_EVERYMAN, I will go with thee, and be thy guide, In thy most need to go by thy side_

HERBERT SPENCER

Born at Derby in 1820, the son of a teacher, from whom he received most of his education. Obtained employment on the London andBirmingham Railway. After the strike of 1846he devoted himself to journalism, and in1848 was sub-editor of _The Economist_. 

He died in 1903. 

HERBERT SPENCER

Essays on EducationAND KINDRED SUBJECTS

INTRODUCTION BYCHARLES W. ELIOT

DENT: LONDONEVERYMAN'S LIBRARYDUTTON: NEW YORK

_Made in Great Britainat theAldine Press · Letchworth · HertsforJ. M. DENT & SONS LTDAldine House · Bedford Street · LondonFirst published in Everyman's Library 1911Last reprinted 1963_

NO. _504_

INTRODUCTION

The four essays on education which Herbert Spencer published in a singlevolume in 1861 were all written and separately published between 1854and 1859. Their tone was aggressive and their proposals revolutionary;although all the doctrines--with one important exception--had alreadybeen vigorously preached by earlier writers on education, as Spencerhimself was at pains to point out. The doctrine which was comparativelynew ran through all four essays; but was most amply stated in the essayfirst published in 1859 under the title "What Knowledge is of MostWorth?" In this essay Spencer divided the leading kinds of humanactivity into those which minister to self-preservation, those whichsecure the necessaries of life, those whose end is the care ofoffspring, those which make good citizens, and those which prepareadults to enjoy nature, literature, and the fine arts; and he thenmaintained that in each of these several classes, knowledge of sciencewas worth more than any other knowledge. He argued that everywherethroughout creation faculties are developed through the performance ofthe appropriate functions; so that it would be contrary to the wholeharmony of nature "if one kind of culture were needed for the gaining ofinformation, and another kind were needed as a mental gymnastic. " Hethen maintained that the sciences are superior in all respects tolanguages as educational material; they train the memory better, and asuperior kind of memory; they cultivate the judgment, and they impart anadmirable moral and religious discipline. He concluded that "fordiscipline, as well as for guidance, science is of chiefest value. Inall its effects, learning the meaning of things is better than learningthe meaning of words. " He answered the question "what knowledge is ofmost worth?" with the one word--science. 

This doctrine was extremely repulsive to the established profession ofeducation in England, where Latin, Greek, and mathematics had been thestaples of education for many generations, and were believed to affordthe only suitable preparation for the learned professions, public life, and cultivated society. In proclaiming this doctrine with ampleillustration, ingenious argument, and forcible reiteration, Spencer wasa true educational pioneer, although some of his scientificcontemporaries were really preaching similar doctrines, each in his ownfield. 

The profession of teaching has long been characterised by certainhabitual convictions, which Spencer undertook to shake rudely, and evento deride. The first of these convictions is that all education, physical, intellectual, and moral, must be authoritative, and need takeno account of the natural wishes, tendencies, and motives of theignorant and undeveloped child. The second dominating conviction is thatto teach means to tell, or show, children what they ought to see, believe, and utter. Expositions by the teacher and books are thereforethe true means of education. The third and supreme conviction is thatthe method of education which produced the teacher himself and thecontemporary or earlier scholars, authors, and publicists, must be therighteous and sufficient method. Its fruits demonstrate its soundness, and make it sacred. Herbert Spencer, in the essays included in thepresent volume, assaulted all three of these firm convictions. Accordingly, the ideas on education which he put forth more than fiftyyears ago have penetrated educational practice very slowly--particularlyin England; but they are now coming to prevail in most civilisedcountries, and they will prevail more and more. Through him, thethoughts on education of Comenius, Montaigne, Locke, Milton, Rousseau, Pestalozzi, and other noted writers on this neglected subject are atlast winning their way into practice, with the modifications oradaptations which the immense gains of the human race in knowledge andpower since the nineteenth century opened have shown to be wise. 

For teachers and educational administrators it is interesting to observethe steps by which Spencer's doctrines--and especially his doctrine ofthe supreme value of science--have advanced towards acceptance inpractice. In general, the advance has been brought about through theindirect effects of the enormous industrial, social, and politicalchanges of the last fifty years. The first practical step was theintroduction of laboratory teaching of one or more of the sciences intothe secondary schools and colleges. Chemistry and physics were thecommonest subjects selected. These two subjects had been taught frombooks even earlier; but memorising science out of books is far lessuseful as training than memorising grammars and vocabularies. Thecharacteristic discipline of science can be imparted only through thelaboratory method. The schoolmasters and college faculties who took thisstep by no means admitted Spencer's contention that science should bethe universal staple at all stages of child development. On thecontrary, they believed, as most people do to-day, that the mind of theyoung child cannot grasp the processes and generalisations of science, and that science is no more universally fitted to develop mental powerthan the classics or mathematics. Indeed, experience during the pastfifty years seems to have proved that fewer minds are naturally inclinedto scientific study than to linguistic or historical study; so that ifsome science is to be learnt by everybody, the amount of such studyshould be limited to acquiring in one or two sciences knowledge of thescientific method in general. So much scientific training is indeeduniversally desirable; because good training of the senses to observeaccurately is universally desirable, and the collecting, comparing, andgrouping of many facts teach orderliness in thinking, and lead up tosomething which Spencer valued highly in education--"a rationalexplanation of phenomena. "

Science having obtained a foothold in secondary schools and colleges, anadequate development of science-teaching resulted from the introductionof options or elections for the pupils among numerous different courses, in place of a curriculum prescribed for all. The elaborate teaching ofmany sciences was thus introduced. The pupil or student saw and recordedfor himself; used books only as helps and guides in seeing, recording, and generalising; proceeded from the known to the unknown; and in short, made numerous applications of the doctrines which pervade all Spencer'swritings on education. In the United States these methods wereintroduced earlier and have been carried farther than in England; butwithin the last few years the changes made in education have been moreextensive and rapid in England than in any other country;--witness theannouncements of the new high schools and the re-organised grammarschools, of such colleges as South Kensington, Armstrong, King's, theUniversity College (London), and Goldsmiths', and of the new municipaluniversities such as Victoria, Bristol, Sheffield, Birmingham, Liverpool, and Leeds. The new technical schools also illustrate theadvent of instruction in applied science as an important element inadvanced education. Such institutions as the Seafield Park EngineeringCollege, the City Guilds of London Institute, the City of LondonCollege, and the Battersea Polytechnic are instances of the samedevelopment. Some endowed institutions for girls illustrate the sametendencies, as, for example, the Bedford College for Women and the RoyalHolloway College. All these institutions teach sciences in considerablevariety, and in the way that Spencer advocated, --not so much becausethey have distinctly accepted his views, as because modern industrialand social conditions compel the preparation in science of young peopledestined for various occupations and services indispensable to modernsociety. The method of the preparation is essentially that which headvocated. 

Spencer's propositions to the effect that the study of science wasdesirable for artisans, artists, and, in general, for people who were toget their livings through various skills of hand and eye, were receivedwith great incredulity, not to say derision--particularly when hemaintained that some knowledge of the theory which underlies an art wasdesirable for manual practitioners of the art; but the changes of thelast fifty years in the practice of the arts and trades may be said tohave demonstrated that his views were thoroughly sound. The applicationsof science in the arts and trades have been so numerous and productive, that widespread training in science has become indispensable to anynation which means to excel in the manufacturing industries, whether oflarge scale or small scale. The extraordinary popularity of eveningschools and correspondence schools in the United States rests on theneed which young people employed in the various industries of thecountry feel of obtaining more theoretical knowledge about the physicalor chemical processes through which they are earning a livelihood. TheYoung Men's Christian Associations in the American cities have becomegreat centres of evening instruction for just such young persons. Thecorrespondence schools are teaching hundreds of thousands of youngpeople at work in machine-shops, mills, mines, and factories, whobelieve that they can advance themselves in their several occupations bysupplementing their elementary education with correspondence courses, taken while they are at work earning a livelihood in industries thatrest ultimately on applications of science. 

Spencer's objection to the constant exercise of authority and compulsionin schools, families, and the State is felt to-day much more widely thanit was in 1858, when he wrote his essay on moral education. His proposalthat children should be allowed to suffer the natural consequences oftheir foolish or wrong acts does not seem to the present generation--anymore than it did to him--to be applicable to very young children, whoneed protection from the undue severity of many natural penalties; butthe soundness of his general doctrine that it is the true function ofparents and teachers to see that children habitually experience thenormal consequences of their conduct, without putting artificialconsequences in place of them, now commands the assent of most personswhose minds have been freed from the theological dogmas of original sinand total depravity. Spencer did not expect the immediate adoption ofthis principle; because society as a whole was not yet humane enough. Headmitted that the uncontrollable child of ill-controlled adults mightsometimes have to be scolded or beaten, and that these barbarous methodsmight be "perhaps the best preparation such children can have for thebarbarous society in which they are presently to play a part. " He hoped, however, that the civilised members of society would by and byspontaneously use milder measures; and this hope has been realised ingood degree, with the result that happiness in childhood is muchcommoner and more constant than it used to be. Parents and teachers arebeginning to realise that self-control is a prime object in moraleducation, and that this self-control cannot be practised under a regimeof constant supervision, unexplained commands, and painful punishments, but must be gained in freedom. Some large-scale experience with Americansecondary schools which prepare boys for admission to college has beenedifying in this respect. The American colleges, as a rule, do notundertake to exercise much supervision over their students, but leavethem free to regulate their own lives in regard to both work and play. Now it is the boys who come from the secondary schools where theclosest supervision is maintained that are in most danger of fallinginto evil ways when they first go to college. 

Spencer put very forcibly a valuable doctrine for which many earlierwriters on the theory of education had failed to get a hearing--thedoctrine, namely, that all instruction should be pleasurable andinteresting. Fifty years ago almost all teachers believed that it wasimpossible to make school-work interesting, or life-work either; so thatthe child must be forced to grind without pleasure, in preparation forlife's grind; and the forcing was to be done by experience of theteacher's displeasure and the infliction of pain. Through the sloweffects of Spencer's teaching and of the experience of practicalteachers who have demonstrated that instruction can be made pleasurable, and that the very hardest work is done by interested pupils because theyare interested, it has gradually come to pass that his heresy has becomethe prevailing judgment among sensible and humane teachers. Theexperience of many adults, hard at work in the modern industrial, commercial, and financial world, has taught them that human beings canmake their intensest application only to problems in which they arepersonally interested for one reason or another, and that freemen workmuch harder than slaves, because they feel within themselves strongmotives for exertion which slaves cannot possibly feel. So, manyintelligent adults, including many parents and teachers, have come tobelieve it possible that children will learn to do hard work, both inschool and in after life, through the free play of interior motiveswhich appeal to them, and prompt them to persistent exertion. 

The justice of Spencer's views about training through pleasurablesensation and achievement in freedom rather than through uninterestedwork and pain inflicted by despotic government, is well illustrated bythe recent improvements in the discipline of reformatories for boys andgirls and young men and women. It has been demonstrated that the onlyuseful reformatories are those which diminish the criminal's liberty ofaction as little as possible, require him to perform productive labour, educate him for a trade or other useful occupation, and offer him thereward of an abridgment of sentence in return for industry andself-control. Repression and compulsion under penalties however severefail to reform, and often make bad moral conditions worse. Instruction, as much freedom as is consistent with the safety of society, and anappeal to the ordinary motives of emulation, satisfaction inachievement, and the desire to win credit, can, and do, reform. 

Many schools, both public and private, have now adopted--in most casesunconsciously--many of Spencer's more detailed suggestions. Thelaboratory method of instruction, for example, now common for scientificsubjects in good schools, is an application of his doctrines of concreteillustration, training in the accurate use of the senses, andsubordination of book-work. Many schools realise, too, that learning byheart and, in general, memorising from books are not the only means ofstoring the mind of a child. They should make parts of a soundeducation, but should not be used to the exclusion of learning througheye, ear, and hand. Spencer pointed out with much elaboration thatchildren acquire in their early years a vast amount of informationexclusively through the incessant use of their senses. To-day teachersknow this fact, and realise much better than the teachers of fifty yearsago did, that all through the school and college period the pupilsshould be getting a large part of their new knowledge through thecareful application of their own powers of observation, aided, indeed, by books and pictures which record the observations, old and new, ofother people. The young human being, unlike the puppy or the kitten, isnot confined to the use of his own senses as sources of information anddiscovery; but can enjoy the fruits of a prodigious width and depth ofobservation acquired by preceding generations and adult members of hisown generation. A recent illustration of this extension of the method ofobservation in teaching to observations made by other people is the newmethod of giving moral instruction to school children throughphotographs of actual scenes which illustrate both good morals and bad, the exhibition of the photographs being accompanied by a running oralcomment from the teacher. In this kind of moral instruction it seems tobe possible to interest all kinds of children, both civilised andbarbarous, both ill-bred and well-bred. The teaching comes through theeye, for the children themselves observe intently the pictures which thelantern throws on the screen; but the striking scenes thus put beforethem probably lie in most instances quite outside the region of theirown experiences. 

