 when she was gone, Socrates, sitting on the couch, began to bend 
 and rub his leg, saying, as he rubbed: "How singular is the thing 
 called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be 
 thought to be the opposite of it ; for they never come to a man 
 together, and yet he who pursues either of them is generally com- 
 pelled to take the other." He pursues this topic, and afterwards 
 says : "I am quite ready to acknowledge that I ought to be grieved 
 at death, if I were not persuaded that I am going to other gods 
 who are wise and good (of this I am as certain as I can be of 
 anything of the sort), and to men departed (though I am not so 
 certain of this) who are better than those whom I leave behind ; 
 and, therefore, I do not grieve as I might have done, for I have 
 good hope that there is yet something remaining for the dead, and, 
 as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good than 
 for the evil." Crito then says: "The attendant who is to give 
 you the poison has been telling me that you are not to talk much, 
 and he wants me to let you know this ; for that by talking, heat is 
 increased, and this interferes with the action of the poison. Those 
 who excite themselves are sometimes obliged to drink the poison 
 two or three times." "Then," said Socrates, "let him mind his 
 business and be prepared to give the poison two or three times, if 
 necessary ; that is all." " I was almost certain you would say that," 
 replied Crito; "but I was obliged to satisfy him." "Never mind 
 him," he said. 
 
 Then follows a lengthened discussion upon the immor-
 
 470 Essays and Papers. 
 
 tality of the soul, of which it is not possible to give even 
 a sketch, and which is probably regarded by modern 
 readers as more fanciful than substantial. It is, no doubt, 
 the argument of Plato more than of Socrates ; but the 
 dramatic fitness of the discussion under the circumstances 
 must be at once recognized ; and the attitude of Socrates, 
 his serenity, his courage, his cheerfulness, his moral 
 earnestness, must be regarded as a true portraiture of his 
 conduct during the last hours of his life. Like the specta- 
 tors at the time, we cannot pity Socrates ; his mien and 
 his language are so noble and fearless. He is the same 
 as he ever was, but milder and gentler. Perhaps the ex- 
 treme elevation of Socrates above his own situation, and 
 the ordinary interests of life, create in the mind an 
 impression stronger than could be derived from arguments 
 that such an one, in his own language, has in him " a 
 principle which does not admit of death." Having in 
 the course of the discussion described what may be the 
 future destiny of the soul, he concludes in this way : — 
 
 " I don't mean to affirm that the description I have given of the 
 soul and her mansions is exactly true, a man of sense would hardly 
 say that ; but I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown to be 
 immortal, we may venture to think, not improperly or unworthily, 
 that something of the kind is true. Wherefore, I say, let the man 
 be of good cheer who has adorned the soul in her proper jewels, 
 which are temperance and justice, and courage and nobility and 
 worth, and arrayed in these she is ready to go on her journey to the 
 world below when her time comes." Then turning to us he said : 
 " You and all other men will depart at some time or other; to me, 
 already, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate calls ; for soon 
 I must drink the poison." 
 
 Phaedo continues the narrative : — 
 
 "When he had done speaking, Crito said, 'And have you any 
 commands for us, Socrates; anything to say about your children, or 
 any other matter on which we can serve you ? ' ' Nothing particular,' 
 he said, ' only, as I have always told you, I would have you look to 
 yourselves ; that is a service you may always be doing to me and 
 mine as well as yourselves.' When he had spoken these words he
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 471 
 
 arose and went into the bath chamber with Crito, who bade us wait, 
 and we waited, talking and thinking of the subject of discourse, and 
 also of the greatness of our sorrow. He was like a father of whom 
 we were being bereaved, and we were about to pass the rest of our 
 lives as orphans. When he had taken the bath his children were 
 brought to him (he had two young sons and an elder one), and the 
 women of his family also came, and he talked to them and gave them 
 a few directions in the presence of Crito, and he then dismissed them 
 and returned to us. 
 
 " Now the hour of sunset was near — the hour when the hemlock 
 was to be drunk. He sat down with us again after the bath, but not 
 much was said. Soon the gaoler, who was the servant of the eleven, 
 entered and stood by him, saying, 'To you, Socrates, whom I know 
 to be the noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to this 
 place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other men who rage and 
 swear at me when, in obedience to the authorities, 1 bid them drink 
 the poison ; indeed, 1 am sure that you will not be angry with me, for 
 others, as you are aware, and not I, are the guilty cause. And so, 
 fare you well, and tr}' to bear lightly what you must needs be. You 
 know my errand.' Then bursting into tears he turned away and 
 went out. Socrates looked at him and said, ' I return your good 
 wishes and will do as you bid.' Then turning to us he said, ' How 
 kindly the man is ! Since I have been in prison he has always been 
 coming to see me, and at times he would talk to me and was as good 
 as he could be to me ; and now, see how generously he sorrows for 
 me. But we must do as he says, Crito; let the cup be brought, if the 
 poison is prepared, and if not, let the attendant prepare some.' 
 ' Yet,' said Crito, ' t/is sun is still upon tlie hill tops, and many a 
 one has taken the draught late, and after the announcement has been 
 made to him, he has eaten and drunk, and indulged in other such 
 delights; do not hasten, there is still time; the sun yet lingers.' 
 ' Yes, Crito,' said Socrates, ' the people of whom you speak were 
 right in doing thus, because they thought they would gain by the 
 delay ; but I am right in not doing so, for I do not think I should 
 gain anything by drinking the poison a little later. I should be 
 sparing and saving a life which is already gone. I could only smile 
 at myself for this. Please, then, do as I say, and do not refuse me." 
 
 " Crito when he heard this made a sign to the servant, and the 
 servant went in and remained for some time, and then returned with 
 the gaoler carrying the cup of poison. Socrates said : ' You, my good 
 friend, who are experienced in these matters, shall give me directions 
 how I am to proceed.' The man replied : ' You have only to walk 
 about until your legs are heavy and then to lie down and the poison
 
 472 Essays and Papers. 
 
 will act.' At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, who in 
 the easiest and gentlest manner, without the least fear or change of 
 colour or feature, looking at the man steadfastly, as his manner was, 
 took the cup and said : ' What do you say about making a libation 
 out of this cup to any god? May I or not?' The man answered: 
 'We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem enough.' ' 1 
 understand,' he said; 'yet I may, and must, pray to the gods to 
 prosper my journey from this to that other world. May this, then, 
 which is my prayer be granted to me.' Then holding the cup to his 
 lips quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison. And hitherto 
 most of us had been able to control our sorrow ; but now when we saw 
 him drinking, and saw, too, that he had finished the draught, we could 
 no longer forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing 
 fast, so that 1 covered my face and wept over myself, for certainly I 
 was not weeping over him, but at the thought of my own calamity in 
 having lost such a companion. Nor was I the first, for Crito, when 
 he found himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up and moved 
 away, and I followed, and at that moment ApoUodorus, who had been 
 weeping all the time, broke out into a loud cry which made cowards 
 of us all. 
 
