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Science & Education by Thomas H. Huxley

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The apology offered in the Preface to the first volume of this series
for the occurrence of repetitions, is even more needful here I am
afraid. But it could hardly be otherwise with speeches and essays, on
the same topic, addressed at intervals, during more than thirty years,
to widely distant and different hearers and readers. The oldest piece,
that "On the Educational Value of the Natural History Sciences,"
contains some crudities, which I repudiated when the lecture was first
reprinted, more than twenty years ago; but it will be seen that much of
what I have had to say, later on in life, is merely a development of
the propositions enunciated in this early and sadly-imperfect piece of

In view of the recent attempt to disturb the compromise about the
teaching of dogmatic theology, solemnly agreed to by the first School
Board for London, the fifteenth Essay; and, more particularly, the note
n. 3, may be found interesting.

T. H. H.

Hodeslea, Eastbourne, _September 4th, 1893_.


(An Address delivered on the occasion of the presentation of a statue
of Priestley to the town of Birmingham)

(An Address delivered in S. Martin's Hall)


(An Address to the South London Working Men's College)

(Liverpool Philomathic Society)

(An Address delivered at the opening of Sir Josiah Mason's Science
College, Birmingham)

(An Address to the members of the Liverpool Institution)

(Rectorial Address, Aberdeen)

(Delivered at the opening of the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore)

(A Lecture in connection with the Loan Collection of Scientific
Apparatus, South Kensington Museum)


(An Address to the students of the Faculty of Medicine in University
College, London)


(An Address to the International Medical Congress)









If the man to perpetuate whose memory we have this day raised a statue
had been asked on what part of his busy life's work he set the highest
value, he would undoubtedly have pointed to his voluminous
contributions to theology. In season and out of season, he was the
steadfast champion of that hypothesis respecting the Divine nature
which is termed Unitarianism by its friends and Socinianism by its
foes. Regardless of odds, he was ready to do battle with all comers in
that cause; and if no adversaries entered the lists, he would sally
forth to seek them.

To this, his highest ideal of duty, Joseph Priestley sacrificed the
vulgar prizes of life, which, assuredly, were within easy reach of a
man of his singular energy and varied abilities. For this object he put
aside, as of secondary importance, those scientific investigations
which he loved so well, and in which he showed himself so competent to
enlarge the boundaries of natural knowledge and to win fame. In this
cause he not only cheerfully suffered obloquy from the bigoted and the
unthinking, and came within sight of martyrdom; but bore with that
which is much harder to be borne than all these, the unfeigned
astonishment and hardly disguised contempt of a brilliant society,
composed of men whose sympathy and esteem must have been most dear to
him, and to whom it was simply incomprehensible that a philosopher
should seriously occupy himself with any form of Christianity.

It appears to me that the man who, setting before himself such an ideal
of life, acted up to it consistently, is worthy of the deepest respect,
whatever opinion may be entertained as to the real value of the tenets
which he so zealously propagated and defended.

But I am sure that I speak not only for myself, but for all this
assemblage, when I say that our purpose to-day is to do honour, not to
Priestley, the Unitarian divine, but to Priestley, the fearless
defender of rational freedom in thought and in action: to Priestley,
the philosophic thinker; to that Priestley who held a foremost place
among "the swift runners who hand over the lamp of life," [1] and
transmit from one generation to another the fire kindled,
in the childhood of the world, at the Promethean altar of Science.

The main incidents of Priestley's life are so well known that I need
dwell upon them at no great length.

Born in 1733, at Fieldhead, near Leeds, and brought up among Calvinists
of the straitest orthodoxy, the boy's striking natural ability led to
his being devoted to the profession of a minister of religion; and, in
1752, he was sent to the Dissenting Academy at Daventry--an institution
which authority left undisturbed, though its existence contravened the
law. The teachers under whose instruction and influence the young man
came at Daventry, carried out to the letter the injunction to "try all
things: hold fast that which is good," and encouraged the discussion of
every imaginable proposition with complete freedom, the leading
professors taking opposite sides; a discipline which, admirable as it
may be from a purely scientific point of view, would seem to be
calculated to make acute, rather than sound, divines. Priestley tells
us, in his "Autobiography," that he generally found himself on the
unorthodox side: and, as he grew older, and his faculties attained
their maturity, this native tendency towards heterodoxy grew with his
growth and strengthened with his strength. He passed from Calvinism to
Arianism; and finally, in middle life, landed in that very broad form
of Unitarianism by which his craving after a credible and consistent
theory of things was satisfied.

On leaving Daventry Priestley became minister of a congregation, first
at Needham Market, and secondly at Nantwich; but whether on account of
his heterodox opinions, or of the stuttering which impeded his
expression of them in the pulpit, little success attended his efforts
in this capacity. In 1761, a career much more suited to his abilities
became open to him. He was appointed "tutor in the languages" in the
Dissenting Academy at Warrington, in which capacity, besides giving
three courses of lectures, he taught Latin, Greek, French, and Italian,
and read lectures on the theory of language and universal grammar, on
oratory, philosophical criticism, and civil law. And it is interesting
to observe that, as a teacher, he encouraged and cherished in those
whom he instructed the freedom which he had enjoyed, in his own student
days, at Daventry. One of his pupils tells us that,

"At the conclusion of his lecture, he always encouraged his
students to express their sentiments relative to the subject of it,
and to urge any objections to what he had delivered, without
reserve. It pleased him when any one commenced such a conversation.
In order to excite the freest discussion, he occasionally invited
the students to drink tea with him, in order to canvass the
subjects of his lectures. I do not recollect that he ever showed
the least displeasure at the strongest objections that were made to
what he delivered, but I distinctly remember the smile of
approbation with which he usually received them: nor did he fail to
point out, in a very encouraging manner, the ingenuity or force of
any remarks that were made, when they merited these characters. His
object, as well as Dr. Aikin's, was to engage the students to
examine and decide for themselves, uninfluenced by the sentiments
of any other persons." [2]

It would be difficult to give a better description of a model teacher
than that conveyed in these words.

From his earliest days, Priestley had shown a strong bent towards the
study of nature; and his brother Timothy tells us that the boy put
spiders into bottles, to see how long they would live in the same
air--a curious anticipation of the investigations of his later years.
At Nantwich, where he set up a school, Priestley informs us that he
bought an air pump, an electrical machine, and other instruments, in
the use of which he instructed his scholars. But he does not seem to
have devoted himself seriously to physical science until 1766, when he
had the great good fortune to meet Benjamin Franklin, whose friendship
he ever afterwards enjoyed. Encouraged by Franklin, he wrote a "History
of Electricity," which was published in 1767, and appears to have met
with considerable success.

In the same year, Priestley left Warrington to become the minister of a
congregation at Leeds; and, here, happening to live next door to a
public brewery, as he says,

"I, at first, amused myself with making experiments on the fixed
air which I found ready-made in the process of fermentation. When I
removed from that house I was under the necessity of making fixed
air for myself; and one experiment leading to another, as I have
distinctly and faithfully noted in my various publications on the
subject, I by degrees contrived a convenient apparatus for the
purpose, but of the cheapest kind.

"When I began these experiments I knew very little of _chemistry_,
and had, in a manner, no idea on the subject before I attended a
course of chemical lectures, delivered in the Academy at
Warrington, by Dr. Turner of Liverpool. But I have often thought
that, upon the whole, this circumstance was no disadvantage to me;
as, in this situation, I was led to devise an apparatus and
processes of my own, adapted to my peculiar views; whereas, if I
had been previously accustomed to the usual chemical processes, I
should not have so easily thought of any other, and without new
modes of operation, I should hardly have discovered anything
materially new." [3]

The first outcome of Priestley's chemical work, published in 1772, was
of a very practical character. He discovered the way of impregnating
water with an excess of "fixed air," or carbonic acid, and thereby
producing what we now know as "soda water"--a service to naturally, and
still more to artificially, thirsty souls, which those whose parched
throats and hot heads are cooled by morning draughts of that beverage,
cannot too gratefully acknowledge. In the same year, Priestley
communicated the extensive series of observations which his industry
and ingenuity had accumulated, in the course of four years, to the
Royal Society, under the title of "Observations on Different Kinds of
Air"--a memoir which was justly regarded of so much merit and
importance, that the Society at once conferred upon the author the
highest distinction in their power, by awarding him the Copley Medal.

In 1771 a proposal was made to Priestley to accompany Captain Cook in
his second voyage to the South Seas. He accepted it, and his
congregation agreed to pay an assistant to supply his place during his
absence. But the appointment lay in the hands of the Board of
Longitude, of which certain clergymen were members; and whether these
worthy ecclesiastics feared that Priestley's presence among the ship's
company might expose His Majesty's sloop _Resolution_ to the fate
which aforetime befell a certain ship that went from Joppa to Tarshish;
or whether they were alarmed lest a Socinian should undermine that
piety which, in the days of Commodore Trunnion, so strikingly
characterised sailors, does not appear; but, at any rate, they objected
to Priestley "on account of his religious principles," and appointed
the two Forsters, whose "religious principles," if they had been known
to these well-meaning but not far-sighted persons, would probably have
surprised them.

In 1772 another proposal was made to Priestley. Lord Shelburne,
desiring a "literary companion," had been brought into communication
with Priestley by the good offices of a friend of both, Dr. Price; and
offered him the nominal post of librarian, with a good house and
appointments, and an annuity in case of the termination of the
engagement. Priestley accepted the offer, and remained with Lord
Shelburne for seven years, sometimes residing at Calne, sometimes
travelling abroad with the Earl.

Why the connection terminated has never been exactly known; but it is
certain that Lord Shelburne behaved with the utmost consideration and
kindness towards Priestley; that he fulfilled his engagements to the
letter; and that, at a later period, he expressed a desire that
Priestley should return to his old footing in his house. Probably
enough, the politician, aspiring to the highest offices in the State,
may have found the position of the protector of a man who was being
denounced all over the country as an infidel and an atheist somewhat
embarrassing. In fact, a passage in Priestley's "Autobiography" on the
occasion of the publication of his "Disquisitions relating to Matter
and Spirit," which took place in 1777, indicates pretty clearly the
state of the case:--

"(126) It being probable that this publication would be unpopular,
and might be the means of bringing odium on my patron, several
attempts were made by his friends, though none by himself, to
dissuade me from persisting in it. But being, as I thought, engaged
in the cause of important truth, I proceeded without regard to any
consequences, assuring them that this publication should not be
injurious to his lordship."