The essay on "What Knowledge is of Most Worth?" contains a hotdenunciation of that kind of information which in most schools used tousurp the name of history. It is enough to say of this part of Spencer'seducational doctrine that all the best historical writers since themiddle of the nineteenth century seem to have adopted the principleswhich he declared should govern the writing of history. As a result, theteaching of history in schools and colleges has undergone a profoundchange. It now deals with the nature and action of government, central, local, and ecclesiastical, with social observances, industrial systems, and the customs which regulate popular life, out-of-doors and indoors. It depicts also the intellectual condition of the nation and theprogress it has made in applied science, the fine arts, and legislation, and includes descriptions of the peoples' food, shelters, andamusements. To this result many authors and teachers have contributed;but Spencer's violent denunciation of history as it was taught in histime has greatly promoted this important reform. 

Many twentieth-century teachers are sure to put in practice Spencer'sexhortation to teach children to draw with pen and pencil, and to usepaints and brush. He maintained that the common omission of drawing asan important element in the training of children was in contempt of someof the most obvious of nature's suggestions with regard to the naturaldevelopment of human faculties; and the better recent practice in someEnglish and American schools verifies his statement; nevertheless someof the best secondary schools in both countries still fail to recognisedrawing and painting as important elements in liberal education. 

Modern society as yet hardly approaches the putting into effectivepractice of the sound views which Spencer set forth with great detail inhis essay on "Physical Education. " The instruction given in schools andcolleges on the care of the body and the laws of health is still verymeagre; and in certain subjects of the utmost importance no instructionwhatever is given, as, for example, in the normal methods ofreproduction in plants and animals, in eugenics, and in the ruinousconsequences of disregarding sexual purity and honour. In one respecthis fundamental doctrine of freedom, carried into the domain of physicalexercise, has been extensively adopted in England, on the Continent, and in America. He taught that although gymnastics, military drill, andformal exercises of the limbs are better than nothing, they can neverserve in place of the plays prompted by nature. He maintained that "forgirls as well as boys the sportive activities to which the instinctsimpel are essential to bodily welfare. " This principle is now beingcarried into practice not only for school-children, but for operativesin factories, clerks, and other young persons whose occupations aresedentary and monotonous. For all such persons, free plays are vastlybetter than formal exercises of any sort. 

The wide adoption of Spencer's educational ideas has had to await theadvent of the new educational administration and the new public interesttherein. It awaited the coming of the state university in the UnitedStates and of the city university in England, the establishment ofnumerous technical schools, the profound modifications made in grammarschools and academies, and the multiplication in both countries of thesecondary schools called high schools. In other words, his ideasgradually gained admission to a vast number of new institutions ofeducation, which were created and maintained because both thegovernments and the nations felt a new sense of responsibility for thetraining of the future generations. These new agencies have been createdin great variety, and the introduction of Spencer's ideas has been muchfacilitated by this variety. These institutions were national, state, ormunicipal. They were tax-supported or endowed. They charged tuitionfees, or were open to competent children or adults without fee. Theyundertook to meet alike the needs of the individual and the needs of thecommunity; and this undertaking involved the introduction of many newsubjects of instruction and many new methods. Through their variety theycould be sympathetic with both individualism and collectivism. Thevariety of instruction offered is best illustrated in the strongestAmerican universities, some of which are tax-supported and some endowed. These universities maintain a great variety of courses of instruction insubjects none of which was taught with the faintest approach to adequacyin American universities sixty years ago; but in making these extensionsthe universities have not found it necessary to reduce the instructionoffered in the classics and mathematics. The traditional culturalstudies are still provided; but they represent only one programme amongmany, and no one is compelled to follow it. The domination of theclassics is at an end; but any student who prefers the traditional pathto culture, or whose parents choose that path for him, will find inseveral American universities much richer provisions of classicalinstruction than any university in the country offered sixty years ago. The present proposals to widen the influence of Oxford University do notmean, therefore, that the classics, history, and philosophy are to betaught less there, but only that other subjects are to be taught more, and that a greater number and variety of young men will be preparedthere for the service of the nation. 

The new public interest in education as a necessary of modern industrialand political life has gradually brought about a great increase in theproportional number of young men and women whose education is prolongedbeyond the period of primary or elementary instruction; and thismultitude of young people is preparing for a great variety of callings, many of which are new within sixty years, having been brought into beingby the extraordinary advances of applied science. The advent of thesenew callings has favoured the spread of Spencer's educational ideas. Therecent agitation in favour of what is called vocational training is avivid illustration of the wide acceptance of his arguments. Even thefarmers, their farm-hands, and their children must nowadays be offeredfree instruction in agriculture; because the public, and especially theurban public, believes that by disseminating better methods of tillage, better seed, and appropriate manures, the yield of the farms can beimproved in quality and multiplied in quantity. In regard to allmaterial interests, the free peoples are acting on the principle thatscience is the knowledge of most worth. Spencer's doctrine of naturalconsequences in place of artificial penalties, his view that all youngpeople should be taught how to be wise parents and good citizens, andhis advocacy of instruction in public and private hygiene, lie at theroots of many of the philanthropic and reformatory movements of the day. 

On the whole, Herbert Spencer has been fortunate among educationalphilosophers. He has not had to wait so long for the acceptance of histeachings as Comenius, Montaigne, or Rousseau waited. His ideas havebeen floated on a prodigious tide of industrial and social change, whichnecessarily involved wide-spread and profound educational reform. 

This introduction deals with Spencer's four essays on education; but inthe present volume are included three other famous essays written by himduring the same period (1854-59) which produced the essays on education. All three are germane to the educational essays, because they deal withthe general law of human progress, with the genesis of that sciencewhich Spencer thought to be the knowledge of most worth, and with theorigin and function of music, a subject which he maintained should playan important part in any scheme of education. 

 CHARLES W. ELIOT. 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

WORKS. _The Proper Sphere of Government_, 1843; _Social Statics_, 1850;_Theory of Population_ (_Westminster Review_), April 1852; _TheDevelopment of Hypothesis_ (_The Leader_), 20th March 1852; _TheUltimate Laws of Physiology_ (_National Review_), April 1857; _Essays, Scientific, Political and Speculative_, 2 vols. , 1858-63; _Education_, 1861; _A System of Synthetic Philosophy_ (12 vols. , 1862-96), made up asfollows: _First Principles_, 1862; _Principles of Biology_, 2 vols. , 1864-7; _Principles of Psychology_, 2 vols. , 1870-2; _Principles ofSociology_, 3 vols. , 1876-96; _Ceremonial Institutions_, 1879;_Principles of Morality_, 2 vols. , 1879-93 (vol. I, part I published as_Data of Ethics_, 1879; part 4 as _Justice_, 1891); _PoliticalInstitutions_, 1882. Meanwhile the following works were also published:_The Classification of the Sciences_, 1864; _The Study of Sociology_, 1872; _Descriptive Sociology_, 1873; _The Man versus the State_, 1884;_The Factors of Organic Evolution_, 1887; _The Inadequacy of NaturalSelection_, 1893. Spencer's _Autobiography_ appeared posthumously, 2vols. , 1904. 

COLLECTED EDITION. Nineteen volumes, 1861-1902. 

BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM. T. Funk-Brentano, _Les Sophistes grecs et lesSophistes contemporains_ (Mill and Spencer), 1879; F. H. Collins, _AnEpitome of the Synthetic Philosophy_, 1889; H. Sidgwick, _Lectures onthe Ethics of Green, Spencer and Martineau_, 1902; 'The Philosophy ofHerbert Spencer' (in _The Philosophy of Kant and Other Lectures_, 1905);D. Duncan, _An Introduction to the Philosophy of Spencer_, 1904; _Lifeand Letters of Herbert Spencer_, 1908; J. Royce, _Herbert Spencer. AnEstimate and a Review_, 1904; J. A. Thomson, _Herbert Spencer_, 1906;W. H. Hudson, _Herbert Spencer_, 1916; J. Rumney, _Herbert Spencer'sSociology_, 1934; R. C. K. Ensor, _Some Reflections on Herbert Spencer'sDoctrine_, 1946. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE_Introduction_ by Charles W. Eliot vii

PART I

EDUCATION: INTELLECTUAL, MORAL, AND PHYSICAL

WHAT KNOWLEDGE IS OF MOST WORTH? 1

INTELLECTUAL EDUCATION 45

MORAL EDUCATION 84

PHYSICAL EDUCATION 116

PART II

ESSAYS ON KINDRED SUBJECTS

PROGRESS: ITS LAW AND CAUSE 153

ON MANNERS AND FASHION 198

ON THE GENESIS OF SCIENCE 239

ON THE PHYSIOLOGY OF LAUGHTER 298

ON THE ORIGIN AND FUNCTION OF MUSIC 310

ORIGINAL PREFACE

TO

EDUCATION: INTELLECTUAL, MORAL, AND PHYSICAL

The four chapters of which this work consists, originally appeared asfour Review-articles: the first in the _Westminster Review_ for July1859; the second in the _North British Review_ for May 1854; and theremaining two in the _British Quarterly Review_ for April 1858 and forApril 1859. Severally treating different divisions of the subject, buttogether forming a tolerably complete whole, I originally wrote themwith a view to their republication in a united form; and they would sometime since have thus been issued, had not a legal difficulty stood inthe way. This difficulty being now removed, I hasten to fulfil theintention with which they were written. 

That in their first shape these chapters were severally independent, isthe reason to be assigned for some slight repetitions which occur inthem: one leading idea, more especially, reappearing twice. As, however, this idea is on each occasion presented under a new form, and as it canscarcely be too much enforced, I have not thought well to omit any ofthe passages embodying it. 

Some additions of importance will be found in the chapter onIntellectual Education; and in the one on Physical Education there are afew minor alterations. But the chief changes which have been made, arechanges of expression: all of the essays having undergone a carefulverbal revision. 

 H. S. LONDON, _May 1861_

SPENCER'S ESSAYS

PART I--ON EDUCATION

WHAT KNOWLEDGE IS OF MOST WORTH?

It has been truly remarked that, in order of time, decoration precedesdress. Among people who submit to great physical suffering that they mayhave themselves handsomely tattooed, extremes of temperature are bornewith but little attempt at mitigation. Humboldt tells us that an OrinocoIndian, though quite regardless of bodily comfort, will yet labour for afortnight to purchase pigment wherewith to make himself admired; andthat the same woman who would not hesitate to leave her hut without afragment of clothing on, would not dare to commit such a breach ofdecorum as to go out unpainted. Voyagers find that coloured beads andtrinkets are much more prized by wild tribes than are calicoes orbroadcloths. And the anecdotes we have of the ways in which, when shirtsand coats are given, savages turn them to some ludicrous display, showhow completely the idea of ornament predominates over that of use. Nay, there are still more extreme illustrations: witness the fact narrated byCapt. Speke of his African attendants, who strutted about in theirgoat-skin mantles when the weather was fine, but when it was wet, tookthem off, folded them up, and went about naked, shivering in the rain!Indeed, the facts of aboriginal life seem to indicate that dress isdeveloped out of decorations. And when we remember that even amongourselves most think more about the fineness of the fabric than itswarmth, and more about the cut than the convenience--when we see thatthe function is still in great measure subordinated to theappearance--we have further reason for inferring such an origin. 

It is curious that the like relations hold with the mind. Among mentalas among bodily acquisitions, the ornamental comes before the useful. Not only in times past, but almost as much in our own era, thatknowledge which conduces to personal well-being has been postponed tothat which brings applause. In the Greek schools, music, poetry, rhetoric, and a philosophy which, until Socrates taught, had but littlebearing upon action, were the dominant subjects; while knowledge aidingthe arts of life had a very subordinate place. And in our ownuniversities and schools at the present moment, the like antithesisholds. We are guilty of something like a platitude when we say thatthroughout his after-career, a boy, in nine cases out of ten, applieshis Latin and Greek to no practical purposes. The remark is trite thatin his shop, or his office, in managing his estate or his family, inplaying his part as director of a bank or a railway, he is very littleaided by this knowledge he took so many years to acquire--so little, that generally the greater part of it drops out of his memory; and if heoccasionally vents a Latin quotation, or alludes to some Greek myth, itis less to throw light on the topic in hand than for the sake of effect. If we inquire what is the real motive for giving boys a classicaleducation, we find it to be simply conformity to public opinion. Mendress their children's minds as they do their bodies, in the prevailingfashion. As the Orinoco Indian puts on paint before leaving his hut, notwith a view to any direct benefit, but because he would be ashamed to beseen without it; so, a boy's drilling in Latin and Greek is insisted on, not because of their intrinsic value, but that he may not be disgracedby being found ignorant of them--that he may have "the education of agentleman"--the badge marking a certain social position, and bringing aconsequent respect. 