 "Socrates alone retained his calmness. 'What is this strange 
 outcry ? ' he said. ' I sent away the women mainly in order that they 
 might not offend in this way, for I have heard that a man should die 
 in peace. Be quiet, then, and patient.' When we heard that, we 
 were ashamed, and refrained our tears, and he walked about until, as 
 he said, his legs began to fail, and then he lay down according to the 
 directions ; and the man who gave him the poison now and then 
 looked at his feet and legs, and after awhile he pressed his foot hard, 
 and asked him if he could feel, and he said, ' No ; ' and then his leg, 
 and so upwards and upwards, and showed us that he was cold and 
 stiff. And he felt them himself, and said : ' When the poison reaches 
 the heart that will be the end.' He was beginning to grow cold about 
 the groin, when he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself 
 up, and said (they were his last words) : ' Crito, I owe a cock to 
 Asclepius, will you remember to pay the debt?' 'The debt shall be 
 paid,' said Crito. 'Is there anything else?' There was no answer 
 to the question ; but in a minute or so a movement was heard and the 
 attendants uncovered him. His eyes were set, and Crito closed his 
 eyes and his mouth. Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, 
 whom I may truly call the wisest and justest and best of all the men 
 whom I have ever known." 
 
 This judgment of Phaedo regarding Socrates has re- 
 mained unreversed for more than twenty centuries. In
 
 Socrates and the Athenians. 473 
 
 recent times, a representative man, and one of England's 
 greatest poets, attracted to Athens by her ancient renown, 
 and watching the sun set over the iEgean Sea, felt that 
 this story of Socrates was the one most indelibly asso- 
 ciated with the scene, and impressed upon his own 
 imagination, and he commemorated it in the following 
 immortal lines : — ■ 
 
 Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, 
 Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
 Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright, 
 But one unclouded blaze of living light ! 
 O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 
 Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. 
 On old ^gina's rock, and Idra's isle, 
 The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; 
 O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine. 
 Though there his altars are no more divine. 
 Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss 
 Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis ! 
 Their azure arches through the long expanse 
 More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance. 
 And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, 
 Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven 
 Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep. 
 Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. 
 
 On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, 
 When — Athens ! here thy Wisest look'd his last. 
 How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, 
 That closed their murder'd sage's latest day ! 
 Not yet— not yet — Sol pauses on the hill — 
 The precious hour of parting lingers still ; 
 But sad his heart to agonising eyes. 
 And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes : 
 Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour. 
 The land, where Phoebus never frown'd before; 
 But ere he sunk below Cithseron's head. 
 The cup of woe was quaff'd, the spirit fled ; 
 The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fly — 
 Who lived and died, as none can live or die '.
 
 VERSES. 
 
 ■**-«- 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER. 
 
 " Looking before and after." — Shakespeare. 
 
 " Now it is not required nor can be exacted at our hands, that we 
 should yield unto anything other assent than such as doth answer the 
 evidence which is to be had of that we assent unto," — Hooker's 
 Ecclesiasfical Polity, Book II., Ch. vii., 5. 
 
 " The ground of credit is the credibility of things credited ; and 
 things are made credible, either by the known condition and quality of 
 the utterer, or by the manifest likelihood of truth which they have in 
 themselves." — Ibid., Book II., Ch. iv., i. 
 
 Before, — there was but chaos and old night ; 
 
 After, — there was a wondrous world, and light : 
 
 Before, — man's thought no ordered bounds did know ; 
 
 After, — he was aware he had below 
 
 Most narrow range, and " walked in a vain show."* 
 
 That hidden from him wholly, was First Cause,t 
 
 And wrapped in mystery, the spirit's laws, 
 
 And his own origin ; how life began — 
 
 And what may yet be destiny of man ; 
 
 Why ancient error hath such iron rule. 
 
 And when there shall be end of man's long school ; 
 
 When " times of ignorance " shall be no more % 
 
 * Surely every man walketh in a vain show. — Psalm xxxix. 6. 
 t Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself. — Isaiah xlv. 15. 
 % The times of this ignorance God winked at. — Acts xvii. 30.
 
 476 Vct'ses. 
 
 " Which God hath winked at," — or, be shut, the door 
 Upon improvement, when who " would repent " * 
 Shall be in everlasting darkness pent, 
 Because they could not see the things that heal, 
 Or what might make or mar, man's final woe and weal. 
 For they had been born blind, — without desire 
 Of teaching, — and no man had led them higher; 
 Their way of life had been through cold and night, 
 And the poor soul within them asked no light ; 
 And for these faults men better placed did shake 
 Their solemn heads, nor wondered earth should quake ; 
 But those of a diviner sense than these 
 Compassion mainly felt, — as for disease 
 Transmitted, with each new-engendered life, 
 By evil vanquished, in unequal strife ; 
 For evil we call that which doth destroy 
 The source and stay and strength of human joy ; 
 And evil of such kind hath been the fruit, 
 Whereof, — was ignorance unblameable, the root.t 
 Therefore the wise await the mediate word, 
 And the momentous judgment have deferred, 
 Till at some grand assize, all shall be heard. 
 ■Jf ;f: * * -x- 
 
 I have not lost my faith in man's estate, 
 
 That he shall yet pass through some Eden gate 
 
 Into a region of less clouded light. 
 
 Where, with new faculty of soul and sight, 
 
 He shall discern the true and love the right ; 
 
 Where love and knowledge shall grow more and more, 
 
 As Being's utmost bounds he doth explore. 
 
 And beauty, in its endless forms, adore. 
 
 I have not lost my faith in Reason's sway, 
 
 As the divinest spark that sheds its ray 
 
 * If the mighty works which were done in you had been done in 
 Tyre and Sidon they would have repented. — St. Matthew xi. 21. 
 f Call ignorance my sorrow, not my sin. — Robert Browning.
 
 Before and After. ^77 
 
 Alike on earth's low walk and Heaven's high way. 
 
 I have not lost my faith in the Supreme, 
 
 Who made and governeth this mighty scheme, 
 
 Who is alone the Just, the Wise and Good, 
 
 By poor, presumptuous man misunderstood ; 
 
 But whom the eternal ages will unfold, 
 
 As Time's mysterious web shall be unroU'd. 
 
 But I have lost much faith in that old lore, 
 
 Which dim tradition from dark ages bore, 
 
 Which patriotic bards long kept afloat, 
 
 And later scribes on mystic tablets wrote, 
 
 Of our green earth's first forming in six days, — 
 
 Mechanic transcript of creative ways — 
 
 Ah ! how unlike authentic Nature's hand. 
 
 As now we see her work on sea and land ; 
 
 And I have lost much faith in Balaam's ass, 
 
 In Jonah's whale, and monarchs eating grass. 
 
 In orbs of Heaven obedient standing still. 
 
 That some barbarians might some others kill. 
 
 Thou rolling moon, and all-sustaining sun. 
 
 Stayed ye at all, that this poor thing be done. 
 