It is not unreasonable to suppose that his lordship, as a keen,
practical man of the world, did not derive much satisfaction from this
assurance. The "evident marks of dissatisfaction" which Priestley says
he first perceived in his patron in 1778, may well have arisen from the
peer's not unnatural uneasiness as to what his domesticated, but not
tamed, philosopher might write next, and what storm might thereby he
brought down on his own head; and it speaks very highly for Lord
Shelburne's delicacy that, in the midst of such perplexities, he made
not the least attempt to interfere with Priestley's freedom of action.
In 1780, however, he intimated to Dr. Price that he should be glad to
establish Priestley on his Irish estates: the suggestion was
interpreted, as Lord Shelburne probably intended it should be, and
Priestley left him, the annuity of £150 a year, which had been promised
in view of such a contingency, being punctually paid.

After leaving Calne, Priestley spent some little time in London, and
then, having settled in Birmingham at the desire of his brother-in-law,
he was soon invited to become the minister of a large congregation.
This settlement Priestley considered, at the time, to be "the happiest
event of his life." And well he might think so; for it gave him
competence and leisure; placed him within reach of the best makers of
apparatus of the day; made him a member of that remarkable "Lunar
Society," at whose meetings he could exchange thoughts with such men as
Watt, Wedgwood, Darwin, and Boulton; and threw open to him the pleasant
house of the Galtons of Barr, where these men, and others of less note,
formed a society of exceptional charm and intelligence. [4]

But these halcyon days were ended by a bitter storm. The French
Revolution broke out. An electric shock ran through the nations;
whatever there was of corrupt and retrograde, and, at the same time, a
great deal of what there was of best and noblest, in European society
shuddered at the outburst of long-pent-up social fires. Men's feelings
were excited in a way that we, in this generation, can hardly
comprehend. Party wrath and virulence were expressed in a manner
unparalleled, and it is to be hoped impossible, in our times; and
Priestley and his friends were held up to public scorn, even in
Parliament, as fomenters of sedition. A "Church-and-King" cry was
raised against the Liberal Dissenters; and, in Birmingham, it was
intensified and specially directed towards Priestley by a local
controversy, in which he had engaged with his usual vigour. In 1791,
the celebration of the second anniversary of the taking of the Bastille
by a public dinner, with which Priestley had nothing whatever to do,
gave the signal to the loyal and pious mob, who, unchecked, and indeed
to some extent encouraged, by those who were responsible for order, had
the town at their mercy for three days. The chapels and houses of the
leading Dissenters were wrecked, and Priestley and his family had to
fly for their lives, leaving library, apparatus, papers, and all their
possessions, a prey to the flames.

Priestley never returned to Birmingham. He bore the outrages and losses
inflicted upon him with extreme patience and sweetness, [5] and betook
himself to London. But even his scientific colleagues gave him a cold
shoulder; and though he was elected minister of a congregation at
Hackney, he felt his position to be insecure, and finally determined on
emigrating to the United States. He landed in America in 1794; lived
quietly with his sons at Northumberland, in Pennsylvania, where his
posterity still flourish; and, clear-headed and busy to the last, died
on the 6th of February 1804.

Such were the conditions under which Joseph Priestley did the work
which lay before him, and then, as the Norse Sagas say, went out of the
story. The work itself was of the most varied kind. No human interest
was without its attraction for Priestley, and few men have ever had so
many irons in the fire at once; but, though he may have burned his
fingers a little, very few who have tried that operation have burned
their fingers so little. He made admirable discoveries in science; his
philosophical treatises are still well worth reading; his political
works are full of insight and replete with the spirit of freedom; and
while all these sparks flew off from his anvil, the controversial
hammer rained a hail of blows on orthodox priest and bishop. While thus
engaged, the kindly, cheerful doctor felt no more wrath or
uncharitableness towards his opponents than a smith does towards his
iron. But if the iron could only speak!--and the priests and bishops
took the point of view of the iron.

No doubt what Priestley's friends repeatedly urged upon him--that he
would have escaped the heavier trials of his life and done more for the
advancement of knowledge, if he had confined himself to his scientific
pursuits and let his fellow-men go their way--was true. But it seems to
have been Priestley's feeling that he was a man and a citizen before he
was a philosopher, and that the duties of the two former positions are
at least as imperative as those of the latter. Moreover, there are men
(and I think Priestley was one of them) to whom the satisfaction of
throwing down a triumphant fallacy is as great as that which attends
the discovery of a new truth; who feel better satisfied with the
government of the world, when they have been helping Providence by
knocking an imposture on the head; and who care even more for freedom
of thought than for mere advance of knowledge. These men are the
Carnots who organise victory for truth, and they are, at least, as
important as the generals who visibly fight her battles in the field.

Priestley's reputation as a man of science rests upon his numerous and
important contributions to the chemistry of gaseous bodies; and to form
a just estimate of the value of his work--of the extent to which it
advanced the knowledge of fact and the development of sound theoretical
views--we must reflect what chemistry was in the first half of the
eighteenth century.

The vast science which now passes under that name had no existence.
Air, water, and fire were still counted among the elemental bodies; and
though Van Helmont, a century before, had distinguished different
kinds of air as _gas ventosum_ and _gas sylvestre_, and Boyle and Hales
had experimentally defined the physical properties of air, and
discriminated some of the various kinds of aëriform bodies, no one
suspected the existence of the numerous totally distinct gaseous
elements which are now known, or dreamed that the air we breathe and
the water we drink are compounds of gaseous elements.

But, in 1754, a young Scotch physician, Dr. Black, made the first
clearing in this tangled backwood of knowledge. And it gives one a
wonderful impression of the juvenility of scientific chemistry to think
that Lord Brougham, whom so many of us recollect, attended Black's
lectures when he was a student in Edinburgh. Black's researches gave
the world the novel and startling conception of a gas that was a
permanently elastic fluid like air, but that differed from common air
in being much heavier, very poisonous, and in having the properties of
an acid, capable of neutralising the strongest alkalies; and it took
the world some time to become accustomed to the notion.

A dozen years later, one of the most sagacious and accurate
investigators who has adorned this, or any other, country, Henry
Cavendish, published a memoir in the "Philosophical Transactions," in
which he deals not only with the "fixed air" (now called carbonic acid
or carbonic anhydride) of Black, but with "inflammable air," or what we
now term hydrogen.

By the rigorous application of weight and measure to all his processes,
Cavendish implied the belief subsequently formulated by Lavoisier,
that, in chemical processes, matter is neither created nor destroyed,
and indicated the path along which all future explorers must travel.
Nor did he himself halt until this path led him, in 1784, to the
brilliant and fundamental discovery that water is composed of two gases
united in fixed and constant proportions.

It is a trying ordeal for any man to be compared with Black and
Cavendish, and Priestley cannot be said to stand on their level.
Nevertheless his achievements are not only great in themselves, but
truly wonderful, if we consider the disadvantages under which he
laboured. Without the careful scientific training of Black, without the
leisure and appliances secured by the wealth of Cavendish, he scaled
the walls of science as so many Englishmen have done before and since
his day; and trusting to mother wit to supply the place of training,
and to ingenuity to create apparatus out of washing tubs, he discovered
more new gases than all his predecessors put together had done. He laid
the foundations of gas analysis; he discovered the complementary
actions of animal and vegetable life upon the constituents of the
atmosphere; and, finally, he crowned his work, this day one hundred
years ago, by the discovery of that "pure dephlogisticated air" to
which the French chemists subsequently gave the name of oxygen. Its
importance, as the constituent of the atmosphere which disappears in
the processes of respiration and combustion, and is restored by green
plants growing in sunshine, was proved somewhat later. For these
brilliant discoveries, the Royal Society elected Priestley a fellow and
gave him their medal, while the Academies of Paris and St. Petersburg
conferred their membership upon him. Edinburgh had made him an honorary
doctor of laws at an early period of his career; but, I need hardly
add, that a man of Priestley's opinions received no recognition from
the universities of his own country.

That Priestley's contributions to the knowledge of chemical fact were
of the greatest importance, and that they richly deserve all the praise
that has been awarded to them, is unquestionable; but it must, at the
same time, be admitted that he had no comprehension of the deeper
significance of his work; and, so far from contributing anything to the
theory of the facts which he discovered, or assisting in their rational
explanation, his influence to the end of his life was warmly exerted in
favour of error. From first to last, he was a stiff adherent of the
phlogiston doctrine which was prevalent when his studies commenced;
and, by a curious irony of fate, the man who by the discovery of what
he called "dephlogisticated air" furnished the essential datum for the
true theory of combustion, of respiration, and of the composition of
water, to the end of his days fought against the inevitable corollaries
from his own labours. His last scientific work, published in 1800,
bears the title, "The Doctrine of Phlogiston established, and that of
the Composition of Water refuted."

When Priestley commenced his studies, the current belief was, that
atmospheric air, freed from accidental impurities, is a simple
elementary substance, indestructible and unalterable, as water was
supposed to be. When a combustible burned, or when an animal breathed
in air, it was supposed that a substance, "phlogiston," the matter of
heat and light, passed from the burning or breathing body into it, and
destroyed its powers of supporting life and combustion. Thus, air
contained in a vessel in which a lighted candle had gone out, or a
living animal had breathed until it could breathe no longer, was called
"phlogisticated." The same result was supposed to be brought about by
the addition of what Priestley called "nitrous gas" to common air.

In the course of his researches, Priestley found that the quantity of
common air which can thus become "phlogisticated," amounts to about
one-fifth the volume of the whole quantity submitted to experiment.
Hence it appeared that common air consists, to the extent of
four-fifths of its volume, of air which is already "phlogisticated";
while the other fifth is free from phlogiston, or "dephlogisticated."
On the other hand, Priestley found that air "phlogisticated" by
combustion or respiration could be "dephlogisticated," or have the
properties of pure common air restored to it, by the action of green
plants in sunshine. The question, therefore, would naturally arise--as
common air can be wholly phlogisticated by combustion, and converted
into a substance which will no longer support combustion, is it
possible to get air that shall be less phlogisticated than common air,
and consequently support combustion better than common air does?