This parallel is still more clearly displayed in the case of the othersex. In the treatment of both mind and body, the decorative element hascontinued to predominate in a greater degree among women than among men. Originally, personal adornment occupied the attention of both sexesequally. In these latter days of civilisation, however, we see that inthe dress of men the regard for appearance has in a considerable degreeyielded to the regard for comfort; while in their education the usefulhas of late been trenching on the ornamental. In neither direction hasthis change gone so far with women. The wearing of earrings, finger-rings, bracelets; the elaborate dressings of the hair; the stilloccasional use of paint; the immense labour bestowed in makinghabiliments sufficiently attractive; and the great discomfort that willbe submitted to for the sake of conformity; show how greatly, in theattiring of women, the desire of approbation overrides the desire forwarmth and convenience. And similarly in their education, the immensepreponderance of "accomplishments" proves how here, too, use issubordinated to display. Dancing, deportment, the piano, singing, drawing--what a large space do these occupy! If you ask why Italian andGerman are learnt, you will find that, under all the sham reasons given, the real reason is, that a knowledge of those tongues is thoughtladylike. It is not that the books written in them may be utilised, which they scarcely ever are; but that Italian and German songs may besung, and that the extent of attainment may bring whispered admiration. The births, deaths, and marriages of kings, and other like historictrivialities, are committed to memory, not because of any directbenefits that can possibly result from knowing them: but because societyconsiders them parts of a good education--because the absence of suchknowledge may bring the contempt of others. When we have named reading, writing, spelling, grammar, arithmetic, and sewing, we have named aboutall the things a girl is taught with a view to their actual uses inlife; and even some of these have more reference to the good opinion ofothers than to immediate personal welfare. 

Thoroughly to realise the truth that with the mind as with the body theornamental precedes the useful, it is requisite to glance at itsrationale. This lies in the fact that, from the far past down even tothe present, social needs have subordinated individual needs, and thatthe chief social need has been the control of individuals. It is not, aswe commonly suppose, that there are no governments but those ofmonarchs, and parliaments, and constituted authorities. Theseacknowledged governments are supplemented by other unacknowledged ones, that grow up in all circles, in which every man or woman strives to beking or queen or lesser dignitary. To get above some and be reverencedby them, and to propitiate those who are above us, is the universalstruggle in which the chief energies of life are expended. By theaccumulation of wealth, by style of living, by beauty of dress, bydisplay of knowledge or intellect, each tries to subjugate others; andso aids in weaving that ramified network of restraints by which societyis kept in order. It is not the savage chief only, who, in formidablewar-paint, with scalps at his belt, aims to strike awe into hisinferiors; it is not only the belle who, by elaborate toilet, polishedmanners, and numerous accomplishments, strives to "make conquests;" butthe scholar, the historian, the philosopher, use their acquirements tothe same end. We are none of us content with quietly unfolding our ownindividualities to the full in all directions; but have a restlesscraving to impress our individualities upon others, and in some waysubordinate them. And this it is which determines the character of oureducation. Not what knowledge is of most real worth, is theconsideration; but what will bring most applause, honour, respect--whatwill most conduce to social position and influence--what will be mostimposing. As, throughout life, not what we are, but what we shall bethought, is the question; so in education, the question is, not theintrinsic value of knowledge, so much as its extrinsic effects onothers. And this being our dominant idea, direct utility is scarcelymore regarded than by the barbarian when filing his teeth and staininghis nails. 

 * * * * *

If there requires further evidence of the rude, undeveloped character ofour education, we have it in the fact that the comparative worths ofdifferent kinds of knowledge have been as yet scarcely evendiscussed--much less discussed in a methodic way with definite results. Not only is it that no standard of relative values has yet been agreedupon; but the existence of any such standard has not been conceived in aclear manner. And not only is it that the existence of such a standardhas not been clearly conceived; but the need for it seems to have beenscarcely even felt. Men read books on this topic, and attend lectures onthat; decide that their children shall be instructed in these branchesof knowledge, and shall not be instructed in those; and all under theguidance of mere custom, or liking, or prejudice; without everconsidering the enormous importance of determining in some rational waywhat things are really most worth learning. It is true that in allcircles we hear occasional remarks on the importance of this or theother order of information. But whether the degree of its importancejustifies the expenditure of the time needed to acquire it; and whetherthere are not things of more importance to which such time might bebetter devoted; are queries which, if raised at all, are disposed ofquite summarily, according to personal predilections. It is true also, that now and then, we hear revived the standing controversy respectingthe comparative merits of classics and mathematics. This controversy, however, is carried on in an empirical manner, with no reference to anascertained criterion; and the question at issue is insignificant whencompared with the general question of which it is part. To suppose thatdeciding whether a mathematical or a classical education is the best isdeciding what is the proper _curriculum_, is much the same thing as tosuppose that the whole of dietetics lies in ascertaining whether or notbread is more nutritive than potatoes!

The question which we contend is of such transcendent moment, is, notwhether such or such knowledge is of worth but what is its _relative_worth? When they have named certain advantages which a given course ofstudy has secured them, persons are apt to assume that they havejustified themselves; quite forgetting that the adequateness of theadvantages is the point to be judged. There is, perhaps, not a subjectto which men devote attention that has not _some_ value. A yeardiligently spent in getting up heraldry, would very possibly give alittle further insight into ancient manners and morals. Any one whoshould learn the distances between all the towns in England, might, inthe course of his life, find one or two of the thousand facts he hadacquired of some slight service when arranging a journey. Gatheringtogether all the small gossip of a county, profitless occupation as itwould be, might yet occasionally help to establish some usefulfact--say, a good example of hereditary transmission. But in thesecases, every one would admit that there was no proportion between therequired labour and the probable benefit. No one would tolerate theproposal to devote some years of a boy's time to getting suchinformation, at the cost of much more valuable information which hemight else have got. And if here the test of relative value is appealedto and held conclusive, then should it be appealed to and heldconclusive throughout. Had we time to master all subjects we need not beparticular. To quote the old song:--

 Could a man be secure That his day would endure As of old, for a thousand long years, What things might he know! What deeds might he do! And all without hurry or care. 

"But we that have but span-long lives" must ever bear in mind ourlimited time for acquisition. And remembering how narrowly this time islimited, not only by the shortness of life, but also still more by thebusiness of life, we ought to be especially solicitous to employ whattime we have to the greatest advantage. Before devoting years to somesubject which fashion or fancy suggests, it is surely wise to weighwith great care the worth of the results, as compared with the worth ofvarious alternative results which the same years might bring ifotherwise applied. 

In education, then, this is the question of questions, which it is hightime we discussed in some methodic way. The first in importance, thoughthe last to be considered, is the problem--how to decide among theconflicting claims of various subjects on our attention. Before therecan be a rational _curriculum_, we must settle which things it mostconcerns us to know; or, to use a word of Bacon's, now unfortunatelyobsolete--we must determine the relative values of knowledges. 

 * * * * *

To this end, a measure of value is the first requisite. And happily, respecting the true measure of value, as expressed in general terms, there can be no dispute. Every one in contending for the worth of anyparticular order of information, does so by showing its bearing uponsome part of life. In reply to the question--"Of what use is it?" themathematician, linguist, naturalist, or philosopher, explains the way inwhich his learning beneficially influences action--saves from evil orsecures good--conduces to happiness. When the teacher of writing haspointed out how great an aid writing is to success in business--that is, to the obtainment of sustenance--that is, to satisfactory living; he isheld to have proved his case. And when the collector of dead facts (saya numismatist) fails to make clear any appreciable effects which thesefacts can produce on human welfare, he is obliged to admit that they arecomparatively valueless. All then, either directly or by implication, appeal to this as the ultimate test. 

How to live?--that is the essential question for us. Not how to live inthe mere material sense only, but in the widest sense. The generalproblem which comprehends every special problem is--the right ruling ofconduct in all directions under all circumstances. In what way to treatthe body; in what way to treat the mind; in what way to manage ouraffairs; in what way to bring up a family; in what way to behave as acitizen; in what way to utilise those sources of happiness which naturesupplies--how to use all our faculties to the greatest advantage ofourselves and others--how to live completely? And this being the greatthing needful for us to learn, is, by consequence, the great thing whicheducation has to teach. To prepare us for complete living is thefunction which education has to discharge; and the only rational modeof judging of an educational course is, to judge in what degree itdischarges such function. 

This test, never used in its entirety, but rarely even partially used, and used then in a vague, half conscious way, has to be appliedconsciously, methodically, and throughout all cases. It behoves us toset before ourselves, and ever to keep clearly in view, complete livingas the end to be achieved; so that in bringing up our children we maychoose subjects and methods of instruction, with deliberate reference tothis end. Not only ought we to cease from the mere unthinking adoptionof the current fashion in education, which has no better warrant thanany other fashion; but we must also rise above that rude, empiricalstyle of judging displayed by those more intelligent people who dobestow some care in overseeing the cultivation of their children'sminds. It must not suffice simply to _think_ that such or suchinformation will be useful in after life, or that this kind of knowledgeis of more practical value than that; but we must seek out some processof estimating their respective values, so that as far as possible we maypositively _know_ which are most deserving of attention. 

Doubtless the task is difficult--perhaps never to be more thanapproximately achieved. But, considering the vastness of the interestsat stake, its difficulty is no reason for pusillanimously passing it by;but rather for devoting every energy to its mastery. And if we onlyproceed systematically, we may very soon get at results of no smallmoment. 

Our first step must obviously be to classify, in the order of theirimportance, the leading kinds of activity which constitute human life. They may be naturally arranged into:--1. Those activities which directlyminister to self-preservation; 2. Those activities which, by securingthe necessaries of life, indirectly minister to self-preservation; 3. Those activities which have for their end the rearing and discipline ofoffspring; 4. Those activities which are involved in the maintenance ofproper social and political relations; 5. Those miscellaneous activitieswhich fill up the leisure part of life, devoted to the gratification ofthe tastes and feelings. 

That these stand in something like their true order of subordination, itneeds no long consideration to show. The actions and precautions bywhich, from moment to moment, we secure personal safety, must clearlytake precedence of all others. Could there be a man, ignorant as aninfant of surrounding objects and movements, or how to guide himselfamong them, he would pretty certainly lose his life the first time hewent into the street; notwithstanding any amount of learning he mighthave on other matters. And as entire ignorance in all other directionswould be less promptly fatal than entire ignorance in this direction, itmust be admitted that knowledge immediately conducive toself-preservation is of primary importance. 

That next after direct self-preservation comes the indirectself-preservation which consists in acquiring the means of living, nonewill question. That a man's industrial functions must be consideredbefore his parental ones, is manifest from the fact that, speakinggenerally, the discharge of the parental functions is made possible onlyby the previous discharge of the industrial ones. The power ofself-maintenance necessarily preceding the power of maintainingoffspring, it follows that knowledge needful for self-maintenance hasstronger claims than knowledge needful for family welfare--is second invalue to none save knowledge needful for immediate self-preservation. 

As the family comes before the State in order of time--as the bringingup of children is possible before the State exists, or when it hasceased to be, whereas the State is rendered possible only by thebringing up of children; it follows that the duties of the parent demandcloser attention than those of the citizen. Or, to use a furtherargument--since the goodness of a society ultimately depends on thenature of its citizens; and since the nature of its citizens is moremodifiable by early training than by anything else; we must concludethat the welfare of the family underlies the welfare of society. Andhence knowledge directly conducing to the first, must take precedence ofknowledge directly conducing to the last. 

Those various forms of pleasurable occupation which fill up the leisureleft by graver occupations--the enjoyments of music, poetry, painting, etc. --manifestly imply a pre-existing society. Not only is aconsiderable development of them impossible without a long-establishedsocial union; but their very subject-matter consists in great part ofsocial sentiments and sympathies. Not only does society supply theconditions to their growth; but also the ideas and sentiments theyexpress. And, consequently, that part of human conduct which constitutesgood citizenship, is of more moment than that which goes out inaccomplishments or exercise of the tastes; and, in education, preparation for the one must rank before preparation for the other. 

Such then, we repeat, is something like the rational order ofsubordination:--That education which prepares for directself-preservation; that which prepares for indirect self-preservation;that which prepares for parenthood; that which prepares for citizenship;that which prepares for the miscellaneous refinements of life. We do notmean to say that these divisions are definitely separable. We do notdeny that they are intricately entangled with each other, in such waythat there can be no training for any that is not in some measure atraining for all. Nor do we question that of each division there areportions more important than certain portions of the precedingdivisions: that, for instance, a man of much skill in business butlittle other faculty, may fall further below the standard of completeliving than one of but moderate ability in money-getting but greatjudgment as a parent; or that exhaustive information bearing on rightsocial action, joined with entire want of general culture in literatureand the fine arts, is less desirable than a more moderate share of theone joined with some of the other. But, after making due qualifications, there still remain these broadly-marked divisions; and it stillcontinues substantially true that these divisions subordinate oneanother in the foregoing order, because the corresponding divisions oflife make one another _possible_ in that order. 

Of course the ideal of education is--complete preparation in all thesedivisions. But failing this ideal, as in our phase of civilisation everyone must do more or less, the aim should be to maintain _a dueproportion_ between the degrees of preparation in each. Not exhaustivecultivation in any one, supremely important though it may be--not evenan exclusive attention to the two, three, or four divisions of greatestimportance; but an attention to all:--greatest where the value isgreatest; less where the value is less; least where the value is least. For the average man (not to forget the cases in which peculiar aptitudefor some one department of knowledge, rightly makes pursuit of that onethe bread-winning occupation)--for the average man, we say, thedesideratum is, a training that approaches nearest to perfection in thethings which most subserve complete living, and falls more and morebelow perfection in the things that have more and more remote bearingson complete living. 