 That wandering tribes of rude Egyptian slaves 
 
 Might wreak their vengeance upon Canaan's braves, 
 
 Their homes destroy, their wives and children slay, 
 
 Like the remorseless Huns of later day ? 
 
 Should such marauders now to earth proclaim, 
 
 They from some God of love and justice came 
 
 To desolate the land with sword and flame. 
 
 Who would believe the sacrilegious word, 
 
 Though from an angel's voice it might be heard ? 
 
 Hath not the Conscience gathered truth and light ? 
 
 And shall we backward turn, to anarchy and night, 
 
 And moral chaos, — for the good and right ? 
 
 To base polygamy, and craft, and guile. 
 
 For the just-judging men, on whom the Heavens would 
 
 smile ? 
 Doth the Eternal change His way and will ?
 
 47^ Verses. 
 
 Or man, — his landmarks move, — of good and ill ? 
 
 Correcting his first rude, imperfect view, 
 
 Of what is right and God-like, just and true, 
 
 By after-thought, which from experience springs 
 
 Through the slow-teaching of all natural things ; 
 
 For how should he of low and servile birth 
 
 Attain dominion of the peopled earth 
 
 And of himself, but by the sovereign power 
 
 Evolved through toil of ages, hour by hour ? 
 
 The light of nature reached not to the mind. 
 
 When first its rays were greeted by mankind. 
 
 But sun and stars, the changing earth and sky, 
 
 Were construed all amiss, by wond'ring eye. 
 
 Till knowledge lit her lamp and thought revealed 
 
 A universe, — which erst had been concealed. 
 
 Man knew not how Creation came to be. 
 
 And hence imagined what he might not see, 
 
 Believing any incoherent scheme 
 
 Which fancy fashioned in her fitful dream ; 
 
 He had no vision of pervading laws, — 
 
 Effects ordained by one Almighty Cause, 
 
 But, moved himself by a capricious will. 
 
 Assumed that the great world did thus its course fulfil. 
 
 Before, — the poet was man's spirit guide ; 
 
 After, — 'twas Science to his doubt replied 
 
 Or silent stood, when light had been denied ; 
 
 But none did ever the high gift possess. 
 
 Which could interpret life's mysteriousness. 
 
 Read its dark page, and make it understood. 
 
 With all its shade and shine of evil and of good. 
 
 Across the unnumbered centuries we gaze. 
 
 That we may lift the veil on man's first days, 
 
 And lo ! he walked the earth in lowliest guise 
 
 Without one trait that linked him to the skies : 
 
 After, — he thought and spake as doth a child, 
 
 By tales of legendary lore beguiled, 
 
 Where faith and fact are all unreconciled ;
 
 Before and After. 479 
 
 Did he not say that once, when evening's breeze,* 
 
 In a fair garden, stirred among the trees, 
 
 His God was visible to mortal sense,t 
 
 And known, — despite the human impotence ? 
 
 " Who told thee thou wast naked ? " — and who told 
 
 That it was God with him did converse hold, 
 
 Communing of a new created earth, 
 
 Which late had fallen from its pristine worth. 
 
 And by one fault brought down eternal doom, 
 
 And on all life, — a universal tomb ? 
 
 Of Justice the world then knew but the name. 
 
 And not the mild forbearance, whence it came. 
 
 And meted unto wrong, unpitying blame, 
 
 Exacted eye for eye and tooth for tooth, J 
 
 By law, promulgated from Heaven, in sooth ; 
 
 And ruled in wrath, with a vindictive rod, 
 
 Deeming its angry soul, the voice of God, 
 
 And the poor, fleeting judgments of the dust, 
 
 Th' eternal counsels of the Good and Just. 
 
 Was there one justice of the primal day. 
 
 And one, unlike it, which hath since borne sway ? 
 
 Is not Heaven's justice evermore the same. 
 
 Through all the vagrant moods, that move man's praise 
 
 and blame, 
 Not once forgetting who made and endowed 
 A thing of frailty, and its foes allowed ? 
 Did the Creator, in the morn of time. 
 With other balances weigh human crime ? 
 Or did not mystical, misguided men 
 More grievously misread earth's Ruler then, 
 Until they came to think that he was one 
 Who looked with partial eye on what was done 
 In this low sphere, — and had sonie favoured few, 
 
 * Genesis iii. 8. 
 
 ■f Whom no man hath seen or can see. — i Tiutotliy vi. 16. 
 J Thine eye shall not pity ; life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth 
 for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. — Deuf. xix. 21.
 
 480 Verses. 
 
 Who were as others, — sensual and untrue, 
 
 Yet Heaven-regarded — while the rest were left 
 
 Without the fold and of its care bereft ? 
 
 Was such the universal Parent's plan ? 
 
 That He should be the Father of a clan,"^ 
 
 And not the equal God of the world-scatter'd man ? 
 
 Men there have been who did believe that they 
 
 By a Divine command were bid to slay 
 
 Their fellow-men, in any ruthless way ; 
 
 And can such vain belief avail on high, 
 
 When plundered nations to the Father cry, 
 
 In the dumb accents of their agony ? 
 
 No ! it is blindness, ignorance, or sin, 
 
 Or some dark purpose that doth work within, 
 
 Which thus perverts belief, — perchance sincere, 
 
 Leaving the code divine, supreme and clear. 
 
 That code doth stand, unwarp'd by specious crime, 
 
 Unmov'd by all the sophistry of time. 
 
 By the perverseness of the good and wise, 
 
 And the apparent verdict of the skies 
 
 Vouch'd by devotion, — handmaid still of power, — 
 
 With benediction in her gorgeous hour. 
 
 Man is the creature of each passing age, 
 
 His falsehoods vanish and his wraths assuage, 
 
 And so fair Hope illumes his history's page. 
 
 1887. 
 
 * You only have I known of all the families of the earth. 
 Amos iii. 2.
 
 48 1 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 Reason . . is indeed the only faculty wherewith to judge concerning 
 anything, even revelation itself. — Bishop Butler. 
 
 That authority of men should prevail with men either against or above 
 Reason, is no part of our belief. Companies of learned men, be they 
 never so great and reverend, are to yield unto reason. — Hooker's 
 Ecclesiastical Polity, Book II., ch. vii. 6. 
 
 He was firmly grounded in the assurance that reason must rule, in 
 other words, because he had faith in reason. — Shadworth H. Hodgson. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye reason that ye may induce belief 
 
 In things ye deem for man the prime and chief, 
 
 And thus were moulded creeds in bold relief. 
 
 II. 
 
 We reason by as fair and strict a law, 
 
 But our conclusions are not those ye draw, 
 
 And so ye straightway strike, with beak and claw ; 
 
 III. 
 
 And Reason, as a traitor, ye arraign, 
 Because she yields not in her own domain, 
 When bare Authority demands to reign. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But Reason her straight path doth still pursue. 
 Though it be trodden only by the few. 
 With travail that the many never knew ; 
 
 V. 
 