Now, Priestley says that, in 1774, the possibility of obtaining air
less phlogisticated than common air had not occurred to him. [6] But in
pursuing his experiments on the evolution of air from various bodies by
means of heat, it happened that, on the 1st of August 1774, he threw
the heat of the sun, by means of a large burning glass which he had
recently obtained, upon a substance which was then called _mercurius
calcinatus per se_, and which is commonly known as red precipitate.

"I presently found that, by means of this lens, air was expelled
from it very readily. Having got about three or four times as much
as the bulk of my materials, I admitted water to it, and found that
it was not imbibed by it. But what surprised me more than I can
well express, was that a candle burned in this air with a
remarkably vigorous flame, very much like that enlarged flame with
which a candle burns in nitrous air, exposed to iron or lime of
sulphur; but as I had got nothing like this remarkable appearance
from any kind of air besides this particular modification of
nitrous air, and I knew no nitrous acid was used in the preparation
of _mercurius calcinatus_, I was utterly at a loss how to
account for it.

"In this case also, though I did not give sufficient attention to
the circumstance at that time, the flame of the candle, besides
being larger, burned with more splendour and heat than in that
species of nitrous air; and a piece of red-hot wood sparkled in it,
exactly like paper dipped in a solution of nitre, and it consumed
very fast--an experiment which I had never thought of trying with
nitrous air." [7]

Priestley obtained the same sort of air from red lead, but, as he says
himself, he remained in ignorance of the properties of this new kind of
air for seven months, or until March 1775, when he found that the new
air behaved with "nitrous gas" in the same way as the dephlogisticated
part of common air does; [8] but that, instead of being diminished to
four-fifths, it almost completely vanished, and, therefore, showed
itself to be "between five and six times as good as the best common air
I have ever met with." [9] As this new air thus appeared to be
completely free from phlogiston, Priestley called it "dephlogisticated

What was the nature of this air? Priestley found that the same kind of
air was to be obtained by moistening with the spirit of nitre (which he
terms nitrous acid) any kind of earth that is free from phlogiston, and
applying heat; and consequently he says: "There remained no doubt on my
mind but that the atmospherical air, or the thing that we breathe,
consists of the nitrous acid and earth, with so much phlogiston as is
necessary to its elasticity, and likewise so much more as is required
to bring it from its state of perfect purity to the mean condition in
which we find it." [10]

Priestley's view, in fact, is that atmospheric air is a kind of
saltpetre, in which the potash is replaced by some unknown earth.
And in speculating on the manner in which saltpetre is formed,
he enunciates the hypothesis, "that nitre is, formed by a real
_decomposition of the air itself_, the _bases_ that are presented to
it having, in such circumstances, a nearer affinity with the spirit
of nitre than that kind of earth with which it is united in the
atmosphere." [11]

It would have been hard for the most ingenious person to have wandered
farther from the truth than Priestley does in this hypothesis; and,
though Lavoisier undoubtedly treated Priestley very ill, and pretended
to have discovered dephlogisticated air, or oxygen, as he called it,
independently, we can almost forgive him when we reflect how different
were the ideas which the great French chemist attached to the body
which Priestley discovered.

They are like two navigators of whom the first sees a new country, but
takes clouds for mountains and mirage for lowlands; while the second
determines its length and breadth, and lays down on a chart its exact
place, so that, thenceforth, it serves as a guide to his successors,
and becomes a secure outpost whence new explorations may be pushed.

Nevertheless, as Priestley himself somewhere remarks, the first object
of physical science is to ascertain facts, and the service which he
rendered to chemistry by the definite establishment of a large number
of new and fundamentally important facts, is such as to entitle him to
a very high place among the fathers of chemical science.

It is difficult to say whether Priestley's philosophical, political,
or theological views were most responsible for the bitter hatred which
was borne to him by a large body of his country-men, [12] and which
found its expression in the malignant insinuations in which Burke, to
his everlasting shame, indulged in the House of Commons.

Without containing much that will be new to the readers of Hobbs,
Spinoza, Collins, Hume, and Hartley, and, indeed, while making no
pretensions to originality, Priestley's "Disquisitions relating to
Matter and Spirit," and his "Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity
Illustrated," are among the most powerful, clear, and unflinching
expositions of materialism and necessarianism which exist in the
English language, and are still well worth reading.

Priestley denied the freedom of the will in the sense of its
self-determination; he denied the existence of a soul distinct from the
body; and as a natural consequence, he denied the natural immortality
of man.

In relation to these matters English opinion, a century ago, was very
much what it is now.

A man may be a necessarian without incurring graver reproach than that
implied in being called a gloomy fanatic, necessarianism, though very
shocking, having a note of Calvanistic orthodoxy; but, if a man is a
materialist; or, if good authorities say he is and must be so, in spite
of his assertion to the contrary; or, if he acknowledge himself unable
to see good reasons for believing in the natural immortality of man,
respectable folks look upon him as an unsafe neighbour of a cash-box,
as an actual or potential sensualist, the more virtuous in outward
seeming, the more certainly loaded with secret "grave personal sins."

Nevertheless, it is as certain as anything can be, that Joseph
Priestley was no gloomy fanatic, but as cheerful and kindly a soul as
ever breathed, the idol of children; a man who was hated only by those
who did not know him, and who charmed away the bitterest prejudices in
personal intercourse; a man who never lost a friend, and the best
testimony to whose worth is the generous and tender warmth with which
his many friends vied with one another in rendering him substantial
help, in all the crises of his career.

The unspotted purity of Priestley's life, the strictness of his
performance of every duty, his transparent sincerity, the
unostentatious and deep-seated piety which breathes through all his
correspondence, are in themselves a sufficient refutation of the
hypothesis, invented by bigots to cover uncharitableness, that such
opinions as his must arise from moral defects. And his statue will do
as good service as the brazen image that was set upon a pole before the
Israelites, if those who have been bitten by the fiery serpents of
sectarian hatred, which still haunt this wilderness of a world, are
made whole by looking upon the image of a heretic who was yet a saint.

Though Priestley did not believe in the natural immortality of man, he
held with an almost naïve realism that man would be raised from the
dead by a direct exertion of the power of God, and thenceforward be
immortal. And it may be as well for those who may be shocked by this
doctrine to know that views, substantially identical with Priestley's,
have been advocated, since his time, by two prelates of the Anglican
Church: by Dr. Whately, Archbishop of Dublin, in his well-known
"Essays"; [13] and by Dr. Courtenay, Bishop of Kingston in Jamaica,
the first edition of whose remarkable book "On the Future States,"
dedicated to Archbishop Whately, was published in 1843 and the second
in 1857. According to Bishop Courtenay,

"The death of the body will cause a cessation of all the activity
of the mind by way of natural consequence; to continue for ever
UNLESS the Creator should interfere."

And again:--

"The natural end of human existence is the 'first death, the
dreamless slumber of the grave, wherein man lies spell-bound, soul
and body, under the dominion of sin and death--that whatever modes
of conscious existence, whatever future states of 'life' or of
'torment' beyond Hades are reserved for man, are results of our
blessed Lord's victory over sin and death; that the resurrection of
the dead must be preliminary to their entrance into either of the
future states, and that the nature and even existence of these
states, and even the mere fact that there is a futurity of
consciousness, can be known _only_ through God's revelation of
Himself in the Person and the Gospel of His Son."--P. 389.

And now hear Priestley:--

"Man, according to this system (of materialism), is no more than we
now see of him. His being commences at the time of his conception,
or perhaps at an earlier period. The corporeal and mental faculties,
in being in the same substance, grow, ripen, and decay together; and
whenever the system is dissolved it continues in a state of
dissolution till it shall please that Almighty Being who called it
into existence to restore it to life again."--"Matter and Spirit,"
p. 49.

And again:--

"The doctrine of the Scripture is, that God made man of the dust of
the ground, and by simply animating this organised matter, made man
that living percipient and intelligent being that he is. According
to Revelation, _death_ is a state of rest and insensibility,
and our only though sure hope of a future life is founded on the
doctrine of the resurrection of the whole man at some distant
period; this assurance being sufficiently confirmed to us both by
the evident tokens of a Divine commission attending the persons who
delivered the doctrine, and especially by the actual resurrection of
Jesus Christ, which is more authentically attested than any other
fact in history."--_Ibid_., p. 247.

We all know that "a saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn;" but it is
not yet admitted that the views which are consistent with such
saintliness in lawn, become diabolical when held by a mere dissenter.

I am not here either to defend or to attack Priestley's philosophical
views, and I cannot say that I am personally disposed to attach much
value to episcopal authority in philosophical questions; but it seems
right to call attention to the fact, that those of Priestley's opinions
which have brought most odium upon him have been openly promulgated,
without challenge, by persons occupying the highest positions in the
State Church.

I must confess that what interests me most about Priestley's
materialism, is the evidence that he saw dimly the seed of destruction
which such materialism carries within its own bosom. In the course of
his reading for his "History of Discoveries relating to Vision, Light,
and Colours," he had come upon the speculations of Boscovich and
Michell, and had been led to admit the sufficiently obvious truth that
our knowledge of matter is a knowledge of its properties; and that of
its substance--if it have a substance--we know nothing. And this led to
the further admission that, so far as we can know, there may be no
difference between the substance of matter and the substance of spirit
("Disquisitions," p. 16). A step farther would have shown Priestley
that his materialism was, essentially, very little different from the
Idealism of his contemporary, the Bishop of Cloyne.

As Priestley's philosophy is mainly a clear statement of the views of
the deeper thinkers of his day, so are his political conceptions based
upon those of Locke. Locke's aphorism that "the end of government is
the good of mankind," is thus expanded by Priestley:--

"It must necessarily be understood, therefore, whether it be
expressed or not, that all people live in society for their mutual
advantage; so that the good and happiness of the members, that is,
of the majority of the members, of any state, is the great standard
by which everything relating to that state must finally be
determined." [15]

The little sentence here interpolated, "that is, of the majority of the
members of any state," appears to be that passage which suggested to
Bentham, according to his own acknowledgment, the famous "greatest
happiness" formula, which by substituting "happiness" for "good," has
converted a noble into an ignoble principle. But I do not call to mind
that there is any utterance in Locke quite so outspoken as the
following passage in the "Essay on the First Principles of
Government." After laying down as "a fundamental maxim in all
Governments," the proposition that "kings, senators, and nobles" are
"the servants of the public," Priestley goes on to say:--

"But in the largest states, if the abuses of the government should
at any time be great and manifest; if the servants of the people,
forgetting their masters and their masters' interest, should pursue
a separate one of their own; if, instead of considering that they
are made for the people, they should consider the people as made
for them; if the oppressions and violation of right should be
great, flagrant, and universally resented; if the tyrannical
governors should have no friends but a few sycophants, who had long
preyed upon the vitals of their fellow-citizens, and who might be
expected to desert a government whenever their interests should be
detached from it: if, in consequence of these circumstances, it
should become manifest that the risk which would be run in
attempting a revolution would be trifling, and the evils which
might be apprehended from it were far less than those which
were actually suffered and which were daily increasing; in the name
of God, I ask, what principles are those which ought to restrain an
injured and insulted people from asserting their natural rights,
and from changing or even punishing their governors--that is, their
servants--who had abused their trust, or from altering the whole
form of their government, if it appeared to be of a structure so
liable to abuse?"