In regulating education by this standard, there are some generalconsiderations that should be ever present to us. The worth of any kindof culture, as aiding complete living, may be either necessary or moreor less contingent. There is knowledge of intrinsic value; knowledge ofquasi-intrinsic value; and knowledge of conventional value. Such factsas that sensations of numbness and tingling commonly precede paralysis, that the resistance of water to a body moving through it varies as thesquare of the velocity, that chlorine is a disinfectant, --these, and thetruths of Science in general, are of intrinsic value: they will bear onhuman conduct ten thousand years hence as they do now. The extraknowledge of our own language, which is given by an acquaintance withLatin and Greek, may be considered to have a value that isquasi-intrinsic: it must exist for us and for other races whoselanguages owe much to these sources; but will last only as long as ourlanguages last. While that kind of information which, in our schools, usurps the name History--the mere tissue of names and dates and deadunmeaning events--has a conventional value only: it has not the remotestbearing on any of our actions; and is of use only for the avoidance ofthose unpleasant criticisms which current opinion passes upon itsabsence. Of course, as those facts which concern all mankind throughoutall time must be held of greater moment than those which concern only aportion of them during a limited era, and of far greater moment thanthose which concern only a portion of them during the continuance of afashion; it follows that in a rational estimate, knowledge of intrinsicworth must, other things equal, take precedence of knowledge that is ofquasi-intrinsic or conventional worth. 

One further preliminary. Acquirement of every kind has two values--valueas _knowledge_ and value as _discipline_. Besides its use for guidingconduct, the acquisition of each order of facts has also its use asmental exercise; and its effects as a preparative for complete livinghave to be considered under both these heads. 

These, then, are the general ideas with which we must set out indiscussing a _curriculum_:--Life as divided into several kinds ofactivity of successively decreasing importance; the worth of each orderof facts as regulating these several kinds of activity, intrinsically, quasi-intrinsically, and conventionally; and their regulative influencesestimated both as knowledge and discipline. 

 * * * * *

Happily, that all-important part of education which goes to securedirect self-preservation, is in great part already provided for. Toomomentous to be left to our blundering, Nature takes it into her ownhands. While yet in its nurse's arms, the infant, by hiding its faceand crying at the sight of a stranger, shows the dawning instinct toattain safety by flying from that which is unknown and may be dangerous;and when it can walk, the terror it manifests if an unfamiliar dog comesnear, or the screams with which it runs to its mother after anystartling sight or sound, shows this instinct further developed. Moreover, knowledge subserving direct self-preservation is that which itis chiefly busied in acquiring from hour to hour. How to balance itsbody; how to control its movements so as to avoid collisions; whatobjects are hard, and will hurt if struck; what objects are heavy, andinjure if they fall on the limbs; which things will bear the weight ofthe body, and which not; the pains inflicted by fire, by missiles, bysharp instruments--these, and various other pieces of informationneedful for the avoidance of death or accident, it is ever learning. Andwhen, a few years later, the energies go out in running, climbing, andjumping, in games of strength and games of skill, we see in all theseactions by which the muscles are developed, the perceptions sharpened, and the judgment quickened, a preparation for the safe conduct of thebody among surrounding objects and movements; and for meeting thosegreater dangers that occasionally occur in the lives of all. Being thus, as we say, so well cared for by Nature, this fundamental education needscomparatively little care from us. What we are chiefly called upon tosee, is, that there shall be free scope for gaining this experience andreceiving this discipline--that there shall be no such thwarting ofNature as that by which stupid schoolmistresses commonly prevent thegirls in their charge from the spontaneous physical activities theywould indulge in; and so render them comparatively incapable of takingcare of themselves in circumstances of peril. 

This, however, is by no means all that is comprehended in the educationthat prepares for direct self-preservation. Besides guarding the bodyagainst mechanical damage or destruction, it has to be guarded againstinjury from other causes--against the disease and death that followbreaches of physiologic law. For complete living it is necessary, notonly that sudden annihilations of life shall be warded off; but alsothat there shall be escaped the incapacities and the slow annihilationwhich unwise habits entail. As, without health and energy, theindustrial, the parental, the social, and all other activities becomemore or less impossible; it is clear that this secondary kind of directself-preservation is only less important than the primary kind; andthat knowledge tending to secure it should rank very high. 

It is true that here, too, guidance is in some measure ready supplied. By our various physical sensations and desires, Nature has insured atolerable conformity to the chief requirements. Fortunately for us, wantof food, great heat, extreme cold, produce promptings too peremptory tobe disregarded. And would men habitually obey these and all likepromptings when less strong, comparatively few evils would arise. Iffatigue of body or brain were in every case followed by desistance; ifthe oppression produced by a close atmosphere always led to ventilation;if there were no eating without hunger, or drinking without thirst; thenwould the system be but seldom out of working order. But so profound anignorance is there of the laws of life, that men do not even know thattheir sensations are their natural guides, and (when not rendered morbidby long--continued disobedience) their trustworthy guides. So thatthough, to speak teleologically, Nature has provided efficientsafeguards to health, lack of knowledge makes them in a great measureuseless. 

If any one doubts the importance of an acquaintance with the principlesof physiology, as a means to complete living, let him look around andsee how many men and women he can find in middle or later life who arethoroughly well. Only occasionally do we meet with an example ofvigorous health continued to old age; hourly do we meet with examples ofacute disorder, chronic ailment, general debility, prematuredecrepitude. Scarcely is there one to whom you put the question, who hasnot, in the course of his life, brought upon himself illnesses which alittle information would have saved him from. Here is a case ofheart-disease consequent on a rheumatic fever that followed recklessexposure. There is a case of eyes spoiled for life by over-study. Yesterday the account was of one whose long-enduring lameness wasbrought on by continuing, spite of the pain, to use a knee after it hadbeen slightly injured. And to-day we are told of another who has had tolie by for years, because he did not know that the palpitation hesuffered under resulted from overtaxed brain. Now we hear of anirremediable injury which followed some silly feat of strength; and, again, of a constitution that has never recovered from the effects ofexcessive work needlessly undertaken. While on every side we see theperpetual minor ailments which accompany feebleness. Not to dwell on thepain, the weariness, the gloom, the waste of time and money thusentailed, only consider how greatly ill-health hinders the discharge ofall duties--makes business often impossible, and always more difficult;produces an irritability fatal to the right management of children; putsthe functions of citizenship out of the question; and makes amusement abore. Is it not clear that the physical sins--partly our forefathers'and partly our own--which produce this ill-health, deduct more fromcomplete living than anything else? and to a great extent make life afailure and a burden instead of a benefaction and a pleasure?

Nor is this all. Life, besides being thus immensely deteriorated, isalso cut short. It is not true, as we commonly suppose, that after adisorder or disease from which we have recovered, we are as before. Nodisturbance of the normal course of the functions can pass away andleave things exactly as they were. A permanent damage is done--notimmediately appreciable, it may be, but still there; and along withother such items which Nature in her strict account-keeping never drops, it will tell against us to the inevitable shortening of our days. Through the accumulation of small injuries it is that constitutions arecommonly undermined, and break down, long before their time. And if wecall to mind how far the average duration of life falls below thepossible duration, we see how immense is the loss. When, to the numerouspartial deductions which bad health entails, we add this great finaldeduction, it results that ordinarily one-half of life is thrown away. 

Hence, knowledge which subserves direct self-preservation by preventingthis loss of health, is of primary importance. We do not contend thatpossession of such knowledge would by any means wholly remedy the evil. It is clear that in our present phase of civilisation, men's necessitiesoften compel them to transgress. And it is further clear that, even inthe absence of such compulsion, their inclinations would frequently leadthem, spite of their convictions, to sacrifice future good to presentgratification. But we _do_ contend that the right knowledge impressed inthe right way would effect much; and we further contend that as the lawsof health must be recognised before they can be fully conformed to, theimparting of such knowledge must precede a more rational living--comewhen that may. We infer that as vigorous health and its accompanyinghigh spirits are larger elements of happiness than any other thingswhatever, the teaching how to maintain them is a teaching that yields inmoment to no other whatever. And therefore we assert that such a courseof physiology as is needful for the comprehension of its general truths, and their bearings on daily conduct, is an all-essential part of arational education. 

Strange that the assertion should need making! Stranger still that itshould need defending! Yet are there not a few by whom such aproposition will be received with something approaching to derision. Menwho would blush if caught saying Iphigénia instead of Iphigenía, orwould resent as an insult any imputation of ignorance respecting thefabled labours of a fabled demi-god, show not the slightest shame inconfessing that they do not know where the Eustachian tubes are, whatare the actions of the spinal cord, what is the normal rate ofpulsation, or how the lungs are inflated. While anxious that their sonsshould be well up in the superstitions of two thousand years ago, theycare not that they should be taught anything about the structure andfunctions of their own bodies--nay, even wish them not to be so taught. So overwhelming is the influence of established routine! So terribly inour education does the ornamental over-ride the useful!

 * * * * *

We need not insist on the value of that knowledge which aids indirectself-preservation by facilitating the gaining of a livelihood. This isadmitted by all; and, indeed, by the mass is perhaps too exclusivelyregarded as the end of education. But while every one is ready toendorse the abstract proposition that instruction fitting youths for thebusiness of life is of high importance, or even to consider it ofsupreme importance; yet scarcely any inquire what instruction will sofit them. It is true that reading, writing, and arithmetic are taughtwith an intelligent appreciation of their uses. But when we have saidthis we have said nearly all. While the great bulk of what else isacquired has no bearing on the industrial activities, an immensity ofinformation that has a direct bearing on the industrial activities isentirely passed over. 

For, leaving out only some very small classes, what are all men employedin? They are employed in the production, preparation, and distributionof commodities. And on what does efficiency in the production, preparation, and distribution of commodities depend? It depends on theuse of methods fitted to the respective natures of these commodities; itdepends on an adequate acquaintance with their physical, chemical, orvital properties, as the case may be; that is, it depends on Science. This order of knowledge which is in great part ignored in ourschool-courses, is the order of knowledge underlying the rightperformance of those processes by which civilised life is made possible. Undeniable as is this truth, there seems to be no living consciousnessof it: its very familiarity makes it unregarded. To give due weight toour argument, we must, therefore, realise this truth to the reader by arapid review of the facts. 

Passing over the most abstract science, Logic, on the due guidance bywhich, however, the large producer or distributor depends, knowingly orunknowingly, for success in his business-forecasts, we come first toMathematics. Of this, the most general division, dealing with number, guides all industrial activities; be they those by which processes areadjusted, or estimates framed, or commodities bought and sold, oraccounts kept. No one needs to have the value of this division ofabstract science insisted upon. 

For the higher arts of construction, some acquaintance with the morespecial division of Mathematics is indispensable. The village carpenter, who lays out his work by empirical rules, equally with the builder of aBritannia Bridge, makes hourly reference to the laws of space-relations. The surveyor who measures the land purchased; the architect in designinga mansion to be built on it; the builder when laying out thefoundations; the masons in cutting the stones; and the various artizanswho put up the fittings; are all guided by geometrical truths. Railway-making is regulated from beginning to end by geometry: alike inthe preparation of plans and sections; in staking out the line; in themensuration of cuttings and embankments; in the designing and buildingof bridges, culverts, viaducts, tunnels, stations. Similarly with theharbours, docks, piers, and various engineering and architectural worksthat fringe the coasts and overspread the country, as well as the minesthat run underneath it. And now-a-days, even the farmer, for the correctlaying-out of his drains, has recourse to the level--that is, togeometrical principles. 

Turn next to the Abstract-Concrete sciences. On the application of thesimplest of these, Mechanics, depends the success of modernmanufactures. The properties of the lever, the wheel-and-axle, etc. , arerecognised in every machine, and to machinery in these times we owe allproduction. Trace the history of the breakfast-roll. The soil out ofwhich it came was drained with machine-made tiles; the surface wasturned over by a machine; the wheat was reaped, thrashed, and winnowedby machines; by machinery it was ground and bolted; and had the flourbeen sent to Gosport, it might have been made into biscuits by amachine. Look round the room in which you sit. If modern, probably thebricks in its walls were machine-made; and by machinery the flooring wassawn and planed, the mantel-shelf sawn and polished, the paper-hangingsmade and printed. The veneer on the table, the turned legs of thechairs, the carpet, the curtains, are all products of machinery. Yourclothing--plain, figured, or printed--is it not wholly woven, nay, perhaps even sewed, by machinery? And the volume you are reading--arenot its leaves fabricated by one machine and covered with these words byanother? Add to which that for the means of distribution over both landand sea, we are similarly indebted. And then observe that according asknowledge of mechanics is well or ill applied to these ends, comessuccess or failure. The engineer who miscalculates the strength ofmaterials, builds a bridge that breaks down. The manufacturer who uses abad machine cannot compete with another whose machine wastes less infriction and inertia. The ship-builder adhering to the old model isout-sailed by one who builds on the mechanically-justified wave-lineprinciple. And as the ability of a nation to hold its own against othernations, depends on the skilled activity of its units, we see that onmechanical knowledge may turn the national fate. 