 And Reason doth not fear though doubts assail. 
 Nor with unworthy weapons would prevail. 
 When the blows ring upon the rusted mail. 
 
 31
 
 482 Verses. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The generations as they pass away, 
 May not transmit irrevocable sway, 
 Nor man's horizon bound to their own day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For man had age of childhood, when he weaved 
 Imaginings, with which he was deceived. 
 And which, more late, credulity believed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But juster feeling wakes within the soul. 
 And truer knowledge doth assert control, 
 And with a surer guidance point the goal. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Man doth not here inherit truth and rest, 
 And only doth attain by his own quest 
 And faculty, — all fallible at best. 
 
 X. 
 
 And ever, he did only " know in part — "* 
 " Through a glass darkly " he doth scan the chart. 
 Whereby through life and strife is steered the mind and 
 heart. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Authority hath had dominion long, 
 
 But hath not had immunity from wrong. 
 
 Nor hath been wise, as it was proud and strong. 
 
 XII. 
 It hath asserted most, when most unskilled, 
 And on the narrowest premise it would build 
 The Universe, — as dogmatist hath will'd, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Boasting of right divine, — until men saw 
 
 In harsh convention, universal law, 
 
 Which ruled them with a blind, despotic awe. 
 
 * " Now we see through a glass darkly — now I know In part." — 
 I Cor. xiii. 12.
 
 Contrasts. 483 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Their codes and creeds, were fenced with fable round, 
 The true and false they always did confound, 
 And with the chain of error were fast bound ; 
 
 XV. 
 
 And the old ignorance doth only die 
 
 As, one by one, stars fade from nightly sky, 
 
 When the sun telleth that the morn is nigh. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Yet knowledge grows, — parent of power and light, 
 And slowly doth disperse the mental night, 
 Which from our race hath hid the higher right : 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Then doth awaken kindlier regard 
 And sympathy for all whose lot is hard 
 In the life battle, and from hope debarred ; 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Who only know the bondman's bitter fate. 
 Unshielded by the equal fostering State, 
 Which betwixt might and right should arbitrate. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Thus ancient prejudice shall pass away, 
 And all restraint alike, bear light of day 
 Beneath impartial Law's benignant sway. 
 
 XX. 
 
 For Reason ever, with unresting zeal. 
 From the traditions maketh her appeal, 
 To what the long experience doth repeal ; 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And man no other umpire hath than Thought, — 
 
 And though with error all his truth be wrought. 
 
 He hath not hoped in vain, he doth not toil for naught. 
 
 1889. 
 
 31 *
 
 484 
 
 FALK LAWS. 
 
 A PROTESTANT REVERIE, CONCERNING 
 PAPAL RULE. 
 
 Mankind advance to the discovevy of truth through a series of 
 viistakes and failures. — Sir John Herschrl. 
 
 Catholicism, we may observe, is commended to the support of 
 Princes as promoting the security of their government— a position 
 supposed to be particularly manifest if the Inquisition be connected 
 with the government ; the former constituting the bulwark of the 
 latter. But such a security is based on a slavish religious obedience, 
 and is limited to those grades of human development in which the 
 political constitution and the whole legal system still rest on the basis 
 of actual positive possession ; but if the constitution and laws are to 
 be founded on a veritable eternal Right, then security is to be found 
 only in the Protestant religion, in whose principle Rational Subjective 
 Fieedom also attains development. —Hegel {Philosophy of History). 
 
 Falk Laws, by Vatican abhorr'd, 
 Give sceptre to State's rightful Lord, 
 And blunt ecclesiastic sword. 
 
 II. 
 Falk Laws — Ye therefore sternly curse, 
 Though rigours, more than they rehearse, 
 Ye cherished, when ye could coerce. 
 
 By you were Inquisitions built. 
 By you hath noble blood been spilt 
 For the mere phantasy of guilt,
 
 Falk Laws. 485 
 
 That human minds could not believe 
 What ye had taught them to receive, 
 For man may err and words deceive. 
 
 But vain to you was such appeal ; 
 Ye answer'd by the rack and wheel, 
 And the brute soldier's iron heel. 
 
 And St. Bartholomew hath told 
 What faith ye nurtured in the fold. 
 And on your foes, what doom is roll'd. 
 
 And annals of Imperial Spain, 
 
 Tell how ye made her conquests vain, 
 
 By stern ecclesiastic reign. 
 
 And Italy — your shrine and throne. 
 Reaping the harvest ye have sown. 
 Hath been for ages overthrown. 
 
 And Europe's every realm doth know. 
 What policy of bonds and woe 
 From your untemper'd rule did flow. 
 
 'Tis wc have brought humaner code, 
 'Tis we have broke the yoke and goad. 
 And freedom on the mind bestow'd. 
 
 III. 
 There is a mystery sublime, 
 Of Man, and Providence, and Time, 
 That reacheth backward to the prime, 
 
 And forward, to that endless way, 
 Which Faith doth tremblingly survey. 
 Beyond this transitory day. 
 
 We pause, — before the mighty theme ; 
 We doubt, — as ye unfold the scheme ; 
 And ye denounce the wrath supreme.
 
 486 Verses. 
 
 Ye measure utmost Heaven and Earth, 
 By words that early had their birth, 
 And give them everlasting worth. 
 
 Tho' words of seeming light and power, 
 In the world's dim and dawning hour, 
 Wax old, and lose their primal dower,"^ 
 
 They came of our life's "childish things," t 
 Of awe, that from appearance springs, 
 Which knowledge into ruin brings. 
 
 Then fabling Fancy must resign 
 The forms she worshipp'd as divine. 
 And Reason build a worthier shrine. 
 
 Yet superstition doth not yield 
 Impassive, — weapons she did wield ; 
 And ye have been her sword and shield. 
 
 For, who doth blindly acquiesce 
 In each dark dogma ye confess. 
 Without intelligence, — ye bless. 
 
 For ye would have a mind inert 
 And lips that mutter, | — not assert 
 One postulate your pride to hurt. 
 
 But souls that the clear light have sought, 
 And the good fight have patient fought 
 With all the spectres ye have wrought. 
 
 Them ye have everywhere oppress'd. 
 And outlaw'd by your stern behest, 
 Tho' men, the bravest and the best. 
 
 * That which decayeth and waxeth old is ready to vanish away. — 
 Heb. viii. 13. 
 
 -f When I became a man I put away childish things. — i Coy. xiii. 11. 
 J Wizards that peep and that mutter. — Isaiali viii. ig.
 
 Falk Laws. 487 
 
 The best and bravest, — if the deed 
 That doth from purest love proceed, 
 Be held diviner than the creed."^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 On Empir'd Rome when erst ye broke, 
 She made you pass beneath the yoke. 
 And smote you with a deadly stroke ; 
 
 For that her gods and temples all. 
 Before the Christ, ye said, should fall, 
 Like crumbling and unbuttress'd wall ; 
 
 And then ye scal'd the heights of power, 
 And made your own, the conqueror's hour. 
 Your heritage, the despot's dower. 
 