As a Dissenter, subject to the operation of the Corporation and Test
Acts, and as a Unitarian excluded from the benefit of the Toleration
Act, it is not surprising to find that Priestley had very definite
opinions about Ecclesiastical Establishments; the only wonder is that
these opinions were so moderate as the following passages show them to
have been:--

"Ecclesiastical authority may have been necessary in the infant
state of society, and, for the same reason, it may perhaps continue
to be, in some degree, necessary as long as society is imperfect;
and therefore may not be entirely abolished till civil governments
have arrived at a much greater degree of perfection. If, therefore,
I were asked whether I should approve of the immediate dissolution
of all the ecclesiastical establishments in Europe, I should
answer, No.... Let experiment be first made of _alterations_,
or, which is the same thing, of _better establishments_ than
the present. Let them be reformed in many essential articles, and
then not thrown aside entirely till it be found by experience that
no good can be made of them."

Priestley goes on to suggest four such reforms of a capital nature:--

"1. Let the Articles of Faith to be subscribed by candidates for
the ministry be greatly reduced. In the formulary of the Church of
England, might not thirty-eight out of the thirty-nine be very well
spared? It is a reproach to any Christian establishment if every
man cannot claim the benefit of it who can say that he believes
in the religion of Jesus Christ as it is set forth in the New
Testament. You say the terms are so general that even Deists would
quibble and insinuate themselves. I answer that all the articles
which are subscribed at present by no means exclude Deists who will
prevaricate; and upon this scheme you would at least exclude fewer
honest men." [16]

The second reform suggested is the equalisation, in proportion to work
done, of the stipends of the clergy; the third, the exclusion of the
Bishops from Parliament; and the fourth, complete toleration, so that
every man may enjoy the rights of a citizen, and be qualified to serve
his country, whether he belong to the Established Church or not.

Opinions such as those I have quoted, respecting the duties and the
responsibilities of governors, are the commonplaces of modern
Liberalism; and Priestley's views on Ecclesiastical Establishments
would, I fear, meet with but a cool reception, as altogether too
conservative, from a large proportion of the lineal descendants of the
people who taught their children to cry "Damn Priestley;" and with that
love for the practical application of science which is the source of
the greatness of Birmingham, tried to set fire to the doctor's house
with sparks from his own electrical machine; thereby giving the man
they called an incendiary and raiser of sedition against Church and
King, an appropriately experimental illustration of the nature of arson
and riot.

If I have succeeded in putting before you the main features of
Priestley's work, its value will become apparent when we compare the
condition of the English nation, as he knew it, with its present state.

The fact that France has been for eighty-five years trying, without
much success, to right herself after the great storm of the Revolution,
is not unfrequently cited among us as an indication of some inherent
incapacity for self-government among the French people. I think,
however, that Englishmen who argue thus, forget that, from the meeting
of the Long Parliament in 1640, to the last Stuart rebellion in 1745,
is a hundred and five years, and that, in the middle of the last
century, we had but just safely freed ourselves from our Bourbons and
all that they represented. The corruption of our state was as bad as
that of the Second Empire. Bribery was the instrument of government,
and peculation its reward. Four-fifths of the seats in the House of
Commons were more or less openly dealt with as property. A minister had
to consider the state of the vote market, and the sovereign secured a
sufficiency of "king's friends" by payments allotted with retail,
rather than royal, sagacity.

Barefaced and brutal immorality and intemperance pervaded the land,
from the highest to the lowest classes of society. The Established
Church was torpid, as far as it was not a scandal; but those who
dissented from it came within the meshes of the Act of Uniformity, the
Test Act, and the Corporation Act. By law, such a man as Priestley,
being a Unitarian, could neither teach nor preach, and was liable to
ruinous fines and long imprisonment. [17] In those days the guns that
were pointed by the Church against the Dissenters were shotted. The law
was a cesspool of iniquity and cruelty. Adam Smith was a new prophet
whom few regarded, and commerce was hampered by idiotic impediments,
and ruined by still more absurd help, on the part of government.

Birmingham, though already the centre of a considerable industry, was a
mere village as compared with its present extent. People who travelled
went about armed, by reason of the abundance of highwaymen and the
paucity and inefficiency of the police. Stage coaches had not reached
Birmingham, and it took three days to get to London. Even canals were a
recent and much opposed invention.

Newton had laid the foundation of a mechanical conception of the
physical universe: Hartley, putting a modern face upon ancient
materialism, had extended that mechanical conception to psychology;
Linnaeus and Haller were beginning to introduce method and order into
the chaotic accumulation of biological facts. But those parts of
physical science which deal with heat, electricity, and magnetism, and
above all, chemistry, in the modern sense, can hardly be said to have
had an existence. No one knew that two of the old elemental bodies, air
and water, are compounds, and that a third, fire, is not a substance
but a motion. The great industries that have grown out of the
applications of modern scientific discoveries had no existence, and the
man who should have foretold their coming into being in the days of his
son, would have been regarded as a mad enthusiast.

In common with many other excellent persons, Priestley believed that
man is capable of reaching, and will eventually attain, perfection. If
the temperature of space presented no obstacle, I should be glad to
entertain the same idea; but judging from the past progress of our
species, I am afraid that the globe will have cooled down so far,
before the advent of this natural millennium, that we shall be, at
best, perfected Esquimaux. For all practical purposes, however, it is
enough that man may visibly improve his condition in the course of a
century or so. And, if the picture of the state of things in
Priestley's time, which I have just drawn, have any pretence to
accuracy, I think it must be admitted that there has been a
considerable change for the better.

I need not advert to the well-worn topic of material advancement, in a
place in which the very stones testify to that progress--in the town of
Watt and of Boulton. I will only remark, in passing, that material
advancement has its share in moral and intellectual progress. Becky
Sharp's acute remark that it is not difficult to be virtuous on ten
thousand a year, has its application to nations; and it is futile to
expect a hungry and squalid population to be anything but violent and
gross. But as regards other than material welfare, although perfection
is not yet in sight--even from the mast-head--it is surely true that
things are much better than they were.

Take the upper and middle classes as a whole, and it may be said that
open immorality and gross intemperance have vanished. Four and six
bottle men are as extinct as the dodo. Women of good repute do not
gamble, and talk modelled upon Dean Swift's "Art of Polite
Conversation" would be tolerated in no decent kitchen.

Members of the legislature are not to be bought; and constituents are
awakening to the fact that votes must not be sold--even for such
trifles as rabbits and tea and cake. Political power has passed into
the hands of the masses of the people. Those whom Priestley calls their
servants have recognised their position, and have requested the master
to be so good as to go to school and fit himself for the administration
of his property. In ordinary life, no civil disability attaches to any
one on theological grounds, and high offices of the state are open to
Papist, Jew, and Secularist.

Whatever men's opinions as to the policy of Establishment, no one can
hesitate to admit that the clergy of the Church are men of pure life
and conversation, zealous in the discharge of their duties; and at
present, apparently, more bent on prosecuting one another than on
meddling with Dissenters. Theology itself has broadened so much, that
Anglican divines put forward doctrines more liberal than those of
Priestley; and, in our state-supported churches, one listener may hear
a sermon to which Bossuet might have given his approbation, while
another may hear a discourse in which Socrates would find nothing new.

But great as these changes may be, they sink into insignificance beside
the progress of physical science, whether we consider the improvement
of methods of investigation, or the increase in bulk of solid
knowledge. Consider that the labours of Laplace, of Young, of Davy, and
of Faraday; of Cuvier, of Lamarck, and of Robert Brown; of Von Baer,
and of Schwann; of Smith and of Hutton, have all been carried on since
Priestley discovered oxygen; and consider that they are now things of
the past, concealed by the industry of those who have built upon them,
as the first founders of a coral reef are hidden beneath the life's
work of their successors; consider that the methods of physical science
are slowly spreading into all investigations, and that proofs as valid
as those required by her canons of investigation are being demanded of
all doctrines which ask for men's assent; and you will have a faint
image of the astounding difference in this respect between the
nineteenth century and the eighteenth.

If we ask what is the deeper meaning of all these vast changes, I think
there can be but one reply. They mean that reason has asserted and
exercised her primacy over all provinces of human activity: that
ecclesiastical authority has been relegated to its proper place; that
the good of the governed has been finally recognised as the end of
government, and the complete responsibility of governors to the people
as its means; and that the dependence of natural phenomena in general
on the laws of action of what we call matter has become an axiom.

But it was to bring these things about, and to enforce the recognition
of these truths, that Joseph Priestley laboured. If the nineteenth
century is other and better than the eighteenth, it is, in great
measure, to him, and to such men as he, that we owe the change. If the
twentieth century is to be better than the nineteenth, it will be
because there are among us men who walk in Priestley's footsteps.

Such men are not those whom their own generation delights to honour;
such men, in fact, rarely trouble themselves about honour, but ask, in
another spirit than Falstaff's, "What is honour? Who hath it? He that
died o' Wednesday." But whether Priestley's lot be theirs, and a future
generation, in justice and in gratitude, set up their statues; or
whether their names and fame are blotted out from remembrance, their
work will live as long as time endures. To all eternity, the sum of
truth and right will have been increased by their means; to all
eternity, falsehood and injustice will be the weaker because they have

* * * * *


[1] "Quasi cursores, vitai lampada tradunt."--LUCR. _De Rerum Nat_. ii.

[2] _Life and Correspondence of Dr. Priestley_, by J. T. Rutt. Vol. I.
p. 50.

[3] _Autobiography_, §§ 100, 101.