On ascending from the divisions of Abstract-Concrete science dealingwith molar forces, to those divisions of it which deal with molecularforces, we come to another vast series of applications. To this group ofsciences joined with the preceding groups we owe the steam-engine, whichdoes the work of millions of labourers. That section of physics whichformulates the laws of heat, has taught us how to economise fuel invarious industries; how to increase the produce of smelting furnaces bysubstituting the hot for the cold blast; how to ventilate mines; how toprevent explosions by using the safety-lamp; and, through thethermometer, how to regulate innumerable processes. That section whichhas the phenomena of light for its subject, gives eyes to the old andthe myopic; aids through the microscope in detecting diseases andadulterations; and, by improved lighthouses, prevents shipwrecks. Researches in electricity and magnetism have saved innumerable lives andincalculable property through the compass; have subserved many arts bythe electrotype; and now, in the telegraph, have supplied us with anagency by which for the future, mercantile transactions will beregulated and political intercourse carried on. While in the details ofin-door life, from the improved kitchen-range up to the stereoscope onthe drawing-room table, the applications of advanced physics underlieour comforts and gratifications. 

Still more numerous are the applications of Chemistry. The bleacher, thedyer, the calico-printer, are severally occupied in processes that arewell or ill done according as they do or do not conform to chemicallaws. Smelting of copper, tin, zinc, lead, silver, iron, must be guidedby chemistry. Sugar-refining, gas-making, soap-boiling, gunpowder-manufacture, are operations all partly chemical; as arelikewise those which produce glass and porcelain. Whether thedistiller's wort stops at the alcoholic fermentation or passes into theacetous, is a chemical question on which hangs his profit or loss; andthe brewer, if his business is extensive, finds it pay to keep a chemiston his premises. Indeed, there is now scarcely any manufacture over somepart of which chemistry does not preside. Nay, in these times evenagriculture, to be profitably carried on, must have like guidance. Theanalysis of manures and soils; the disclosure of their respectiveadaptations; the use of gypsum or other substance for fixing ammonia;the utilisation of coprolites; the production of artificial manures--allthese are boons of chemistry which it behoves the farmer to acquainthimself with. Be it in the lucifer match, or in disinfected sewage, orin photographs--in bread made without fermentation, or perfumesextracted from refuse, we may perceive that chemistry affects all ourindustries; and that, therefore, knowledge of it concerns every one whois directly or indirectly connected with our industries. 

Of the Concrete sciences, we come first to Astronomy. Out of this hasgrown that art of navigation which has made possible the enormousforeign commerce that supports a large part of our population, whilesupplying us with many necessaries and most of our luxuries. 

Geology, again, is a science knowledge of which greatly aids industrialsuccess. Now that iron ores are so large a source of wealth; now thatthe duration of our coal-supply has become a question of great interest;now that we have a College of Mines and a Geological Survey; it isscarcely needful to enlarge on the truth that the study of the Earth'scrust is important to our material welfare. 

And then the science of life--Biology: does not this, too, bearfundamentally on these processes of indirect self-preservation? Withwhat we ordinarily call manufactures, it has, indeed, little connection;but with the all-essential manufacture--that of food--it is inseparablyconnected. As agriculture must conform its methods to the phenomena ofvegetal and animal life, it follows that the science of these phenomenais the rational basis of agriculture. Various biological truths haveindeed been empirically established and acted upon by farmers, while yetthere has been no conception of them as science; such as that particularmanures are suited to particular plants; that crops of certain kindsunfit the soil for other crops; that horses cannot do good work on poorfood; that such and such diseases of cattle and sheep are caused by suchand such conditions. These, and the every-day knowledge which theagriculturist gains by experience respecting the management of plantsand animals, constitute his stock of biological facts; on the largenessof which greatly depends his success. And as these biological facts, scanty, indefinite, rudimentary, though they are, aid him soessentially; judge what must be the value to him of such facts when theybecome positive, definite, and exhaustive. Indeed, even now we may seethe benefits that rational biology is conferring on him. The truth thatthe production of animal heat implies waste of substance, and that, therefore, preventing loss of heat prevents the need for extra food--apurely theoretical conclusion--now guides the fattening of cattle: it isfound that by keeping cattle warm, fodder is saved. Similarly withrespect to variety of food. The experiments of physiologists have shownthat not only is change of diet beneficial, but that digestion isfacilitated by a mixture of ingredients in each meal. The discovery thata disorder known as "the staggers, " of which many thousands of sheephave died annually, is caused by an entozoon which presses on the brain, and that if the creature is extracted through the softened place in theskull which marks its position, the sheep usually recovers, is anotherdebt which agriculture owes to biology. 

Yet one more science have we to note as bearing directly on industrialsuccess--the Science of Society. Men who daily look at the state of themoney-market glance over prices current; discuss the probable crops ofcorn, cotton, sugar, wool, silk; weigh the chances of war; and fromthese data decide on their mercantile operations; are students of socialscience: empirical and blundering students it may be; but still, students who gain the prizes or are plucked of their profits, accordingas they do or do not reach the right conclusion. Not only themanufacturer and the merchant must guide their transactions bycalculations of supply and demand, based on numerous facts, and tacitlyrecognising sundry general principles of social action; but even theretailer must do the like: his prosperity very greatly depending uponthe correctness of his judgments respecting the future wholesale pricesand the future rates of consumption. Manifestly, whoever takes part inthe entangled commercial activities of a community, is vitallyinterested in understanding the laws according to which those activitiesvary. 

Thus, to all such as are occupied in the production, exchange, ordistribution of commodities, acquaintance with Science in some of itsdepartments, is of fundamental importance. Each man who is immediatelyor remotely implicated in any form of industry (and few are not) has insome way to deal with the mathematical, physical, and chemicalproperties of things; perhaps, also, has a direct interest in biology;and certainly has in sociology. Whether he does or does not succeed wellin that indirect self-preservation which we call getting a goodlivelihood, depends in a great degree on his knowledge of one or more ofthese sciences: not, it may be, a rational knowledge; but still aknowledge, though empirical. For what we call learning a business, really implies learning the science involved in it; though not perhapsunder the name of science. And hence a grounding in science is of greatimportance, both because it prepares for all this, and because rationalknowledge has an immense superiority over empirical knowledge. Moreover, not only is scientific culture requisite for each, that he mayunderstand the _how_ and the _why_ of the things and processes withwhich he is concerned as maker or distributor; but it is often of muchmoment that he should understand the _how_ and the _why_ of variousother things and processes. In this age of joint-stock undertakings, nearly every man above the labourer is interested as capitalist in someother occupation than his own; and, as thus interested, his profit orloss often depends on his knowledge of the sciences bearing on thisother occupation. Here is a mine, in the sinking of which manyshareholders ruined themselves, from not knowing that a certain fossilbelonged to the old red sandstone, below which no coal is found. Numerous attempts have been made to construct electromagnetic engines, in the hope of superseding steam; but had those who supplied the moneyunderstood the general law of the correlation and equivalence offorces, they might have had better balances at their bankers. Daily aremen induced to aid in carrying out inventions which a mere tyro inscience could show to be futile. Scarcely a locality but has its historyof fortunes thrown away over some impossible project. 

And if already the loss from want of science is so frequent and sogreat, still greater and more frequent will it be to those who hereafterlack science. Just as fast as productive processes become morescientific, which competition will inevitably make them do; and just asfast as joint-stock undertakings spread, which they certainly will; sofast must scientific knowledge grow necessary to every one. 

That which our school-courses leave almost entirely out, we thus find tobe that which most nearly concerns the business of life. Our industrieswould cease, were it not for the information which men begin to acquire, as they best may, after their education is said to be finished. And wereit not for this information, from age to age accumulated and spread byunofficial means, these industries would never have existed. Had therebeen no teaching but such as goes on in our public schools, Englandwould now be what it was in feudal times. That increasing acquaintancewith the laws of phenomena, which has through successive ages enabled usto subjugate Nature to our needs, and in these days gives the commonlabourer comforts which a few centuries ago kings could not purchase, isscarcely in any degree owed to the appointed means of instructing ouryouth. The vital knowledge--that by which we have grown as a nation towhat we are, and which now underlies our whole existence, is a knowledgethat has got itself taught in nooks and corners; while the ordainedagencies for teaching have been mumbling little else but dead formulas. 

 * * * * *

We come now to the third great division of human activities--a divisionfor which no preparation whatever is made. If by some strange chance nota vestige of us descended to the remote future save a pile of ourschool-books or some college examination papers, we may imagine howpuzzled an antiquary of the period would be on finding in them no signthat the learners were ever likely to be parents. "This must have beenthe _curriculum_ for their celibates, " we may fancy him concluding. "Iperceive here an elaborate preparation for many things; especially forreading the books of extinct nations and of co-existing nations (fromwhich indeed it seems clear that these people had very little worthreading in their own tongue); but I find no reference whatever to thebringing up of children. They could not have been so absurd as to omitall training for this gravest of responsibilities. Evidently then, thiswas the school-course of one of their monastic orders. "

Seriously, is it not an astonishing fact, that though on the treatmentof offspring depend their lives or deaths, and their moral welfare orruin; yet not one word of instruction on the treatment of offspring isever given to those who will by and by be parents? Is it not monstrousthat the fate of a new generation should be left to the chances ofunreasoning custom, impulse, fancy--joined with the suggestions ofignorant nurses and the prejudiced counsel of grandmothers? If amerchant commenced business without any knowledge of arithmetic andbook-keeping, we should exclaim at his folly, and look for disastrousconsequences. Or if, before studying anatomy, a man set up as a surgicaloperator, we should wonder at his audacity and pity his patients. Butthat parents should begin the difficult task of rearing children, without ever having given a thought to the principles--physical, moral, or intellectual--which ought to guide them, excites neither surprise atthe actors nor pity for their victims. 

To tens of thousands that are killed, add hundreds of thousand thatsurvive with feeble constitutions, and millions that grow up withconstitutions not so strong as they should be; and you will have someidea of the curse inflicted on their offspring by parents ignorant ofthe laws of life. Do but consider for a moment that the regimen to whichchildren are subject, is hourly telling upon them to their life-longinjury or benefit; and that there are twenty ways of going wrong to oneway of going right; and you will get some idea of the enormous mischiefthat is almost everywhere inflicted by the thoughtless, haphazard systemin common use. Is it decided that a boy shall be clothed in some flimsyshort dress, and be allowed to go playing about with limbs reddened bycold? The decision will tell on his whole future existence--either inillnesses; or in stunted growth; or in deficient energy; or in amaturity less vigorous than it ought to have been, and in consequenthindrances to success and happiness. Are children doomed to a monotonousdietary, or a dietary that is deficient in nutritiveness? Their ultimatephysical power, and their efficiency as men and women, will inevitablybe more or less diminished by it. Are they forbidden vociferous play, or(being too ill-clothed to bear exposure) are they kept indoors in coldweather? They are certain to fall below that measure of health andstrength to which they would else have attained. When sons and daughtersgrow up sickly and feeble, parents commonly regard the event as amisfortune--as a visitation of Providence. Thinking after the prevalentchaotic fashion, they assume that these evils come without causes; orthat the causes are supernatural. Nothing of the kind. In some cases thecauses are doubtless inherited; but in most cases foolish regulationsare the causes. Very generally, parents themselves are responsible forall this pain, this debility, this depression, this misery. They haveundertaken to control the lives of their offspring from hour to hour;with cruel carelessness they have neglected to learn anything aboutthese vital processes which they are unceasingly affecting by theircommands and prohibitions; in utter ignorance of the simplestphysiologic laws, they have been year by year undermining theconstitutions of their children; and have so inflicted disease andpremature death, not only on them but on their descendants. 

Equally great are the ignorance and the consequent injury, when we turnfrom physical training to moral training. Consider the young mother andher nursery-legislation. But a few years ago she was at school, whereher memory was crammed with words, and names, and dates, and herreflective faculties scarcely in the slightest degree exercised--wherenot one idea was given her respecting the methods of dealing with theopening mind of childhood; and where her discipline did not in the leastfit her for thinking out methods of her own. The intervening years havebeen passed in practising music, in fancy-work, in novel-reading, and inparty-going: no thought having yet been given to the graveresponsibilities of maternity; and scarcely any of that solidintellectual culture obtained which would be some preparation for suchresponsibilities. And now see her with an unfolding human charactercommitted to her charge--see her profoundly ignorant of the phenomenawith which she has to deal, undertaking to do that which can be done butimperfectly even with the aid of the profoundest knowledge. She knowsnothing about the nature of the emotions, their order of evolution, their functions, or where use ends and abuse begins. She is under theimpression that some of the feelings are wholly bad, which is not trueof any one of them; and that others are good however far they may becarried, which is also not true of any one of them. And then, ignorantas she is of the structure she has to deal with, she is equallyignorant of the effects produced on it by this or that treatment. Whatcan be more inevitable than the disastrous results we see hourlyarising? Lacking knowledge of mental phenomena, with their cause andconsequences, her interference is frequently more mischievous thanabsolute passivity would have been. This and that kind of action, whichare quite normal and beneficial, she perpetually thwarts; and sodiminishes the child's happiness and profit, injures its temper and herown, and produces estrangement. Deeds which she thinks it desirable toencourage, she gets performed by threats and bribes, or by exciting adesire for applause: considering little what the inward motive may be, so long as the outward conduct conforms; and thus cultivating hypocrisy, and fear, and selfishness, in place of good feeling. While insisting ontruthfulness, she constantly sets an example of untruth by threateningpenalties which she does not inflict. While inculcating self-control, she hourly visits on her little ones angry scoldings for actsundeserving of them. She has not the remotest idea that in the nursery, as in the world, that alone is the truly salutary discipline whichvisits on all conduct, good and bad, the natural consequences--theconsequences, pleasurable or painful, which in the nature of things suchconduct tends to bring. Being thus without theoretic guidance, and quiteincapable of guiding herself by tracing the mental processes going on inher children, her rule is impulsive, inconsistent, mischievous; andwould indeed be generally ruinous were it not that the overwhelmingtendency of the growing mind to assume the moral type of the raceusually subordinates all minor influences. 