 And ye forgot your low estate. 
 How ye had prosper'd by debate. 
 And wrestled with an adverse fate ; 
 
 And Priest and Potentate combined 
 To wring submission from mankind. 
 Like the old idols, false and blind ; 
 
 And had ye power, ye have the will, 
 The polity and purpose still, 
 That would your old designs fulfil. 
 
 This is the lesson ye have taught, — 
 That Reason, which God gave, is naught. 
 And force the arbiter of thought. 
 
 V. 
 
 We are the faithful, — who confide 
 
 In conquering truth, — whate'er betide; 
 
 While struggling man with doubt is tried. 
 
 * And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three ; but the greatest of 
 thebe is love. — i Coy. xiii. 13, revised version.
 
 48S Verses. 
 
 For as he climbs the rugged slope, 
 The vision changeth, — yet the scope, 
 If dark, is ever bright with hope. 
 
 And fearless he can look on high, 
 For tho' the mists may veil the sky. 
 He feeleth that a God is nigh."^ 
 
 He feeleth^ — but he may not know 
 Existence, — that hath none below 
 From which comparison may grow. 
 
 He can but shape from mind and thought 
 The things that he hath seen and wrought, 
 Which may at last foreshadow nought. 
 
 That is; — "the unapproached light" — f 
 
 The inaccessible to sight — 
 
 How should our words express aright ? 
 
 Yet we despond not of the Race 
 For — tho' with halting step and pace, 
 It moveth to a higher place, 
 
 Where laws are equal, — where the few 
 
 No more the many shall undo, 
 
 Or spoil them of the good and true ; 
 
 And tho' we journey to the dust, 
 This bateth not our stedfast trust 
 That He who rules the world is just : 
 
 * Feel after hiin. — Acts xvii. 27. 
 
 •j" Dwelling in the light which no man can approach unto ; whom no 
 man hath seen or can see. — i Tt'm. vi. 16. 
 
 Since God is light, 
 And never but in unapproached light 
 Dwelt from eternity. — Milton.
 
 Falk Laics. 489 
 
 And just as justice here is known ; 
 Nor reaping where He hath not sown,* 
 Nor making Hfe an endless moan ; 
 
 But from the lowest germ and cell 
 Evolving forms, wherein the spell 
 Of beauty and of love shall dwell — 
 
 Yet with opposing forces rife, 
 And only thro' defeat and strife 
 Developing the higher life. 
 
 With faculty of thought endow'd. 
 
 And by the lower impulse bow'd, 
 
 Man's light doth glimmer thro' the cloud ; 
 
 And time, and circumstance, and place, 
 The larger or the lesser grace 
 Imparted, — he may not efface ; 
 
 But, Who the destiny hath fix'd, 
 And Who the elements hath mix'd. 
 Shall hold the balances betwixt : 
 
 He will not ask an angel's might, 
 He will not ask an angel's hght, 
 Where He bestow'd nor force nor sight. 
 
 His ways are not the ways of men,t 
 Bounded by narrow heart and ken : — 
 By judgments of the now and then. 
 
 And there remaineth rest and light. 
 Shall purge the many films of sight, 
 And set the warped affections right. 
 
 * An hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown. — Matf. xxv. 24. 
 t My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your 
 ways. — Is. Iv. 8.
 
 490 Verses. 
 
 And who, — that would repent — shall learn,* 
 And ignorance shall truth discern, 
 And hearts unloved, — shall love return. 
 
 Here, — opportunity did fail ; 
 
 Brief years and bitter, made the tale;t 
 
 There, — ampler seasons shall prevail ; 
 
 And culture anarchy shall quell, 
 And in the desert shall compel 
 The living verdure yet to dwell. J 
 
 For mind by nature doth ascend ; 
 And, baffled oft, of nobler end. 
 Shall yet, its present, all transcend. 
 
 An onward course, slow, slow but sure, 
 
 The type for ever shall endure, 
 
 At every stage more blest and pure. 
 
 Venice, 1876. 
 
 * If the mighty works . . had been done . , they would have 
 repented.— J/a!'^. x. 21. 
 
 t Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been. — 
 Genesis xlvii. 9. 
 
 X The desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.— /5. xxxv. i .
 
 491 
 
 ARCHBISHOP MANNING 
 
 DENOUNCES THE TYRANNY OF THE TUDORS. 
 
 It is not tyranny of Kings, 
 
 That the most bitter bondage brings, 
 
 Or most doth mar the march of things; 
 
 But tyranny of Priest and Pope, 
 With wider and more withering scope. 
 Doth quench hfe's manher hght and hope. 
 
 Survey ecclesiastic chmes, 
 
 "Where yet survive the darker times, 
 
 And ye shall mark unnumber'd crimes 
 
 Against that libert}^ of man 
 Which dares his destiny to scan, — 
 Fearless of theologic ban. 
 
 The Priest would fetter thought and mind. 
 And with his mandate he would bind 
 The knowledge that should bless mankind. 
 
 And he would make his will supreme, 
 And all a nation's strength would seem 
 As nothing to his priestly dream."^ 
 
 * Papist first — Englishman afterwards. — Earl of Denbigh.
 
 492 Verses. 
 
 Rightly the monarch doth enact 
 Whate'er should rule the social pact, 
 And loyal service doth exact ; 
 
 And rightly he doth curb and tame 
 The subtle foe, who seeks to frame 
 A code that maketh void his name, 
 
 And public law would supersede, 
 By maxims of a treach'rous creed. 
 Thro' which allegiance is freed 
 
 From trammel of the State's decree ; 
 That so the Commonwealth may be 
 A vassal, at an alien's knee. 
 
 The powers that be doth God ordain ; — 
 By right inviolate they reign — 
 Prerogative the Priest doth feign. 
 
 In his last hours the Master said. 
 Earth's crowns descend not on their head 
 Who follow where my footsteps led ; 
 
 Ambition's trophies are not mine ; 
 
 Nor glories of a royal line 
 
 The guerdon of the work divine."^ 
 
 Yet he, who haughtily doth claim 
 Sole rule, in that Redeemer's name, 
 Would grasp with this the worldly aim ; 
 
 Would govern from the kingly seat ; 
 Would hold a sovereignty complete. 
 Which all the nations should entreat, 
 
 * Jesus answered, My kingdom is nol of this world. — ^ohn 
 xviii. 36.
 
 Archbishop Mannino^. 493 
 
 By falsehood, and thro' craven fear.^ 
 He hath usurp'd dominion here, 
 Of which the final doom is near. 
 
 -Slowly its state and strength decay, 
 And all the terror of its sway 
 Doth pass, like morning mist, away. 
 
 1875. 
 