[4] See _The Life of Mary Anne Schimmelpenninck_. Mrs.
Schimmelpenninck (_née_ Galton) remembered Priestley very well,
and her description of him is worth quotation:--"A man of admirable
simplicity, gentleness and kindness of heart, united with great
acuteness of intellect. I can never forget the impression produced on
me by the serene expression of his countenance. He, indeed, seemed
present with God by recollection, and with man by cheerfulness. I
remember that, in the assembly of these distinguished men, amongst whom
Mr. Boulton, by his noble manner, his fine countenance (which much
resembled that of Louis XIV.), and princely munificence, stood
pre-eminently as the great Mecaenas; even as a child, I used to feel,
when Dr. Priestley entered after him, that the glory of the one was
terrestrial, that of the other celestial; and utterly far as I am
removed from a belief in the sufficiency of Dr. Priestley's theological
creed, I cannot but here record this evidence of the eternal power of
any portion of the truth held in its vitality."

[5] Even Mrs. Priestley, who might be forgiven for regarding the
destroyers of her household gods with some asperity, contents herself,
in writing to Mrs. Barbauld, with the sarcasm that the Birmingham
people "will scarcely find so many respectable characters, a second
time, to make a bonfire of."

[6] _Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air_, vol.
ii. p. 31.

[7] _Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air_, vol.
ii. pp. 34, 35.

[8] _Ibid_. vol. i. p. 40.

[9] _Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air_, vol. ii.
p. 48.

[10] _Ibid_. p. 55.

[11] _Ibid_. p. 60. The italics are Priestley's own.

[12] "In all the newspapers and most of the periodical publications I
was represented as an unbeliever in Revelation, and no better than an
atheist."--_Autobiography_, Rutt, vol i. p. 124. "On the walls of
houses, etc., and especially where I usually went, were to be seen, in
DAMN THE PRESBYTERIANS,' etc., etc.; and, at one time, I was followed
by a number of boys, who left their play, repeating what they had seen
on the walls, and shouting out, '_Damn Priestley; damn him, damn
him, for ever, for ever,_' etc., etc. This was no doubt a lesson
which they had been taught by their parents, and what they, I fear, had
learned from their superiors."--_Appeal to the Public on the Subject
of the Riots at Birmingham_.

[13] First Series. _On Some of the Peculiarities of the Christian
Religion_. Essay I. "Revelation of a Future State."

[14] Not only is Priestley at one with Bishop Courtenay in this matter,
but with Hartley and Bonnet, both of them stout champions of
Christianity. Moreover, Archbishop Whately's essay is little better
than an expansion of the first paragraph of Hume's famous essay on the
Immortality of the Soul:--"By the mere light of reason it seems
difficult to prove the immortality of the soul; the arguments for it
are commonly derived either from metaphysical topics, or moral, or
physical. But it is in reality the Gospel, and the Gospel alone, that
has brought _life and immortality to light_." It is impossible to
imagine that a man of Whately's tastes and acquirements had not read
Hume or Hartley, though he refers to neither.

[15] _Essay on the First Principles of Government_, Second edition,

[16] "Utility of Establishments," in _Essay on First Principles of
Government_, 1771.

[17] In 1732 Doddridge was cited for teaching without the Bishop's
leave, at Northampton.




The subject to which I have to beg your attention during the ensuing
hour is "The Relation of Physiological Science to other branches of

Had circumstances permitted of the delivery, in their strict logical
order, of that series of discourses of which the present lecture is a
member, I should have preceded my friend and colleague Mr. Henfrey, who
addressed you on Monday last; but while, for the sake of that order, I
must beg you to suppose that this discussion of the Educational
bearings of Biology in general _does_ precede that of Special
Zoology and Botany, I am rejoiced to be able to take advantage
of the light thus already thrown upon the tendency and methods of
Physiological Science.

Regarding Physiological Science, then, in its widest sense--as the
equivalent of _Biology_--the Science of Individual Life--we have to
consider in succession:

1. Its position and scope as a branch of knowledge.

2. Its value as a means of mental discipline.

3. Its worth as practical information.

And lastly,

4. At what period it may best be made a branch of Education.

Our conclusions on the first of these heads must depend, of course,
upon the nature of the subject-matter of Biology; and I think a few
preliminary considerations will place before you in a clear light the
vast difference which exists between the living bodies with which
Physiological science is concerned, and the remainder of the
universe;--between the phaenomena of Number and Space, of Physical and
of Chemical force, on the one hand, and those of Life on the other.

The mathematician, the physicist, and the chemist contemplate things in
a condition of rest; they look upon a state of equilibrium as that to
which all bodies normally tend.

The mathematician does not suppose that a quantity will alter, or that
a given point in space will change its direction with regard to another
point, spontaneously. And it is the same with the physicist. When
Newton saw the apple fall, he concluded at once that the act of falling
was not the result of any power inherent in the apple, but that it was
the result of the action of something else on the apple. In a similar
manner, all physical force is regarded as the disturbance of an
equilibrium to which things tended before its exertion,--to which they
will tend again after its cessation.

The chemist equally regards chemical change in a body as the effect of
the action of something external to the body changed. A chemical
compound once formed would persist for ever, if no alteration took
place in surrounding conditions.

But to the student of Life the aspect of Nature is reversed. Here,
incessant, and, so far as we know, spontaneous change is the rule, rest
the exception--the anomaly to be accounted for. Living things have no
inertia, and tend to no equilibrium.

Permit me, however, to give more force and clearness to these somewhat
abstract considerations by an illustration or two.

Imagine a vessel full of water, at the ordinary temperature, in an
atmosphere saturated with vapour. The _quantity_ and the _figure_ of that
water will not change, so far as we know, for ever.

Suppose a lump of gold be thrown into the vessel--motion and
disturbance of figure exactly proportional to the momentum of the gold
will take place. But after a time the effects of this disturbance will
subside--equilibrium will be restored, and the water will return to its
passive state.

Expose the water to cold--it will solidify--and in so doing its
particles will arrange themselves in definite crystalline shapes. But
once formed, these crystals change no further.

Again, substitute for the lump of gold some substance capable of
entering into chemical relations with the water:--say, a mass of that
substance which is called "protein"--the substance of flesh:--a very
considerable disturbance of equilibrium will take place--all sorts of
chemical compositions and decompositions will occur; but in the end, as
before, the result will be the resumption of a condition of rest.

Instead of such a mass of _dead_ protein, however, take a particle of
_living_ protein--one of those minute microscopic living things which
throng our pools, and are known as Infusoria--such a creature, for
instance, as an Euglena, and place it in our vessel of water. It is
a round mass provided with a long filament, and except in this
peculiarity of shape, presents no appreciable physical or chemical
difference whereby it might be distinguished from the particle of dead

But the difference in the phaenomena to which it will give rise is
immense: in the first place it will develop a vast quantity of physical
force--cleaving the water in all directions with considerable rapidity
by means of the vibrations of the long filament or cilium.

Nor is the amount of chemical energy which the little creature
possesses less striking. It is a perfect laboratory in itself, and it
will act and react upon the water and the matters contained therein;
converting them into new compounds resembling its own substance, and at
the same time giving up portions of its own substance which have become

Furthermore, the Euglena will increase in size; but this increase is by
no means unlimited, as the increase of a crystal might be. After it has
grown to a certain extent it divides, and each portion assumes the form
of the original, and proceeds to repeat the process of growth and

Nor is this all. For after a series of such divisions and subdivisions,
these minute points assume a totally new form, lose their long
tails--round themselves, and secrete a sort of envelope or box, in
which they remain shut up for a time, eventually to resume, directly or
indirectly, their primitive mode of existence.

Now, so far as we know, there is no natural limit to the existence of
the Euglena, or of any other living germ. A living species once
launched into existence tends to live for ever.

Consider how widely different this living particle is from the dead
atoms with which the physicist and chemist have to do!

The particle of gold falls to the bottom and rests--the particle of
dead protein decomposes and disappears--it also rests: but the
_living_ protein mass neither tends to exhaustion of its forces nor
to any permanency of form, but is essentially distinguished as a
disturber of equilibrium so far as force is concerned,--as undergoing
continual metamorphosis and change, in point of form.

Tendency to equilibrium of force and to permanency of form, then, are
the characters of that portion of the universe which does not live--the
domain of the chemist and physicist.

Tendency to disturb existing equilibrium--to take on forms which
succeed one another in definite cycles--is the character of the living

What is the cause of this wonderful difference between the dead
particle and the living particle of matter appearing in other respects
identical? that difference to which we give the name of Life?

I, for one, cannot tell you. It may be that, by and by, philosophers
will discover some higher laws of which the facts of life are
particular cases--very possibly they will find out some bond between
physico-chemical phaenomena on the one hand, and vital phaenomena on
the other. At present, however, we assuredly know of none; and I think
we shall exercise a wise humility in confessing that, for us at least,
this successive assumption of different states--(external conditions
remaining the same)--this _spontaneity of action_--if I may use a term
which implies more than I would be answerable for--which constitutes
so vast and plain a practical distinction between living bodies and
those which do not live, is an ultimate fact; indicating as such, the
existence of a broad line of demarcation between the subject-matter
of Biological and that of all other sciences.

For I would have it understood that this simple Euglena is the type of
_all_ living things, so far as the distinction between these and
inert matter is concerned. That cycle of changes, which is constituted
by perhaps not more than two or three steps in the Euglena, is as
clearly manifested in the multitudinous stages through which the germ
of an oak or of a man passes. Whatever forms the Living Being may take
on, whether simple or complex, _production, growth, reproduction,_ are
the phaenomena which distinguish it from that which does not live.

If this be true, it is clear that the student, in passing from the
physico-chemical to the physiological sciences, enters upon a totally
new order of facts; and it will next be for us to consider how far
these new facts involve _new_ methods, or require a modification of
those with which he is already acquainted. Now a great deal is said
about the peculiarity of the scientific method in general, and of the
different methods which are pursued in the different sciences. The
Mathematics are said to have one special method; Physics another,
Biology a third, and so forth. For my own part, I must confess that I
do not understand this phraseology.

So far as I can arrive at any clear comprehension of the matter,
Science is not, as many would seem to suppose, a modification of the
black art, suited to the tastes of the nineteenth century, and
flourishing mainly in consequence of the decay of the Inquisition.