And then the culture of the intellect--is not this, too, mismanaged in asimilar manner? Grant that the phenomena of intelligence conform tolaws; grant that the evolution of intelligence in a child also conformsto laws; and it follows inevitably that education cannot be rightlyguided without a knowledge of these laws. To suppose that you canproperly regulate this process of forming and accumulating ideas, without understanding the nature of the process, is absurd. How widely, then, must teaching as it is differ from teaching as it should be; whenhardly any parents, and but few tutors, know anything about psychology. As might be expected, the established system is grievously at fault, alike in matter and in manner. While the right class of facts iswithheld, the wrong class is forcibly administered in the wrong way andin the wrong order. Under that common limited idea of education whichconfines it to knowledge gained from books, parents thrust primers intothe hands of their little ones years too soon, to their great injury. Not recognising the truth that the function of books issupplementary--that they form an indirect means to knowledge when directmeans fail--a means of seeing through other men what you cannot see foryourself; teachers are eager to give second-hand facts in place offirst-hand facts. Not perceiving the enormous value of that spontaneouseducation which goes on in early years--not perceiving that a child'srestless observation, instead of being ignored or checked, should bediligently ministered to, and made as accurate and complete as possible;they insist on occupying its eyes and thoughts with things that are, forthe time being, incomprehensible and repugnant. Possessed by asuperstition which worships the symbols of knowledge instead of theknowledge itself, they do not see that only when his acquaintance withthe objects and processes of the household, the streets, and the fields, is becoming tolerably exhaustive--only then should a child be introducedto the new sources of information which books supply: and this, not onlybecause immediate cognition is of far greater value than mediatecognition; but also, because the words contained in books can be rightlyinterpreted into ideas, only in proportion to the antecedent experienceof things. Observe next, that this formal instruction, far too sooncommenced, is carried on with but little reference to the laws of mentaldevelopment. Intellectual progress is of necessity from the concrete tothe abstract. But regardless of this, highly abstract studies, such asgrammar, which should come quite late, are begun quite early. Politicalgeography, dead and uninteresting to a child, and which should be anappendage of sociological studies, is commenced betimes; while physicalgeography, comprehensible and comparatively attractive to a child, is ingreat part passed over. Nearly every subject dealt with is arranged inabnormal order: definitions and rules and principles being put first, instead of being disclosed, as they are in the order of nature, throughthe study of cases. And then, pervading the whole, is the vicious systemof rote learning--a system of sacrificing the spirit to the letter. Seethe results. What with perceptions unnaturally dulled by earlythwarting, and a coerced attention to books--what with the mentalconfusion produced by teaching subjects before they can be understood, and in each of them giving generalisations before the facts of whichthey are the generalisations--what with making the pupil a mere passiverecipient of other's ideas, and not in the least leading him to be anactive inquirer or self-instructor--and what with taxing the facultiesto excess; there are very few minds that become as efficient as theymight be. Examinations being once passed, books are laid aside; thegreater part of what has been acquired, being unorganised, soon dropsout of recollection; what remains is mostly inert--the art of applyingknowledge not having been cultivated; and there is but little powereither of accurate observation or independent thinking. To all whichadd, that while much of the information gained is of relatively smallvalue, an immense mass of information of transcendent value is entirelypassed over. 

Thus we find the facts to be such as might have been inferred _àpriori_. The training of children--physical, moral, and intellectual--isdreadfully defective. And in great measure it is so because parents aredevoid of that knowledge by which this training can alone be rightlyguided. What is to be expected when one of the most intricate ofproblems is undertaken by those who have given scarcely a thought to theprinciples on which its solution depends? For shoe-making orhouse-building, for the management of a ship or a locomotive engine, along apprenticeship is needful. Is it, then, that the unfolding of ahuman being in body and mind is so comparatively simple a process thatany one may superintend and regulate it with no preparation whatever? Ifnot--if the process is, with one exception, more complex than any inNature, and the task of ministering to it one of surpassing difficulty;is it not madness to make no provision for such a task? Better sacrificeaccomplishments than omit this all-essential instruction. When a father, acting on false dogmas adopted without examination, has alienated hissons, driven them into rebellion by his harsh treatment, ruined them, and made himself miserable; he might reflect that the study of Ethologywould have been worth pursuing, even at the cost of knowing nothingabout Æschylus. When a mother is mourning over a first-born that hassunk under the sequelæ of scarlet-fever--when perhaps a candid medicalman has confirmed her suspicion that her child would have recovered hadnot its system been enfeebled by over-study--when she is prostrate underthe pangs of combined grief and remorse; it is but a small consolationthat she can read Dante in the original. 

Thus we see that for regulating the third great division of humanactivities, a knowledge of the laws of life is the one thing needful. Some acquaintance with the first principles of physiology and theelementary truths of psychology, is indispensable for the right bringingup of children. We doubt not that many will read this assertion with asmile. That parents in general should be expected to acquire a knowledgeof subjects so abstruse will seem to them an absurdity. And if weproposed that an exhaustive knowledge of these subjects should beobtained by all fathers and mothers, the absurdity would indeed beglaring enough. But we do not. General principles only, accompanied bysuch illustrations as may be needed to make them understood, wouldsuffice. And these might be readily taught--if not rationally, thendogmatically. Be this as it may, however, here are the indisputablefacts:--that the development of children in mind and body followscertain laws; that unless these laws are in some degree conformed to byparents, death is inevitable; that unless they are in a great degreeconformed to, there must result serious physical and mental defects; andthat only when they are completely conformed to, can a perfect maturitybe reached. Judge, then, whether all who may one day be parents, shouldnot strive with some anxiety to learn what these laws are. 

 * * * * *

From the parental functions let us pass now to the functions of thecitizen. We have here to inquire what knowledge fits a man for thedischarge of these functions. It cannot be alleged that the need forknowledge fitting him for these functions is wholly overlooked; for ourschool-courses contain certain studies, which, nominally at least, bearupon political and social duties. Of these the only one that occupies aprominent place is History. 

But, as already hinted, the information commonly given under this head, is almost valueless for purposes of guidance. Scarcely any of the factsset down in our school-histories, and very few of those contained in themore elaborate works written for adults, illustrate the right principlesof political action. The biographies of monarchs (and our children learnlittle else) throw scarcely any light upon the science of society. Familiarity with court intrigues, plots, usurpations, or the like, andwith all the personalities accompanying them, aids very little inelucidating the causes of national progress. We read of some squabblefor power, that it led to a pitched battle; that such and such were thenames of the generals and their leading subordinates; that they had eachso many thousand infantry and cavalry, and so many cannon; that theyarranged their forces in this and that order; that they manoeuvred, attacked, and fell back in certain ways; that at this part of the daysuch disasters were sustained, and at that such advantages gained; thatin one particular movement some leading officer fell, while in another acertain regiment was decimated; that after all the changing fortunes ofthe fight, the victory was gained by this or that army; and that so manywere killed and wounded on each side, and so many captured by theconquerors. And now, out of the accumulated details making up thenarrative, say which it is that helps you in deciding on your conduct asa citizen. Supposing even that you had diligently read, not only _TheFifteen Decisive Battles of the World_, but accounts of all otherbattles that history mentions; how much more judicious would your votebe at the next election? "But these are facts--interesting facts, " yousay. Without doubt they are facts (such, at least, as are not wholly orpartially fictions); and to many they may be interesting facts. But thisby no means implies that they are valuable. Factitious or morbid opinionoften gives seeming value to things that have scarcely any. Atulipomaniac will not part with a choice bulb for its weight in gold. Toanother man an ugly piece of cracked old china seems his most desirablepossession. And there are those who give high prices for the relics ofcelebrated murderers. Will it be contended that these tastes are anymeasures of value in the things that gratify them? If not, then it mustbe admitted that the liking felt for certain classes of historical factsis no proof of their worth; and that we must test their worth, as wetest the worth of other facts, by asking to what uses they areapplicable. Were some one to tell you that your neighbour's cat kittenedyesterday, you would say the information was valueless. Fact though itmight be, you would call it an utterly useless fact--a fact that couldin no way influence your actions in life--a fact that would not help youin learning how to live completely. Well, apply the same test to thegreat mass of historical facts, and you will get the same result. Theyare facts from which no conclusions can be drawn--_unorganisable_ facts;and therefore facts of no service in establishing principles of conduct, which is the chief use of facts. Read them, if you like, for amusement;but do not flatter your self they are instructive. 

That which constitutes History, properly so called, is in great partomitted from works on the subject. Only of late years have historianscommenced giving us, in any considerable quantity, the truly valuableinformation. As in past ages the king was everything and the peoplenothing; so, in past histories the doings of the king fill the entirepicture, to which the national life forms but an obscure background. While only now, when the welfare of nations rather than of rulers isbecoming the dominant idea, are historians beginning to occupythemselves with the phenomena of social progress. The thing it reallyconcerns us to know is the natural history of society. We want all factswhich help us to understand how a nation has grown and organised itself. Among these, let us of course have an account of its government; with aslittle as may be of gossip about the men who officered it, and as muchas possible about the structure, principles, methods, prejudices, corruptions, etc. , which it exhibited: and let this account include notonly the nature and actions of the central government, but also those oflocal governments, down to their minutest ramifications. Let us ofcourse also have a parallel description of the ecclesiasticalgovernment--its organisation, its conduct, its power, its relations tothe State; and accompanying this, the ceremonial, creed, and religiousideas--not only those nominally believed, but those really believed andacted upon. Let us at the same time be informed of the control exercisedby class over class, as displayed in social observances--in titles, salutations, and forms of address. Let us know, too, what were all theother customs which regulated the popular life out of doors andin-doors: including those concerning the relations of the sexes, and therelations of parents to children. The superstitions, also, from the moreimportant myths down to the charms in common use, should be indicated. Next should come a delineation of the industrial system: showing to whatextent the division of labour was carried; how trades were regulated, whether by caste, guilds, or otherwise; what was the connection betweenemployers and employed; what were the agencies for distributingcommodities; what were the means of communication; what was thecirculating medium. Accompanying all which should be given an account ofthe industrial arts technically considered: stating the processes inuse, and the quality of the products. Further, the intellectualcondition of the nation in its various grades should be depicted; notonly with respect to the kind and amount of education, but with respectto the progress made in science, and the prevailing manner of thinking. The degree of æsthetic culture, as displayed in architecture, sculpture, painting, dress, music, poetry, and fiction, should be described. Norshould there be omitted a sketch of the daily lives of thepeople--their food, their homes, and their amusements. And lastly, toconnect the whole, should be exhibited the morals, theoretical andpractical, of all classes: as indicated in their laws, habits, proverbs, deeds. These facts, given with as much brevity as consists withclearness and accuracy, should be so grouped and arranged that they maybe comprehended in their _ensemble_, and contemplated asmutually-dependent parts of one great whole. The aim should be so topresent them that men may readily trace the _consensus_ subsisting amongthem; with the view of learning what social phenomena co-exist with whatother. And then the corresponding delineations of succeeding ages shouldbe so managed as to show how each belief, institution, custom, andarrangement was modified; and how the _consensus_ of precedingstructures and functions was developed into the _consensus_ ofsucceeding ones. Such alone is the kind of information respecting pasttimes which can be of service to the citizen for the regulation of hisconduct. The only history that is of practical value is what may becalled Descriptive Sociology. And the highest office which the historiancan discharge, is that of so narrating the lives of nations, as tofurnish materials for a Comparative Sociology; and for the subsequentdetermination of the ultimate laws to which social phenomena conform. 

But now mark, that even supposing an adequate stock of this trulyvaluable historical knowledge has been acquired, it is of comparativelylittle use without the key. And the key is to be found only in Science. In the absence of the generalisations of biology and psychology, rational interpretation of social phenomena is impossible. Only inproportion as men draw certain rude, empirical inferences respectinghuman nature, are they enabled to understand even the simplest facts ofsocial life: as, for instance, the relation between supply and demand. And if the most elementary truths of sociology cannot be reached untilsome knowledge is obtained of how men generally think, feel, and actunder given circumstances; then it is manifest that there can be nothinglike a wide comprehension of sociology, unless through a competentacquaintance with man in all his faculties, bodily, and mental. Considerthe matter in the abstract, and this conclusion is self-evident. Thus:--Society is made up of individuals; all that is done in society isdone by the combined actions of individuals; and therefore, inindividual actions only can be found the solutions of social phenomena. But the actions of individuals depend on the laws of their natures; andtheir actions cannot be understood until these laws are understood. These laws, however, when reduced to their simplest expressions, proveto be corollaries from the laws of body and mind in general. Hence itfollows, that biology and psychology are indispensable as interpretersof sociology. Or, to state the conclusions still more simply:--allsocial phenomena are phenomena of life--are the most complexmanifestations of life--must conform to the laws of life--and can beunderstood only when the laws of life are understood. Thus, then, forthe regulation of this fourth division of human activities, we are, asbefore, dependent on Science. Of the knowledge commonly imparted ineducational courses, very little is of service for guiding a man in hisconduct as a citizen. Only a small part of the history he reads is ofpractical value; and of this small part he is not prepared to makeproper use. He lacks not only the materials for, but the very conceptionof, descriptive sociology; and he also lacks those generalisations ofthe organic sciences, without which even descriptive sociology can givehim but small aid. 