 * Fraud is the resource of weakness and cunning, and the strong 
 though ignorant barbarian was often entangled in the net of sacer- 
 dotal poHcy. The Vatican and Lateran were an arsenal and manu- 
 facture which, according to the occasion, have produced or concealed 
 a various collection of false or genuine, of corrupt or suspicious acts, 
 as they tended to promote the interest of the Roman Church. Before 
 the end of the eighth century, some apostolic scribe, perhaps the 
 notorious Isidore, composed the Decretals and Donation of Constan- 
 tine, the two magic pillars of the spiritual and temporal monarchy of 
 the Popes. — Gibbon, chap. xlix.
 
 494 
 
 ROME, SPAIN, AND BRITAIN. 
 
 Whatsoever a ynan soweth, that shall he also reap. — St. Paul. 
 
 From of old ye vanquish'd Spain, 
 
 And with iron hand, 
 From the mountains to the main, 
 
 Ye have ruled the land. 
 
 Ye have banish'd, burn'd, and spoil'd, 
 All that cross'd your path, — 
 
 Aught that your dominion foil'd 
 Fell before your wrath. 
 
 There was not a human power, 
 
 None ye deem'd divine — 
 Courtly hall, embattled tower. 
 
 Ancient dome and shrine, 
 
 But ye held them, all and each ; — 
 
 Art, and books, and lore, 
 What ye listed, — they must teach — 
 
 Whom ye would, — adore. 
 
 Thus ye moulded man and mind ; 
 
 Every social law — 
 What the intellect doth find. 
 
 And what kindles awe. 
 
 Woman, with her matchless might. 
 
 At your foot did kneel, 
 All her purest love and light 
 
 Lent unto your zeal.
 
 Rome, Spain, and Britain. 495 
 
 From the cradle to the grave, 
 
 Act, and word, and thought, 
 Wore your fetters as a slave, 
 
 And your purpose wrought. 
 
 So it fared, — this subject land 
 
 Ye were sworn to keep ; 
 And the labour of your hand 
 
 Ye have come to reap. 
 
 Anarchy, and strife, and blood, 
 
 Falsehood, fear, and shame, 
 As an overwhelming flood. 
 
 Of your empire came. 
 
 From of old we broke your chain ; 
 
 And the world doth see 
 Bonds and infamy for Spain, — 
 
 Britain, great and free. 
 
 1875.
 
 496 
 
 THE CLERICAL PERVERT. 
 
 Moved by the Holy Ghost, — as then he said, 
 In Enghsh Church, where he was born and bred, 
 He sought ordaining hands upon his head 
 
 And priest was made ; and priestly wonders wrought ; 
 Which he discovered erst were void and naught, 
 And but a mere pretence of all he taught. 
 
 In this great act, if thus he grossly err'd, 
 And Holy Ghost within him had not stirr'd, 
 What is the worth of his most solemn word ? 
 
 And how supernal things should he attest 
 Who hath conspicuous fail'd, beyond the rest 
 Vaunting of mystic powers he ne'er possess'd. 
 
 To bind and loose, to change the bread and wine, 
 To stand within the Apostolic line, 
 While only layman in an empty shrine ?
 
 497 
 
 CARDINAL MANNING APPLAUDS 
 INNOCENT III., AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 From Innocent the Third to him who now 
 
 Doth wear the triple crown upon his brow, 
 
 What miracles of change the years have wrought, 
 
 In all the ways of men, and all their thought ! 
 
 Earth's mightiest kings Pope Innocent defied, 
 
 Until they basely bow'd before his pride ; 
 
 With ghostly terrors he kept realms in awe. 
 
 And his imperious will was Europe's law. 
 
 Look on that Europe, as it lives to-day; — 
 
 And lo ! this despot-doom hath pass'd away ; 
 
 Gone, — all the greatness that was vaunted then, — 
 
 The myriad banners, and the mailed men 
 
 By Pope array'd, and duped with words sublime. 
 
 To fall, far off in fight, or sink in crime. 
 
 People or Prince, permission ask not now, 
 
 To rule or reign, if Pope would deign allow ; 
 
 But Pope, — not regal, — with much harmless wile, 
 
 Doth groan of bonds, and rulers doth revile ; 
 
 Yet the world stands, — nay, grows in grace and might. 
 
 In work humane, and in true guiding light. 
 
 And leaves behind with joy, the Papal night. 
 
 Vainly doth Pope call down avenging fire ; 
 
 No lightnings flash, no whelming waves retire. 
 
 And no sun pauseth, at his fierce desire. 
 
 Behold ! Italia frameth code and law 
 
 For public good, — tho' Pope doth overawe, 
 
 And wrath denounce, — and yet nor fault nor flaw 
 
 Mars just authority, — tho' dreamers quake 
 
 As some pernicious power doth needful break, 
 
 Some priest-made maxim, or some slavish word. 
 
 Which the bow'd nations once adoring heard. 
 
 1876. 
 
 32
 
 498 
 
 IN AN ITALIAN CHURCH. 
 
 " Ve ignorantly worship." — St. Paul, Acts xvii. 24. 
 
 "Spurious service consists essentially in the notion of winning 
 the Divine favour by other means than by uprightness of moral 
 will." — Kant. 
 
 Compare this tinsel and fantastic scene 
 
 With EngHsh Church upon a village green ; 
 
 Compare that manly sense, that sober thought, 
 
 With the poor pantomime that here is wrought ; 
 
 That white-robed priest, who lives man's order'd hfe, 
 
 Chastened and purified by child and wife, 
 
 With this mute, glittering thing, who stands apart, 
 
 Unsanctified by lore of home and heart. 
 
 These tawdry trappings, this theatric show. 
 
 Shed they one gleam of light on things below ? 
 
 These forms grotesque and hues of vulgar paint 
 
 Enshrining legend of some mythic saint. 
 
 This web of worship, wove with spurious art, 
 
 Which veils with symbols vain the spirit's part ; 
 
 Can such be reasoned service"^ of a soul. 
 
 By truth informed and prescient of the goal ? 
 
 But, — one responds — survey the nobler shrine. 
 
 Where everything attests the hand divine ; 
 
 Where art's most glorious triumphs are displayed, 
 
 And where the mighty dead have knelt and prayed. 
 
 I have, — with ever-growing wonder ; then 
 
 Have turn'd my thoughts upon the shrunken men 
 
 * Your reasonable service. — Roviaiis xii. i.
 
 In an Italian Church. 499 
 
 Who live within the shadow of the pile, 
 
 And in no good or grace have grown the while. 
 
 To please the sense, delight the eye and ear, 
 
 This is the arduous task attempted here ; 
 
 To train self-governed men, and make them free, 
 
 Degenerate Church ! belongeth not to thee. 
 
 And in this lower conflict, if ye fail. 
 
 How should ye triumph there, — within the vail ? 
 
 If earth ye know not, nor her laws discern, 
 
 How of the Heavenly Kingdom should ye learn ? 
 
 Religion hath the promise here below,* 
 
 And of that other world to which we go ; 
 
 And she, who here, her votaries doth not save 
 
 From ignorance and baseness of the slave, 
 
 Who is not pioneer of light, that brings 
 
 Healing and health and joy upon its wings, 
 
 And doth not fill the horn of life with what 
 
 Gladdens and elevates this mortal lot, 
 
 But pays disciples with the world to come, 
 
 And of the Present, is all blind and dumb, 
 
 (Save that, denouncing gold as evil root. 
 