Science is, I believe, nothing but _trained and organised common
sense_, differing from the latter only as a veteran may differ from
a raw recruit: and its methods differ from those of common sense only
so far as the guardsman's cut and thrust differ from the manner in
which a savage wields his club. The primary power is the same in each
case, and perhaps the untutored savage has the more brawny arm of
the two. The _real_ advantage lies in the point and polish of the
swordsman's weapon; in the trained eye quick to spy out the weakness of
the adversary; in the ready hand prompt to follow it on the instant.
But, after all, the sword exercise is only the hewing and poking of the
clubman developed and perfected.

So, the vast results obtained by Science are won by no mystical
faculties, by no mental processes, other than those which are practised
by every one of us, in the humblest and meanest affairs of life. A
detective policeman discovers a burglar from the marks made by his
shoe, by a mental process identical with that by which Cuvier restored
the extinct animals of Montmartre from fragments of their bones. Nor
does that process of induction and deduction by which a lady, finding a
stain of a peculiar kind upon her dress, concludes that somebody has
upset the inkstand thereon, differ in any way, in kind, from that by
which Adams and Leverrier discovered a new planet.

The man of science, in fact, simply uses with scrupulous exactness the
methods which we all, habitually and at every moment, use carelessly;
and the man of business must as much avail himself of the scientific
method--must be as truly a man of science--as the veriest bookworm of
us all; though I have no doubt that the man of business will find
himself out to be a philosopher with as much surprise as M. Jourdain
exhibited vhen he discovered that he had been all his life talking
prose. If, however, there be no real difference between the methods of
science and those of common life, it would seem, on the face of the
matter, highly improbable that there should be any difference between
the methods of the different sciences; nevertheless, it is constantly
taken for granted that there is a very wide difference between the
Physiological and other sciences in point of method.

In the first place it is said--and I take this point first, because the
imputation is too frequently admitted by Physiologists themselves--that
Biology differs from the Physico-chemical and Mathematical sciences in
being "inexact."

Now, this phrase "inexact" must refer either to the _methods_ or to
the _results_ of Physiological science.

It cannot be correct to apply it to the methods; for, as I hope to show
you by and by, these are identical in all sciences, and whatever is
true of Physiological method is true of Physical and Mathematical

Is it then the _results_ of Biological science which are "inexact"?
I think not. If I say that respiration is performed by the
lungs; that digestion is effected in the stomach; that the eye is the
organ of sight; that the jaws of a vertebrated animal never open
sideways, but always up and down; while those of an annulose animal
always open sideways, and never up and down--I am enumerating
propositions which are as exact as anything in Euclid. How then has
this notion of the inexactness of Biological science come about? I
believe from two causes: first, because in consequence of the great
complexity of the science and the multitude of interfering conditions,
we are very often only enabled to predict approximately what will occur
under given circumstances; and secondly, because, on account of the
comparative youth of the Physiological sciences, a great many of their
laws are still imperfectly worked out. But, in an educational point of
view, it is most important to distinguish between the essence of a
science and the accidents which surround it; and essentially, the
methods and results of Physiology are as exact as those of Physics or

It is said that the Physiological method is especially _comparative_;
[1] and this dictum also finds favour in the eyes of many.
I should be sorry to suggest that the speculators on scientific
classification have been misled by the accident of the name of one
leading branch of Biology--_Comparative Anatomy_; but I would ask
whether _comparison_, and that classification which is the result of
comparison, are not the essence of every science whatsoever? How is it
possible to discover a relation of cause and effect of _any_ kind
without comparing a series of cases together in which the supposed
cause and effect occur singly, or combined? So far from comparison
being in any way peculiar to Biological science, it is, I think, the
essence of every science.

A speculative philosopher again tells us that the Biological
sciences are distinguished by being sciences of observation and not
of experiment! [2] Of all the strange assertions into which speculation
without practical acquaintance with a subject may lead even an able
man, I think this is the very strangest. Physiology not an experimental
science? Why, there is not a function of a single organ in the body
which has not been determined wholly and solely by experiment? How did
Harvey determine the nature of the circulation, except by experiment?
How did Sir Charles Bell determine the functions of the roots of the
spinal nerves, save by experiment? How do we know the use of a nerve at
all, except by experiment? Nay, how do you know even that your eye is
your seeing apparatus, unless you make the experiment of shutting it;
or that your ear is your hearing apparatus, unless you close it up and
thereby discover that you become deaf?

It would really be much more true to say that Physiology is _the_
experimental science _par excellence_ of all sciences; that in which
there is least to be learnt by mere observation, and that which
affords the greatest field for the exercise of those faculties which
characterise the experimental philosopher. I confess, if any one were
to ask me for a model application of the logic of experiment, I should
know no better work to put into his hands than Bernard's late
Researches on the Functions of the Liver. [3]

Not to give this lecture a too controversial tone, however, I must
only advert to one more doctrine, held by a thinker of our own age
and country, whose opinions are worthy of all respect. It is, that
the Biological sciences differ from all others, inasmuch as in _them_
classification takes place by type and not by definition. [4]

It is said, in short, that a natural-history class is not capable of
being defined--that the class Rosaceae, for instance, or the class of
Fishes, is not accurately and absolutely definable, inasmuch as its
members will present exceptions to every possible definition; and that
the members of the class are united together only by the circumstance
that they are all more like some imaginary average rose or average
fish, than they resemble anything else.

But here, as before, I think the distinction has arisen entirely from
confusing a transitory imperfection with an essential character. So
long as our information concerning them is imperfect, we class all
objects together according to resemblances which we _feel_, but
cannot _define_; we group them round _types_, in short. Thus
if you ask an ordinary person what kinds of animals there are, he will
probably say, beasts, birds, reptiles, fishes, insects, &c. Ask him to
define a beast from a reptile, and he cannot do it; but he says, things
like a cow or a horse are beasts, and things like a frog or a lizard
are reptiles. You see _he does_ class by type, and not by definition.
But how does this classification differ from that of the
scientific Zoologist? How does the meaning of the scientific class-name
of "Mammalia" differ from the unscientific of "Beasts"?

Why, exactly because the former depends on a definition, the latter on
a type. The class Mammalia is scientifically defined as "all animals
which have a vertebrated skeleton and suckle their young." Here is no
reference to type, but a definition rigorous enough for a geometrician.
And such is the character which every scientific naturalist recognises
as that to which his classes must aspire--knowing, as he does, that
classification by type is simply an acknowledgment of ignorance and a
temporary device.

So much in the way of negative argument as against the reputed
differences between Biological and other methods. No such differences,
I believe, really exist. The subject-matter of Biological science is
different from that of other sciences, but the methods of all are
identical; and these methods are--

1. _Observation_ of facts--including under this head that _artificial
observation_ which is called _experiment_.

2. That process of tying up similar facts into bundles, ticketed and
ready for use, which is called _Comparison_ and _Classification_,--the
results of the process, the ticketed bundles, being named _General

3. _Deduction_, which takes us from the general proposition to facts
again--teaches us, if I may so say, to anticipate from the ticket
what is inside the bundle. And finally--

4. _Verification_, which is the process of ascertaining whether, in
point of fact, our anticipation is a correct one.

Such are the methods of all science whatsoever; but perhaps you will
permit me to give you an illustration of their employment in the
science of Life; and I will take as a special case the establishment of
the doctrine of the _Circulation of the Blood_.

In this case, _simple observation_ yields us a knowledge of the
existence of the blood from some accidental haemorrhage, we will say;
we may even grant that it informs us of the localisation of this blood
in particular vessels, the heart, &c., from some accidental cut or the
like. It teaches also the existence of a pulse in various parts of the
body, and acquaints us with the structure of the heart and vessels.

Here, however, _simple observation_ stops, and we must have recourse
to _experiment_.

You tie a vein, and you find that the blood accumulates on the side of
the ligature opposite the heart. You tie an artery, and you find that
the blood accumulates on the side near the heart. Open the chest, and
you see the heart contracting with great force. Make openings into its
principal cavities, and you will find that all the blood flows out, and
no more pressure is exerted on either side of the arterial or venous

Now all these facts, taken together, constitute the evidence that the
blood is propelled by the heart through the arteries, and returns by
the veins--that, in short, the blood circulates.

Suppose our experiments and observations have been made on horses, then
we group and ticket them into a general proposition, thus:--_all
horses have a circulation of their blood_.

Henceforward a horse is a sort of indication or label, telling us where
we shall find a peculiar series of phaenomena called the circulation of
the blood.

Here is our _general proposition_, then.

How, and when, are we justified in making our next step--a _deduction_
from it?

Suppose our physiologist, whose experience is limited to horses, meets
with a zebra for the first time,--will he suppose that this
generalisation holds good for zebras also?

That depends very much on his turn of mind. But we will suppose him to
be a bold man. He will say, "The zebra is certainly not a horse, but it
is very like one,--so like, that it must be the 'ticket' or mark of a
blood-circulation also; and, I conclude that the zebra has a

That is a deduction, a very fair deduction, but by no means to be
considered scientifically secure. This last quality in fact can only be
given by _verification_--that is, by making a zebra the subject of
all the experiments performed on the horse. Of course, in the present
case, the _deduction_ would be _confirmed_ by this process of
verification, and the result would be, not merely a positive widening
of knowledge, but a fair increase of confidence in the truth of one's
generalisations in other cases.

Thus, having settled the point in the zebra and horse, our philosopher
would have great confidence in the existence of a circulation in the
ass. Nay, I fancy most persons would excuse him, if in this case he did
not take the trouble to go through the process of verification at all;
and it would not be without a parallel in the history of the human
mind, if our imaginary physiologist now maintained that he was
acquainted with asinine circulation _à priori_.

However, if I might impress any caution upon your minds, it is, the
utterly conditional nature of all our knowledge,--the danger of
neglecting the process of verification under any circumstances; and the
film upon which we rest, the moment our deductions carry us beyond the
reach of this great process of verification. There is no better
instance of this than is afforded by the history of our knowledge of
the circulation of the blood in the animal kingdom until the year 1824.
In every animal possessing a circulation at all, which had been
observed up to that time, the current of the blood was known to take
one definite and invariable direction. Now, there is a class of animals
called _Ascidians_, which possess a heart and a circulation, and
up to the period of which I speak, no one would have dreamt of
questioning the propriety of the deduction, that these creatures have a
circulation in one direction; nor would any one have thought it worth
while to verify the point. But, in that year, M. von Hasselt, happening
to examine a transparent animal of this class, found, to his infinite
surprise, that after the heart had beat a certain number of times, it
stopped, and then began beating the opposite way--so as to reverse the
course of the current, which returned by and by to its original

I have myself timed the heart of these little animals. I found it as
regular as possible in its periods of reversal: and I know no spectacle
in the animal kingdom more wonderful than that which it presents--all
the more wonderful that to this day it remains an unique fact, peculiar
to this class among the whole animated world. At the same time I know
of no more striking case of the necessity of the _verification_ of
even those deductions which seem founded on the widest and safest

Such are the methods of Biology--methods which are obviously identical
with those of all other sciences, and therefore wholly incompetent to
form the ground of any distinction between it and them. [5]

But I shall be asked at once, Do you mean to say that there is no
difference between the habit of mind of a mathematician and that of a
naturalist? Do you imagine that Laplace might have been put into the
Jardin des Plantes, and Cuvier into the Observatory, with equal
advantage to the progress of the sciences they professed?