 * * * * *

And now we come to that remaining division of human life which includesthe relaxations and amusements filling leisure hours. After consideringwhat training best fits for self-preservation, for the obtainment ofsustenance, for the discharge of parental duties, and for the regulationof social and political conduct; we have now to consider what trainingbest fits for the miscellaneous ends not included in these--for theenjoyment of Nature, of Literature, and of the Fine Arts, in all theirforms. Postponing them as we do to things that bear more vitally uponhuman welfare; and bringing everything, as we have, to the test ofactual value; it will perhaps be inferred that we are inclined to slightthese less essential things. No greater mistake could be made, however. We yield to none in the value we attach to aesthetic culture and itspleasures. Without painting, sculpture, music, poetry, and the emotionsproduced by natural beauty of every kind, life would lose half itscharm. So far from regarding the training and gratification of thetastes as unimportant, we believe that in time to come they will occupya much larger share of human life than now. When the forces of Naturehave been fully conquered to man's use--when the means of productionhave been brought to perfection--when labour has been economised to thehighest degree--when education has been so systematised that apreparation for the more essential activities may be made withcomparative rapidity--and when, consequently, there is a great increaseof spare time; then will the beautiful, both in Art and Nature, rightlyfill a large space in the minds of all. 

But it is one thing to approve of æsthetic culture as largely conduciveto human happiness; and another thing to admit that it is a fundamentalrequisite to human happiness. However important it may be, it must yieldprecedence to those kinds of culture which bear directly upon dailyduties. As before hinted, literature and the fine arts are made possibleby those activities which make individual and social life possible; andmanifestly, that which is made possible, must be postponed to that whichmakes it possible. A florist cultivates a plant for the sake of itsflower; and regards the roots and leaves as of value, chiefly becausethey are instrumental in producing the flower. But while, as an ultimateproduct, the flower is the thing to which everything else issubordinate, the florist has learnt that the root and leaves areintrinsically of greater importance; because on them the evolution ofthe flower depends. He bestows every care in rearing a healthy plant;and knows it would be folly if, in his anxiety to obtain the flower, hewere to neglect the plant. Similarly in the case before us. Architecture, sculpture, painting, music, and poetry, may truly becalled the efflorescence of civilised life. But even supposing they areof such transcendent worth as to subordinate the civilised life out ofwhich they grow (which can hardly be asserted), it will still beadmitted that the production of a healthy civilised life must be thefirst consideration; and that culture subserving this must occupy thehighest place. 

And here we see most distinctly the vice of our educational system. Itneglects the plant for the sake of the flower. In anxiety for elegance, it forgets substance. While it gives no knowledge conducive toself-preservation--while of knowledge that facilitates gaining alivelihood it gives but the rudiments, and leaves the greater part to bepicked up any how in after life--while for the discharge of parentalfunctions it makes not the slightest provision--and while for the dutiesof citizenship it prepares by imparting a mass of facts, most of whichare irrelevant, and the rest without a key; it is diligent in teachingwhatever adds to refinement, polish, éclat. Fully as we may admit thatextensive acquaintance with modern languages is a valuableaccomplishment, which, through reading, conversation, and travel, aidsin giving a certain finish; it by no means follows that this result isrightly purchased at the cost of the vitally important knowledgesacrificed to it. Supposing it true that classical education conducesto elegance and correctness of style; it cannot be said that eleganceand correctness of style are comparable in importance to a familiaritywith the principles that should guide the rearing of children. Grantthat the taste may be improved by reading the poetry written in extinctlanguages; yet it is not to be inferred that such improvement of tasteis equivalent in value to an acquaintance with the laws of health. Accomplishments, the fine arts, _belles-lettres_, and all those thingswhich, as we say, constitute the efflorescence of civilisation, shouldbe wholly subordinate to that instruction and discipline in whichcivilisation rests. _As they occupy the leisure part of life, so shouldthey occupy the leisure part of education. _

Recognising thus the true position of aesthetics, and holding that whilethe cultivation of them should form a part of education from itscommencement, such cultivation should be subsidiary; we have now toinquire what knowledge is of most use to this end--what knowledge bestfits for this remaining sphere of activity? To this question the answeris still the same as heretofore. Unexpected though the assertion may be, it is nevertheless true, that the highest Art of every kind is based onScience--that without Science there can be neither perfect productionnor full appreciation. Science, in that limited acceptation current insociety, may not have been possessed by various artists of high repute;but acute observers as such artists have been, they have alwayspossessed a stock of those empirical generalisations which constitutescience in its lowest phase; and they have habitually fallen far belowperfection, partly because their generalisations were comparatively fewand inaccurate. That science necessarily underlies the fine arts, becomes manifest, _à priori_, when we remember that art-products are allmore or less representative of objective or subjective phenomena; thatthey can be good only in proportion as they conform to the laws of thesephenomena; and that before they can thus conform, the artist must knowwhat these laws are. That this _à priori_ conclusion tallies withexperience, we shall soon see. 

Youths preparing for the practice of sculpture have to acquaintthemselves with the bones and muscles of the human frame in theirdistribution, attachments, and movements. This is a portion of science;and it has been found needful to impart it for the prevention of thosemany errors which sculptors who do not possess it commit. A knowledge ofmechanical principles is also requisite; and such knowledge not beingusually possessed, grave mechanical mistakes are frequently made. Takean instance. For the stability of a figure it is needful that theperpendicular from the centre of gravity--"the line of direction, " as itis called--should fall within the base of support; and hence it happens, that when a man assumes the attitude known as "standing at ease, " inwhich one leg is straightened and the other relaxed, the line ofdirection falls within the foot of the straightened leg. But sculptorsunfamiliar with the theory of equilibrium, not uncommonly so representthis attitude, that the line of direction falls midway between the feet. Ignorance of the law of momentum leads to analogous blunders: as witnessthe admired Discobolus, which, as it is posed, must inevitably fallforward the moment the quoit is delivered. 

In painting, the necessity for scientific information, empirical if notrational, is still more conspicuous. What gives the grotesqueness ofChinese pictures, unless their utter disregard of the laws ofappearances--their absurd linear perspective, and their want of aerialperspective? In what are the drawings of a child so faulty, if not in asimilar absence of truth--an absence arising, in great part, fromignorance of the way in which the aspects of things vary with theconditions? Do but remember the books and lectures by which students areinstructed; or consider the criticisms of Ruskin; or look at the doingsof the Pre-Raffaelites; and you will see that progress in paintingimplies increasing knowledge of how effects in Nature are produced. Themost diligent observation, if unaided by science, fails to preserve fromerror. Every painter will endorse the assertion that unless it is knownwhat appearances must exist under given circumstances, they often willnot be perceived; and to know what appearances must exist, is, in sofar, to understand the science of appearances. From want of science Mr. J. Lewis, careful painter as he is, casts the shadow of a lattice-windowin sharply-defined lines upon an opposite wall; which he would not havedone, had he been familiar with the phenomena of penumbræ. From want ofscience, Mr. Rosetti, catching sight of a peculiar iridescence displayedby certain hairy surfaces under particular lights (an iridescence causedby the diffraction of light in passing the hairs), commits the error ofshowing this iridescence on surfaces and in positions where it could notoccur. 

To say that music, too, has need of scientific aid will cause still moresurprise. Yet it may be shown that music is but an idealisation of thenatural language of emotion; and that consequently, music must be goodor bad according as it conforms to the laws of this natural language. The various inflections of voice which accompany feelings of differentkinds and intensities, are the germs out of which music is developed. Itis demonstrable that these inflections and cadences are not accidentalor arbitrary; but that they are determined by certain general principlesof vital action; and that their expressiveness depends on this. Whenceit follows that musical phrases and the melodies built of them, can beeffective only when they are in harmony with these general principles. It is difficult here properly to illustrate this position. But perhapsit will suffice to instance the swarms of worthless ballads that infestdrawing-rooms, as compositions which science would forbid. They sinagainst science by setting to music ideas that are not emotional enoughto prompt musical expression; and they also sin against science by usingmusical phrases that have no natural relations to the ideas expressed:even where these are emotional. They are bad because they are untrue. And to say they are untrue, is to say they are unscientific. 

Even in poetry the same thing holds. Like music, poetry has its root inthose natural modes of expression which accompany deep feeling. Itsrhythm, its strong and numerous metaphors, its hyperboles, its violentinversions, are simply exaggerations of the traits of excited speech. Tobe good, therefore, poetry must pay attention to those laws of nervousaction which excited speech obeys. In intensifying and combining thetraits of excited speech, it must have due regard to proportion--mustnot use its appliances without restriction; but, where the ideas areleast emotional, must use the forms of poetical expression sparingly;must use them more freely as the emotion rises; and must carry them totheir greatest extent, only where the emotion reaches a climax. Theentire contravention of these principles results in bombast or doggerel. The insufficient respect for them is seen in didactic poetry. And it isbecause they are rarely fully obeyed, that so much poetry is inartistic. 

Not only is it that the artist, of whatever kind, cannot produce atruthful work without he understands the laws of the phenomena herepresents; but it is that he must also understand how the minds ofspectators or listeners will be affected by the several peculiarities ofhis work--a question in psychology. What impression any art-productgenerates, manifestly depends upon the mental natures of those to whomit is presented; and as all mental natures have certain characteristicsin common, there must result certain corresponding general principles onwhich alone art-products can be successfully framed. These generalprinciples cannot be fully understood and applied, unless the artistsees how they follow from the laws of mind. To ask whether thecomposition of a picture is good is really to ask how the perceptionsand feelings of observers will be affected by it. To ask whether a dramais well constructed, is to ask whether its situations are so arranged asduly to consult the power of attention of an audience, and duly to avoidovertaxing any one class of feelings. Equally in arranging the leadingdivisions of a poem or fiction, and in combining the words of a singlesentence, the goodness of the effect depends upon the skill with whichthe mental energies and susceptibilities of the reader are economised. Every artist, in the course of his education and after-life, accumulatesa stock of maxims by which his practice is regulated. Trace such maximsto their roots, and they inevitably lead you down to psychologicalprinciples. And only when the artist understands these psychologicalprinciples and their various corollaries can he work in harmony withthem. 

We do not for a moment believe that science will make an artist. Whilewe contend that the leading laws both of objective and subjectivephenomena must be understood by him, we by no means contend thatknowledge of such laws will serve in place of natural perception. Notthe poet only, but the artist of every type, is born, not made. What weassert is, that innate faculty cannot dispense with the aid of organisedknowledge. Intuition will do much, but it will not do all. Only whenGenius is married to Science can the highest results be produced. 

As we have above asserted, Science is necessary not only for the mostsuccessful production, but also for the full appreciation, of the finearts. In what consists the greater ability of a man than of a child toperceive the beauties of a picture; unless it is in his more extendedknowledge of those truths in nature or life which the picture renders?How happens the cultivated gentleman to enjoy a fine poem so much morethan a boor does; if it is not because his wider acquaintance withobjects and actions enables him to see in the poem much that the boorcannot see? And if, as is here so obvious, there must be somefamiliarity with the things represented, before the representation canbe appreciated, then, the representation can be completely appreciatedonly when the things represented are completely understood. The fact is, that every additional truth which a word of art expresses, gives anadditional pleasure to the percipient mind--a pleasure that is missed bythose ignorant of this truth. The more realities an artist indicates inany given amount of work, the more faculties does he appeal to; the morenumerous ideas does he suggest; the more gratification does he afford. But to receive this gratification the spectator, listener, or reader, must know the realities which the artist has indicated; and to knowthese realities is to have that much science. 