 She taketh to herself, both bloom and fruit) ; 
 
 Religion of this type, howe'er it boast 
 
 Antiquity, Succession and its Host, 
 
 Bishops and Cardinals, and wealth and fame. 
 
 Incense and temples of immortal name, 
 
 Is but imposture, — not celestial plan 
 
 To beautifv and bless this home of man.t 
 
 * " Godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the 
 life that now is and of that which Is to come." — Ttiii. iv. 8. 
 
 f The earth hath he given to the children of men. — Ps. cxv. 16. 
 
 32 *
 
 500 
 
 AT NAPLES. 
 
 Pope ! thy religion here hath borne the sway 
 
 For centuries ; thou couldst mould the clay 
 
 As doth the potter ; teaching all thy creed, 
 
 And planting in the soil that heavenly seed 
 
 Which doth not die, but ever beareth fruit, 
 
 Till in immortal clime it taketh root. 
 
 Such was thine office ; thou hadst gold and might, 
 
 And for thyself a palace of delight ; 
 
 And didst become a potentate so great. 
 
 That earthly monarchs in thy halls did wait ; 
 
 And many nations listen'd to thy word, 
 
 As though a voice supreme from Heaven they heard. 
 
 Where then is the vast flock of wand'ring sheep, 
 
 Which the Chief Shepherd bade thee feed and keep ? 
 
 Pass through this mighty city, street and lane, 
 
 Mark every human form it doth contain. 
 
 And say what Pagan land more piteous sight 
 
 Could offer to thy view through realms of night, — 
 
 More ignorance, supineness, and the dearth 
 
 Of all that gives life dignity and worth. 
 
 Pope ! of this darksome scene we ask account ; 
 
 Hadst thou not healing water from the fount 
 
 These to baptize, — regenerating stream. 
 
 Which from primeval fault doth man redeem ? 
 
 Hadst thou not canonised saints who save, 
 
 And whose good works avail beyond the grave, 
 
 To shed upon the frail — benighted — here 
 
 I
 
 At Naples. 501 
 
 The light which doth in all their life appear ? 
 
 Didst thou not sit in the Apostles' seat, 
 
 And couldst thou not, each day, make God, and eat,* 
 
 And with this food divine the people feed ? 
 
 Hadst thou not " relics " too, for their great need ? 
 
 And miracles — pictures with moving eyes, 
 
 And hard, dead blood of saint, which liquefies ? 
 
 And couldst thou not,— infallible, — declare 
 
 Most secret hidden thing in earth and air, 
 
 •' Immaculate Conception," — that great knell 
 
 Of the world's want and woe, and deeper Hell ? 
 
 Pope ! is not this inheritance all thine ? 
 
 Dost thou not challenge it, of gift divine ? 
 
 Where is the fruit, then, of this awful dower ? 
 
 Why is earth not as Eden at this hour ? 
 
 Thy priests are legion, crowding every fane, 
 
 Why is this multitude not born again ? 
 
 Why doth it yet remain as the rude dross 
 
 Of the dark heathen time, before the Cross ? 
 
 What matter paternosters and the Creed, 
 
 With the mind shrouded and the evil deed ? 
 
 What matter pictures and a gorgeous pile, 
 
 Where the man croucheth alway, mean and vile ? 
 
 Was it to swell the hierarchic pride. 
 
 Or man exalt, that He of Bethlehem died ? 
 
 Didst thou not build a proud, triumphant dome 
 
 Where thou didst wield thy power — in that old Rome 
 
 Swayed of the Caesars ? Didst thou not surpass 
 
 In glory of thy marble, gold and brass, 
 
 Whatever they achiev'd, that conquering race, 
 
 When they would lift on high, the Imperial place? 
 
 * " And then how I shall He through centuries, 
 And hear the blessed mutter of the Mass, 
 And see God made and eaten all day long." 
 "The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed's Church."— i^o^'^r^ 
 Browning.
 
 502 Verses. 
 
 But they were born to rule with iron rod, 
 And thou to teach mankind the ways of God : 
 Their work they did with an unsparing hand ; 
 Where is the hght and joy thou gav'st the land ? 
 Temple and monument send forth reply, 
 Colour and Form and Art that may not die : 
 But for these poor, who shame the generous sun, 
 Pope ! in thine hour of pride, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Rome, October, 1879.
 
 503 
 
 LIMITATIONS. 
 
 Most ignorant of what he's most assured. — Measure for Measure. 
 
 For we know in part and we prophesy in part. — I Cor. xiii. 9. 
 
 We dogmatise at the point wliere ignorance begins. — Dean Mansel. 
 
 I. 
 
 This world of common things we know in part, 
 
 But by appearance much are led astray ; 
 From blundering premiss mostly do we start, 
 
 And thro' unnumber'd pitfalls make our way ; 
 
 2. 
 
 And Nature doth not stay this errant course. 
 Nor light of truth upon her works bestow, 
 
 Till self-complacence doth abate its force, 
 
 And he hath learn'd to doubt who seem'd to know.* 
 
 3- 
 We prophesy in part — of Him who made 
 
 The orbs of light and intellect of man — 
 As tho' His boundless work we had survey'd, 
 
 And comprehended its eternal plan. 
 
 4- 
 We prophesy in part, — by feeling led 
 
 Of fate and fear, which may be but a dream ; 
 And which has ebb'd and flowed, as years have fled. 
 
 And as life's day, more dark or bright did seem. 
 
 * Philosophy commences when men bc^in to doubt. — Dean Mansel.
 
 504 Verses. 
 
 5- 
 
 Whatever we can know, or think, or feel, 
 
 From this terrestrial scene hath been derived ; 
 
 And words, which worlds inscrutable reveal, 
 Are earthborn symbols, by man's art contrived, 
 
 6. 
 
 And never can depict, ethereal zone 
 
 Which lies beyond this sublunary frame, 
 
 Nor bring the unapparent and unknown 
 Within our vision, by an empty name. 
 
 7- 
 To know in part and prophesy in part, 
 
 Is root of error, with our thought entwined 
 However it rebel, — the glowing heart, 
 
 Whatever it achieve, — the ardent mind. 
 
 8. 
 
 And yet this little part may wider grow 
 As man his impotence doth most confess, 
 
 And he will come more certainly to know 
 As the old arrogance assumeth less. 
 
 For the truth dawneth on the true of heart, 
 The patient mind no flatteries allure 
 
 Which works and waits ; — content to know in part, 
 Until the light ariseth clear and sure. 
 
 10. 
 
 Content to bear the bigot's scorn and pride, 
 That so it may attain the Good and True ; * 
 
 Not from the Old, — unreasoning — turn'd aside, 
 Nor warp'd by prejudice, against the New. 
 
 * Not as tho' I had already attained. — Pliillipiaiis iii. 12.
 