To which I would reply, that nothing could be further from my thoughts.
But different habits and various special tendencies of two sciences do
not imply different methods. The mountaineer and the man of the plains
have very different habits of progression, and each would be at a loss
in the other's place; but the method of progression, by putting one leg
before the other, is the same in each case. Every step of each is a
combination of a lift and a push; but the mountaineer lifts more and
the lowlander pushes more. And I think the case of two sciences
resembles this.

I do not question for a moment, that while the Mathematician is busy
with deductions _from_ general propositions, the Biologist is more
especially occupied with observation, comparison, and those processes
which lead _to_ general propositions. All I wish to insist upon
is, that this difference depends not on any fundamental distinction in
the sciences themselves, but on the accidents of their subject-matter,
of their relative complexity, and consequent relative perfection.

The Mathematician deals with two properties of objects only, number and
extension, and all the inductions he wants have been formed and
finished ages ago. He is occupied now with nothing but deduction and

The Biologist deals with a vast number of properties of objects, and
his inductions will not be completed, I fear, for ages to come; but
when they are, his science will be as deductive and as exact as the
Mathematics themselves.

Such is the relation of Biology to those sciences which deal with
objects having fewer properties than itself. But as the student, in
reaching Biology, looks back upon sciences of a less complex and
therefore more perfect nature; so, on the other hand, does he look
forward to other more complex and less perfect branches of knowledge.
Biology deals only with living beings as isolated things--treats only
of the life of the individual: but there is a higher division of
science still, which considers living beings as aggregates--which deals
with the relation of living beings one to another--the science which
_observes_ men--whose _experiments_ are made by nations one
upon another, in battlefields--whose _general propositions_ are
embodied in history, morality, and religion--whose _deductions_
lead to our happiness or our misery--and whose _verifications_ so
often come too late, and serve only

"To point a moral, or adorn a tale"--

I mean the science of Society or _Sociology_.

I think it is one of the grandest features of Biology, that it occupies
this central position in human knowledge. There is no side of the human
mind which physiological study leaves uncultivated. Connected by
innumerable ties with abstract science, Physiology is yet in the most
intimate relation with humanity; and by teaching us that law and order,
and a definite scheme of development, regulate even the strangest and
wildest manifestations of individual life, she prepares the student to
look for a goal even amidst the erratic wanderings of mankind, and to
believe that history offers something more than an entertaining
chaos--a journal of a toilsome, tragi-comic march no-whither.

The preceding considerations have, I hope, served to indicate the
replies which befit the first two of the questions which I set before
you at starting, viz. What is the range and position of Physiological
Science as a branch of knowledge, and what is its value as a means of
mental discipline?

Its _subject-matter_ is a large moiety of the universe--its
_position_ is midway between the physico-chemical and the social
sciences. Its _value_ as a branch of discipline is partly that
which it has in common with all sciences--the training and
strengthening of common sense; partly that which is more peculiar to
itself--the great exercise which it affords to the faculties of
observation and comparison; and, I may add, the _exactness_ of
knowledge which it requires on the part of those among its votaries who
desire to extend its boundaries.

If what has been said as to the position and scope of Biology be
correct, our third question--What is the practical value of
physiological instruction?--might, one would think, be left to answer

On other grounds even, were mankind deserving of the title "rational,"
which they arrogate to themselves, there can be no question that they
would consider, as the most necessary of all branches of instruction
for themselves and for their children, that which professes to acquaint
them with the conditions of the existence they prize so highly--which
teaches them how to avoid disease and to cherish health, in themselves
and those who are dear to them.

I am addressing, I imagine, an audience of educated persons; and yet I
dare venture to assert that, with the exception of those of my hearers
who may chance to have received a medical education, there is not one
who could tell me what is the meaning and use of an act which he
performs a score of times every minute, and whose suspension would
involve his immediate death;--I mean the act of breathing--or who could
state in precise terms why it is that a confined atmosphere is
injurious to health.

The _practical value_ of Physiological knowledge! Why is it that
educated men can be found to maintain that a slaughter-house in the
midst of a great city is rather a good thing than otherwise?--that
mothers persist in exposing the largest possible amount of surface of
their children to the cold, by the absurd style of dress they adopt,
and then marvel at the peculiar dispensation of Providence, which
removes their infants by bronchitis and gastric fever? Why is it that
quackery rides rampant over the land; and that not long ago, one of the
largest public rooms in this great city could be filled by an audience
gravely listening to the reverend expositor of the doctrine--that the
simple physiological phaenomena known as spirit-rapping, table-turning,
phreno-magnetism, and I know not what other absurd and inappropriate
names, are due to the direct and personal agency of Satan?

Why is all this, except from the utter ignorance as to the simplest
laws of their own animal life, which prevails among even the most
highly educated persons in this country?

But there are other branches of Biological Science, besides Physiology
proper, whose practical influence, though less obvious, is not, as I
believe, less certain. I have heard educated men speak with an
ill-disguised contempt of the studies of the naturalist, and ask, not
without a shrug, "What is the use of knowing all about these miserable
animals--what bearing has it on human life?"

I will endeavour to answer that question. I take it that all will admit
there is definite Government of this universe--that its pleasures and
pains are not scattered at random, but are distributed in accordance
with orderly and fixed laws, and that it is only in accordance with all
we know of the rest of the world, that there should be an agreement
between one portion of the sensitive creation and another in these

Surely then it interests us to know the lot of other animal
creatures--however far below us, they are still the sole created things
which share with us the capability of pleasure and the susceptibility
to pain.

I cannot but think that he who finds a certain proportion of pain and
evil inseparably woven up in the life of the very worms, will bear his
own share with more courage and submission; and will, at any rate, view
with suspicion those weakly amiable theories of the Divine government,
which would have us believe pain to be an oversight and a mistake,--to
be corrected by and by. On the other hand, the predominance of
happiness among living things--their lavish beauty--the secret and
wonderful harmony which pervades them all, from the highest to the
lowest, are equally striking refutations of that modern Manichean
doctrine, which exhibits the world as a slave-mill, worked with many
tears, for mere utilitarian ends.

There is yet another way in which natural history may, I am convinced,
take a profound hold upon practical life,--and that is, by its
influence over our finer feelings, as the greatest of all sources of
that pleasure which is derivable from beauty. I do not pretend that
natural-history knowledge, as such, can increase our sense of the
beautiful in natural objects. I do not suppose that the dead soul of
Peter Bell, of whom the great poet of nature says,--

A primrose by the river's brim,
A yellow primrose was to him,--
And it was nothing more,--

would have been a whit roused from its apathy by the information that
the primrose is a Dicotyledonous Exogen, with a monopetalous corolla
and central placentation. But I advocate natural-history knowledge from
this point of view, because it would lead us to _seek_ the
beauties of natural objects, instead of trusting to chance to force
them on our attention. To a person uninstructed in natural history, his
country or sea-side stroll is a walk through a gallery filled with
wonderful works of art, nine-tenths of which have their faces turned to
the wall. Teach him something of natural history, and you place in his
hands a catalogue of those which are worth turning round. Surely our
innocent pleasures are not so abundant in this life, that we can afford
to despise this or any other source of them. We should fear being
banished for our neglect to that limbo, where the great Florentine
tells us are those who, during this life, "wept when they might be

But I shall be trespassing unwarrantably on your kindness, if I do not
proceed at once to my last point--the time at which Physiological
Science should first form a part of the Curriculum of Education.

The distinction between the teaching of the facts of a science as
instruction, and the teaching it systematically as knowledge, has
already been placed before you in a previous lecture: and it appears to
me that, as with other sciences, the _common facts_ of Biology--the
uses of parts of the body--the names and habits of the living
creatures which surround us--may be taught with advantage to the
youngest child. Indeed, the avidity of children for this kind of
knowledge, and the comparative ease with which they retain it, is
something quite marvellous. I doubt whether any toy would be so
acceptable to young children as a vivarium of the same kind as, but of
course on a smaller scale than, those admirable devices in the
Zoological Gardens.

On the other hand, systematic teaching in Biology cannot be attempted
with success until the student has attained to a certain knowledge of
physics and chemistry: for though the phaenomena of life are dependent
neither on physical nor on chemical, but on vital forces, yet they
result in all sorts of physical and chemical changes, which can only be
judged by their own laws.

And now to sum up in a few words the conclusions to which I hope you
see reason to follow me.

Biology needs no apologist when she demands a place--and a prominent
place--in any scheme of education worthy of the name. Leave out the
Physiological sciences from your curriculum, and you launch the student
into the world, undisciplined in that science whose subject-matter
would best develop his powers of observation; ignorant of facts of the
deepest importance for his own and others' welfare; blind to the
richest sources of beauty in God's creation; and unprovided with that
belief in a living law, and an order manifesting itself in and through
endless change and variety, which might serve to check and moderate
that phase of despair through which, if he take an earnest interest in
social problems, he will assuredly sooner or later pass.

Finally, one word for myself. I have not hesitated to speak strongly
where I have felt strongly; and I am but too conscious that the
indicative and imperative moods have too often taken the place of the
more becoming subjunctive and conditional. I feel, therefore, how
necessary it is to beg you to forget the personality of him who has
thus ventured to address you, and to consider only the truth or error
in what has been said.

* * * * *


[1] "In the third place, we have to review the method of Comparison,
which is so specially adapted to the study of living bodies, and by
which, above all others, that study must be advanced. In Astronomy,
this method is necessarily inapplicable; and it is not till we arrive
at Chemistry that this third means of investigation can be used, and
then only in subordination to the two others. It is in the study, both
statical and dynamical, of living bodies that it first acquires its
full development; and its use elsewhere can be only through its
application here."--COMTE'S _Positive Philosophy_, translated by
Miss Martineau. Vol. i. p. 372.