 Limitaiiuns. 505 
 
 II. 
 
 All guiltless we may err of sun and star, 
 
 Of meanest things, beneath our feet, that grow ; 
 
 But, if the Creed's deep mystery we mar. 
 The meed we merit is eternal woe."^ 
 
 12. 
 
 Hard fate of him who only knows in part, 
 
 And whose beliefs are born so wild and strange, 
 
 Begotten of untutor'd mind and heart. 
 
 In time and place, which none might choose or change. 
 
 13. 
 
 Belief, from knowledge taketh hue and form ; 
 
 And ignorance will anything believe ; 
 Will demons find in fire, and cloud, and storm, 
 
 And with all nature will itself deceive. 
 
 14. 
 
 And the frail men, who fram'd the wondrous Creed, 
 Were subject to like passions with their kind ;t 
 
 Mov'd by the same ambition, fear and need. 
 And in the rayless darkness not less blind. 
 
 15- 
 
 And who should judge of guilt and wrong and blame, 
 When the soul's history he may not know, 
 
 Nor mark, how life's first planted seeds became 
 The root from whence most bitter fruit did grow ? 
 
 * Without doubt he shall perish everlastingly. — AtJianasian Creed, 
 f We also are men of like passions with you (Barnabas and Paul). 
 — Acts xiv. 15.
 
 5o6 Verses. 
 
 i6. 
 
 And how should man another mind explore,* 
 Its depths and shallows, — secret rocks of fear, 
 
 And currents, eddying on some fatal shore, 
 While not a warning light ascendeth near ? 
 
 17- 
 And how should he believe, who hath not heard 
 
 Of things to be believed ?t or how should they 
 Whose kin and ancestr}', have always err'd, 
 
 Feel the sad burden, or find better way ? 
 
 i8. 
 
 Yet the stern dogmatist doth smite them all, 
 
 With one dread pang of unavailing pain ; 
 Nor doth the unequal way J his heart appal, 
 
 But seems the equal way of Heavenly reign, 
 
 19. 
 
 Thus he doth everywhere interpret God 
 
 By his own feeling; — and the Right and Just 
 
 Doth measure by his own barbarian rod, 
 As tho' he were not offspring of the dust 
 
 20. 
 
 With words and understanding of a child. 
 And the rash impulse which it doth obey ; 
 
 To manly work and thought unreconcil'd. 
 Not having put his childish things away.§ 
 
 * What man knoweth the things of a man save the spirit of a man, 
 which is in him? — i Co;', ii. 11. 
 
 f How shall they believe in Him of Whom they have not heard? 
 — Rom. X. 14. 
 
 % Hear, now, O house of Israel; is not my way equal? Are not 
 your ways unequal ? — Ezekiel xviii. 25. 
 
 What mean these words, equal and unequal ? 
 
 § When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, 
 I thought as a child ; but when I became a man, I put away childish 
 things. — I Coi'. xiii. 2.
 
 Limitations. 507 
 
 21. 
 
 Thro' a dim glass we now but darkly see'^ 
 
 What is the present and from whence we come, 
 
 ■V'hat, in the endless future there may be, 
 When earth's familiar voices all are dumb. 
 
 22. 
 
 Yet Hope, which bears us thro' this mortal strife, 
 Looks forth undaunted on the pathless gloom ; 
 
 Expects that He who gave this germ of life 
 \\^ill give it ampler scope beyond the tomb — 
 
 23. 
 
 Expects that the weak light which glimmers here 
 
 Is but the dawning of diviner day 
 ^^'herein the Good more plainly will appear 
 
 And with more suasive force hold firmer sway. 
 
 September, 1880. 
 
 * Now we see through a glass darkly. — i Cor. xii. 12. BXctto/acv 
 yap apTL bt eaoiTTpov cv aivty/xart (in an enigma).
 
 =;o8 
 
 SPEECHES OF POPE PIUS IX. 
 
 Infallible — ^just now and then, 
 And now and then — a fool ; 
 
 Well may the worldly wonder when 
 Each mood of mind doth rule. 
 
 Strange that a human soul should rise 
 
 Infallible to be, 
 And that anon it grovelling lies, 
 
 As weak and prone as we. 
 
 Transfigured, — see him on the mount, 
 
 As God, discerning all; 
 A clear, untroubled, crystal fount, 
 
 On which no shade may fall. 
 
 Then mark him in the vale below, 
 By passion moved and pride — 
 
 Signs of the times ; unskill'd to know,* 
 Or obstinate to chide. 
 
 Then listen, as he wildly raves 
 
 At all beneath the sun, 
 At the great work that wind and waves 
 
 And time and tide have done. 
 
 Moments infallible should sure 
 Some tokens leave behind, 
 
 In wisdom that would more endure 
 And words less gross and blind. 
 
 1875- 
 
 * Can ye not discern the signs of the times ? — Matt. xvi. 3.
 
 509 
 
 IN MEMORY OF HENRY A. BRIGHT. 
 
 I shall not see his like again, 
 
 Though very far my foot may stray 
 
 Among the busy haunts of men, 
 Or on our life's secluded way. 
 
 A friend — how true and gentle, he ; 
 
 A soul — how full of purest life ; 
 A mind — that everywhere could see 
 
 The beauty with which earth is rife. 
 
 The larger thought he still pursued, 
 Amid the strifes where men contend; 
 
 With the high purpose was endued. 
 And the self-sacrificing end. 
 
 Ah me ! our world is poorer left. 
 
 Since he is gone and comes no more ; 
 But memory cannot be bereft 
 
 Of that which he hath been before. 
 1884.
 
 5IO 
 
 IN MEMORY OF ALICE B. 
 
 And so the gentle spirit passed away, 
 
 Unsoil'd by earthly stain through her short stay ; 
 
 And if beyond this transitory scene, 
 
 There be some clime more blissful and serene, 
 
 Where patient, loving hearts shall live again, 
 
 Through some high destiny ordained for men. 
 
 Who would detain her from that purer shore, 
 
 To tempt life's many pains and pangs once more ? 
 
 Farewell ! the morning of our day is best, 
 
 With all its sunny hopes and friendships blest. 
 
 And these were hers, and now she is at rest. 
 
 G. NUR.MAN' AND SON, I'RINTERS, IIARl SIREET, COVE.NT ClARDEX.
 
 511 
 
 AT CHURCH STRETTON. 
 
 To the churchyard where they bore her- 
 
 Sleeping, sleeping 
 
 Came we, after years passed o'er her, 
 
 Weeping, weeping. 
 
 Time no heaHng balm had brought us ; 
 
 Only, only 
 
 To a settled grief had wrought us. 
 
 Lonely, lonely. 
 
 Making all the vacant places 
 
 Drearer, Drearer, 
 
 And her form that memory traces 
 
 Dearer, dearer. 
 
 Hath our life, then, its renewing 
 
 Never, never ? 
 
 And is death the all un-doing 
 
 Ever, ever ?
 
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