By what method does M. Comte suppose that the equality or inequality
of forces and quantities and the dissimilarity or similarity of
forms--points of some slight importance not only in Astronomy and
Physics, but even in Mathematics--are ascertained, if not by

[2] "Proceeding to the second class of means,--Experiment cannot but be
less and less decisive, in proportion to the complexity of the
phaenomena to be explored; and therefore we saw this resource to be
less effectual in chemistry than in physics: and we now find that it is
eminently useful in chemistry in comparison with physiology. _In
fact, the nature of the phenomena seems to offer almost insurmountable
impediments to any extensive and prolific application of such a
procedure in biology._"--COMTE, vol. i. p. 367.

M. Comte, as his manner is, contradicts himself two pages further on,
but that will hardly relieve him from the responsibility of such a
paragraph as the above.

[3] _Nouvelle Fonction du Foie considéré comme organe producteur de
matière sucrée chez l'Homme et les Animaux, par_ M. Claude Bernard.

[4] "_Natural Groups given by Type, not by Definition_.... The
class is steadily fixed, though not precisely limited; it is given,
though not circumscribed; it is determined, not by a boundary-line
without, but by a central point within; not by what it strictly
excludes, but what it eminently includes; by an example, not by a
precept; in short, instead of Definition we have a _Type_ for our
director. A type is an example of any class, for instance, a species of
a genus, which is considered as eminently possessing the characters of
the class. All the species which have a greater affinity with this
type-species than with any others, form the genus, and are ranged about
about it, deviating from it in various directions and different
degrees."--WHEWELL, _The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_,
vol. i. pp. 476, 477.

[5] Save for the pleasure of doing so, I need hardly point put my
obligations to Mr. J. S. Mill's _System of Logic_, in this view of
scientific method.




Quashie's plaintive inquiry, "Am I not a man and a brother?" seems at
last to have received its final reply--the recent decision of the
fierce trial by battle on the other side of the Atlantic fully
concurring with that long since delivered here in a more peaceful way.

The question is settled; but even those who are most thoroughly
convinced that the doom is just, must see good grounds for repudiating
half the arguments which have been employed by the winning side; and
for doubting whether its ultimate results will embody the hopes of the
victors, though they may more than realise the fears of the vanquished.
It may be quite true that some negroes are better than some white men;
but no rational man, cognisant of the facts, believes that the average
negro is the equal, still less the superior, of the average white man.
And, if this be true, it is simply incredible that, when all his
disabilities are removed, and our prognathous relative has a fair field
and no favour, as well as no oppressor, he will be able to compete
successfully with his bigger-brained and smaller-jawed rival, in a
contest which is to be carried on by thoughts and not by bites. The
highest places in the hierarchy of civilisation will assuredly not be
within the reach of our dusky cousins, though it is by no means
necessary that they should be restricted to the lowest. But whatever
the position of stable equilibrium into which the laws of social
gravitation may bring the negro, all responsibility for the result will
henceforward lie between Nature and him. The white man may wash his
hands of it, and the Caucasian conscience be void of reproach for
evermore. And this, if we look to the bottom of the matter, is the real
justification for the abolition policy.

The doctrine of equal natural rights may be an illogical delusion;
emancipation may convert the slave from a well-fed animal into a
pauperised man; mankind may even have to do without cotton shirts; but
all these evils must be faced if the moral law, that no human being can
arbitrarily dominate over another without grievous damage to his own
nature, be, as many think, as readily demonstrable by experiment as any
physical truth. If this be true, no slavery can be abolished without a
double emancipation, and the master will benefit by freedom more than
the freed-man.

The like considerations apply to all the other questions of
emancipation which are at present stirring the world--the multifarious
demands that classes of mankind shall be relieved from restrictions
imposed by the artifice of man, and not by the necessities of Nature.
One of the most important, if not the most important, of all these, is
that which daily threatens to become the "irrepressible" woman
question. What social and political rights have women? What ought they
to be allowed, or not allowed, to do, be, and suffer? And, as involved
in, and underlying all these questions, how ought they to be educated?

There are philogynists as fanatical as any "misogynists" who, reversing
our antiquated notions, bid the man look upon the woman as the higher
type of humanity; who ask us to regard the female intellect as the
clearer and the quicker, if not the stronger; who desire us to look up
to the feminine moral sense as the purer and the nobler; and bid man
abdicate his usurped sovereignty over Nature in favour of the female
line. On the other hand, there are persons not to be outdone in all
loyalty and just respect for womankind, but by nature hard of head and
haters of delusion, however charming, who not only repudiate the new
woman-worship which so many sentimentalists and some philosophers are
desirous of setting up, but, carrying their audacity further, deny even
the natural equality of the sexes. They assert, on the contrary, that
in every excellent character, whether mental or physical, the average
woman is inferior to the average man, in the sense of having that
character less in quantity and lower in quality. Tell these persons of
the rapid perceptions and the instinctive intellectual insight of
women, and they reply that the feminine mental peculiarities, which
pass under these names, are merely the outcome of a greater
impressibility to the superficial aspects of things, and of the absence
of that restraint upon expression which, in men, is imposed by
reflection and a sense of responsibility. Talk of the passive endurance
of the weaker sex, and opponents of this kind remind you that Job was a
man, and that, until quite recent times, patience and long-suffering
were not counted among the specially feminine virtues. Claim passionate
tenderness as especially feminine, and the inquiry is made whether all
the best love-poetry in existence (except, perhaps, the "Sonnets from
the Portuguese ") has not been written by men; whether the song which
embodies the ideal of pure and tender passion--"Adelaida "--was
written by _Frau_ Beethoven; whether it was the Fornarina, or
Raphael, who painted the Sistine Madonna. Nay, we have known one such
heretic go so far as to lay his hands upon the ark itself, so to speak,
and to defend the startling paradox that, even in physical beauty, man
is the superior. He admitted, indeed, that there was a brief period of
early youth when it might be hard to say whether the prize should be
awarded to the graceful undulations of the female figure, or the
perfect balance and supple vigour of the male frame. But while our new
Paris might hesitate between the youthful Bacchus and the Venus
emerging from the foam, he averred that, when Venus and Bacchus had
reached thirty, the point no longer admitted of a doubt; the male form
having then attained its greatest nobility, while the female is far
gone in decadence; and that, at this epoch, womanly beauty, so far as
it is independent of grace or expression, is a question of drapery and

Supposing, however, that all these arguments have a certain foundation;
admitting, for a moment, that they are comparable to those by which the
inferiority of the negro to the white man may be demonstrated, are they
of any value as against woman-emancipation? Do they afford us the
smallest ground for refusing to educate women as well as men--to give
women the same civil and political rights as men? No mistake is so
commonly made by clever people as that of assuming a cause to be bad
because the arguments of its supporters are, to a great extent,
non-sensical. And we conceive that those who may laugh at the arguments
of the extreme philogynists, may yet feel bound to work heart and soul
towards the attainment of their practical ends.

As regards education, for example. Granting the alleged defects of
women, is it not somewhat absurd to sanction and maintain a system of
education which would seem to have been specially contrived to
exaggerate all these defects?

Naturally not so firmly strung, nor so well balanced as boys, girls are
in great measure debarred from the sports and physical exercises which
are justly thought absolutely necessary for the full development of the
vigour of the more favoured sex. Women are, by nature, more excitable
than men--prone to be swept by tides of emotion, proceeding from hidden
and inward, as well as from obvious and external causes; and female
education does its best to weaken every physical counterpoise to this
nervous mobility--tends in all ways to stimulate the emotional part of
the mind and stunt the rest. We find girls naturally timid, inclined to
dependence, born conservatives; and we teach them that independence is
unladylike; that blind faith is the right frame of mind; and that
whatever we may be permitted, and indeed encouraged, to do to our
brother, our sister is to be left to the tyranny of authority and
tradition. With few insignificant exceptions, girls have been educated
either to be drudges, or toys, beneath man; or a sort of angels above
him; the highest ideal aimed at oscillating between Clärchen and
Beatrice. The possibility that the ideal of womanhood lies neither in
the fair saint, nor in the fair sinner; that the female type of
character is neither better nor worse than the male, but only weaker;
that women are meant neither to be men's guides nor their play-things,
but their comrades, their fellows, and their equals, so far as Nature
puts no bar to that equality, does not seem to have entered into the
minds of those who have had the conduct of the education of girls.

If the present system of female education stands self-condemned, as
inherently absurd; and if that which we have just indicated is the true
position of woman, what is the first step towards a better state of
things? We reply, emancipate girls. Recognise the fact that they share
the senses, perceptions, feelings, reasoning powers, emotions, of boys,
and that the mind of the average girl is less different from that of
the average boy, than the mind of one boy is from that of another; so
that whatever argument justifies a given education for all boys,
justifies its application to girls as well. So far from imposing
artificial restrictions upon the acquirement of knowledge by women,
throw every facility in their way. Let our Faustinas, if they will,
toil through the whole round of

"Juristerei und Medizin,
Und leider! auch Philosophie."

Let us have "sweet girl graduates" by all means. They will be none the
less sweet for a little wisdom; and the "golden hair" will not curl
less gracefully outside the head by reason of there being brains
within. Nay, if obvious practical difficulties can be overcome, let
those women who feel inclined to do so descend into the gladiatorial
arena of life, not merely in the guise of _retiariae_, as
heretofore, but as bold _sicariae_, breasting the open fray. Let
them, if they so please, become merchants, barristers, politicians. Let
them have a fair field, but let them understand, as the necessary
correlative, that they are to have no favour. Let Nature alone sit high
above the lists, "rain influence and judge the prize."

And the result? For our parts, though loth to prophesy, we believe it
will be that of other emancipations. Women will find their place, and
it will neither be that in which they have been held, nor that to which
some of them aspire. Nature's old salique law will not be repealed, and
no change of dynasty will be effected. The big chests, the massive
brains, the vigorous muscles and stout frames of the best men will
carry the day, whenever it is worth their while to contest the prizes
of life with the best women. And the hardship of it is, that the very
improvement of the women will lessen their chances. Better mothers will
bring forth better sons, and the impetus gained by the one sex will be
transmitted, in the next generation, to the other. The most Darwinian

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