And now let us not overlook the further great fact, that not only doesscience underlie sculpture, painting, music, poetry, but that science isitself poetic. The current opinion that science and poetry are opposed, is a delusion. It is doubtless true that as states of consciousness, cognition and emotion tend to exclude each other. And it is doubtlessalso true that an extreme activity of the reflective powers tends todeaden the feelings; while an extreme activity of the feelings tends todeaden the reflective powers: in which sense, indeed, all orders ofactivity are antagonistic to each other. But it is not true that thefacts of science are unpoetical; or that the cultivation of science isnecessarily unfriendly to the exercise of imagination and the love ofthe beautiful. On the contrary, science opens up realms of poetry whereto the unscientific all is a blank. Those engaged in scientificresearches constantly show us that they realise not less vividly, butmore vividly, than others, the poetry of their subjects. Whoso will dipinto Hugh Miller's works of geology, or read Mr. Lewes's _Sea-sideStudies_, will perceive that science excites poetry rather thanextinguishes it. And he who contemplates the life of Goethe, must seethat the poet and the man of science can co-exist in equal activity. Isit not, indeed, an absurd and almost a sacrilegious belief, that themore a man studies Nature the less he reveres it? Think you that a dropof water, which to the vulgar eye is but a drop of water, loses anythingin the eye of the physicist who knows that its elements are heldtogether by a force which, if suddenly liberated, would produce a flashof lightning? Think you that what is carelessly looked upon by theuninitiated as a mere snow-flake, does not suggest higher associationsto one who had seen through a microscope the wondrously-varied andelegant forms of snow-crystals? Think you that the rounded rock markedwith parallel scratches, calls up as much poetry in an ignorant mind asin the mind of a geologist, who knows that over this rock a glacier slida million years ago? The truth is, that those who have never enteredupon scientific pursuits are blind to most of the poetry by which theyare surrounded. Whoever has not in youth collected plants and insects, knows not half the halo of interest which lanes and hedge-rows canassume. Whoever has not sought for fossils, has little idea of thepoetical associations that surround the places where imbedded treasureswere found. Whoever at the sea-side has not had a microscope andaquarium, has yet to learn what the highest pleasures of the sea-sideare. Sad, indeed, is it to see how men occupy themselves withtrivialities, and are indifferent to the grandest phenomena--care not tounderstand the architecture of the Heavens, but are deeply interested insome contemptible controversy about the intrigues of Mary Queen ofScots!--are learnedly critical over a Greek ode, and pass by without aglance that grand epic written by the finger of God upon the strata ofthe Earth!

We find, then, that even for this remaining division of humanactivities, scientific culture is the proper preparation. We find thataesthetics in general are necessarily based upon scientific principles;and can be pursued with complete success only through an acquaintancewith these principles. We find that for the criticism and dueappreciation of works of art, a knowledge of the constitution of things, or in other words, a knowledge of science, is requisite. And we not onlyfind that science is the handmaid to all forms of art and poetry, butthat, rightly regarded, science is itself poetic. 

 * * * * *

Thus far our question has been, the worth of knowledge of this or thatkind for purposes of guidance. We have now to judge the relative valueof different kinds of knowledge for purposes of discipline. Thisdivision of our subject we are obliged to treat with comparativebrevity; and happily, no very lengthened treatment of it is needed. Having found what is best for the one end, we have by implication foundwhat is best for the other. We may be quite sure that the acquirement ofthose classes of facts which are most useful for regulating conduct, involves a mental exercise best fitted for strengthening the faculties. It would be utterly contrary to the beautiful economy of Nature, if onekind of culture were needed for the gaining of information and anotherkind were needed as a mental gymnastic. Everywhere throughout creationwe find faculties developed through the performance of those functionswhich it is their office to perform; not through the performance ofartificial exercises devised to fit them for those functions. The RedIndian acquires the swiftness and agility which make him a successfulhunter, by the actual pursuit of animals; and through the miscellaneousactivities of his life, he gains a better balance of physical powersthan gymnastics ever give. That skill in tracking enemies and prey whichhe had reached after long practice, implies a subtlety of perception farexceeding anything produced by artificial training. And similarly in allcases. From the Bushman whose eye, habitually employed in identifyingdistant objects that are to be pursued or fled from, has acquired atelescopic range, to the accountant whose daily practice enables him toadd up several columns of figures simultaneously; we find that thehighest power of a faculty results from the discharge of those dutieswhich the conditions of life require it to discharge. And we may becertain, _à priori_, that the same law holds throughout education. Theeducation of most value for guidance, must at the same time be theeducation of most value for discipline. Let us consider the evidence. 

One advantage claimed for that devotion to language-learning which formsso prominent a feature in the ordinary _curriculum_, is, that the memoryis thereby strengthened. This is assumed to be an advantage peculiar tothe study of words. But the truth is, that the sciences afford far widerfields for the exercise of memory. It is no slight task to remembereverything about our solar system; much more to remember all that isknown concerning the structure of our galaxy. The number of compoundsubstances, to which chemistry daily adds, is so great that few, saveprofessors, can enumerate them; and to recollect the atomicconstitutions and affinities of all these compounds, is scarcelypossible without making chemistry the occupation of life. In theenormous mass of phenomena presented by the Earth's crust, and in thestill more enormous mass of phenomena presented by the fossils itcontains, there is matter which it takes the geological student years ofapplication to master. Each leading division of physics--sound, heat, light, electricity--includes facts numerous enough to alarm any oneproposing to learn them all. And when we pass to the organic sciences, the effort of memory required becomes still greater. In human anatomyalone, the quantity of detail is so great, that the young surgeon hascommonly to get it up half-a-dozen times before he can permanentlyretain it. The number of species of plants which botanists distinguish, amounts to some 320, 000; while the varied forms of animal life withwhich the zoologist deals, are estimated at some 2, 000, 000. So vast isthe accumulation of facts which men of science have before them, thatonly by dividing and subdividing their labours can they deal with it. Toa detailed knowledge of his own division, each adds but a generalknowledge of the allied ones; joined perhaps to a rudimentaryacquaintance with some others. Surely, then, science, cultivated even toa very moderate extent, affords adequate exercise for memory. To say thevery least, it involves quite as good a discipline for this faculty aslanguage does. 

But now mark that while, for the training of mere memory, science is asgood as, if not better than, language; it has an immense superiority inthe kind of memory it trains. In the acquirement of a language, theconnections of ideas to be established in the mind correspond to factsthat are in great measure accidental; whereas, in the acquirement ofscience, the connections of ideas to be established in the mindcorrespond to facts that are mostly necessary. It is true that therelations of words to their meanings are in one sense natural; that thegenesis of these relations may be traced back a certain distance, thoughrarely to the beginning; and that the laws of this genesis form a branchof mental science--the science of philology. But since it will not becontended that in the acquisition of languages, as ordinarily carriedon, these natural relations between words and their meanings arehabitually traced, and their laws explained; it must be admitted thatthey are commonly learned as fortuitous relations. On the other hand, the relations which science presents are causal relations; and, whenproperly taught, are understood as such. While language familiariseswith non-rational relations, science familiarises with rationalrelations. While the one exercises memory only, the other exercises bothmemory and understanding. 

Observe next, that a great superiority of science over language as ameans of discipline, is, that it cultivates the judgment. As, in alecture on mental education delivered at the Royal Institution, Professor Faraday well remarks, the most common intellectual fault isdeficiency of judgment. "Society, speaking generally, " he says, "is notonly ignorant as respects education of the judgment, but it is alsoignorant of its ignorance. " And the cause to which he ascribes thisstate, is want of scientific culture. The truth of his conclusion isobvious. Correct judgment with regard to surrounding objects, events, and consequences, becomes possible only through knowledge of the way inwhich surrounding phenomena depend on each other. No extent ofacquaintance with the meanings of words, will guarantee correctinferences respecting causes and effects. The habit of drawingconclusions from data, and then of verifying those conclusions byobservation and experiment, can alone give the power of judgingcorrectly. And that it necessitates this habit is one of the immenseadvantages of science. 

Not only, however, for intellectual discipline is science the best; butalso for _moral_ discipline. The learning of languages tends, ifanything, further to increase the already undue respect for authority. Such and such are the meanings of these words, says the teacher of thedictionary. So and so is the rule in this case, says the grammar. By thepupil these dicta are received as unquestionable. His constant attitudeof mind is that of submission to dogmatic teaching. And a necessaryresult is a tendency to accept without inquiry whatever is established. Quite opposite is the mental tone generated by the cultivation ofscience. Science makes constant appeal to individual reason. Its truthsare not accepted on authority alone; but all are at liberty to testthem--nay, in many cases, the pupil is required to think out his ownconclusions. Every step in a scientific investigation is submitted tohis judgment. He is not asked to admit it without seeing it to be true. And the trust in his own powers thus produced is further increased bythe uniformity with which Nature justifies his inferences when they arecorrectly drawn. From all which there flows that independence which is amost valuable element in character. Nor is this the only moral benefitbequeathed by scientific culture. When carried on, as it should alwaysbe, as much as possible under the form of original research, itexercises perseverance and sincerity. As says Professor Tyndall ofinductive inquiry, "It requires patient industry, and an humble andconscientious acceptance of what Nature reveals. The first condition ofsuccess is an honest receptivity and a willingness to abandon allpreconceived notions, however cherished, if they be found to contradictthe truth. Believe me, a self-renunciation which has something noble init, and of which the world never hears, is often enacted in the privateexperience of the true votary of science. "

Lastly we have to assert--and the assertion will, we doubt not, causeextreme surprise--that the discipline of science is superior to that ofour ordinary education, because of the _religious_ culture that itgives. Of course we do not here use the words scientific and religiousin their ordinary limited acceptations; but in their widest and highestacceptations. Doubtless, to the superstitions that pass under the nameof religion, science is antagonistic; but not to the essential religionwhich these superstitions merely hide. Doubtless, too, in much of thescience that is current, there is a pervading spirit of irreligion; butnot in that true science which had passed beyond the superficial intothe profound. 

 "True science and true religion, " says Professor Huxley at the close of a recent course of lectures, "are twin-sisters, and the separation of either from the other is sure to prove the death of both. Science prospers exactly in proportion as it is religious; and religion flourishes in exact proportion to the scientific depth and firmness of its basis. The great deeds of philosophers have been less the fruit of their intellect than of the direction of that intellect by an eminently religious tone of mind. Truth has yielded herself rather to their patience, their love, their single-heartedness, and their self-denial, than to their logical acumen. "

So far from science being irreligious, as many think, it is the neglectof science that is irreligious--it is the refusal to study thesurrounding creation that is irreligious. Take a humble simile. Supposea writer were daily saluted with praises couched in superlativelanguage. Suppose the wisdom, the grandeur, the beauty of his works, were the constant topics of the eulogies addressed to him. Suppose thosewho unceasingly uttered these eulogies on his works were content withlooking at the outsides of them; and had never opened them, much lesstried to understand them. What value should we put upon their praises?What should we think of their sincerity? Yet, comparing small things togreat, such is the conduct of mankind in general, in reference to theUniverse and its Cause. Nay, it is worse. Not only do they pass bywithout study, these things which they daily proclaim to be sowonderful; but very frequently they condemn as mere triflers those whogive time to the observation of Nature--they actually scorn those whoshow any active interest in these marvels. We repeat, then, that notscience, but the neglect of science, is irreligious. Devotion toscience, is a tacit worship--a tacit recognition of worth in the thingsstudied; and by implication in their Cause. It is not a mere lip-homage, but a homage expressed in actions--not a mere professed respect, but arespect proved by the sacrifice of time, thought, and labour. 

Nor is it thus only that true science is essentially religious. It isreligious, too, inasmuch as it generates a profound respect for, and animplicit faith in, those uniformities of action which all thingsdisclose. By accumulated experiences the man of science acquires athorough belief in the unchanging relations of phenomena--in theinvariable connection of cause and consequence--in the necessity of goodor evil results. Instead of the rewards and punishments of traditionalbelief, which people vaguely hope they may gain, or escape, spite oftheir disobedience; he finds that there are rewards and punishments inthe ordained constitution of things; and that the evil results ofdisobedience are inevitable. He sees that the laws to which we mustsubmit are both inexorable and beneficent. He sees that in conforming tothem, the process of things is ever towards a greater perfection and ahigher happiness. Hence he is led constantly to insist on them, and isindignant when they are disregarded. And thus does he, by asserting theeternal principles of things and the necessity of obeying them, provehimself intrinsically religious. 

Add lastly the further religious aspect of science, that it alone cangive us true conceptions of ourselves and our relation to the mysteriesof existence. At the same time that it shows us all which can be known, it shows us the limits beyond which we can know nothing. Not by dogmaticassertion, does it teach the impossibility of comprehending the UltimateCause of things; but it leads us clearly to recognise this impossibilityby bringing us in every direction to boundaries we cannot cross. Itrealises to us in a way which nothing else can, the littleness of humanintelligence in the face of that which transcends human intelligence. While towards the traditions and authorities of men its attitude may beproud, before the impenetrable veil which hides the Absolute itsattitude is humble--a true pride and a true humility. Only the sincereman of science (and by this title we do not mean the mere calculator ofdistances, or analyser of compounds, or labeller of species; but him whothrough lower truths seeks higher, and eventually the highest)--only thegenuine man of science, we say, can truly know how utterly beyond, notonly human knowledge but human conception, is the Universal Power ofwhich Nature, and Life, and Thought are manifestations. 

We conclude, then, that for discipline, as well as for guidance, scienceis of chiefest value. In all its effects, learning the meanings ofthings, is better than learning the meanings of words. Whether forintellectual, moral, or religious training, the study of surroundingphenomena is immensely superior to the study of grammars and lexicons. 

 * * * * *

Thus to the question we set out with--What knowledge is of mostworth?--the uniform reply is--Science. This is the verdict on all thecounts. For direct self-preservation, or the maintenance of life andhealth, the all-important knowledge is--Science. For that indirectself-preservation which we call gaining a livelihood, the knowledge ofgreatest value is--Science. For the due discharge of parental functions, the proper guidance is to be found only in--Science. For thatinterpretation of national life, past and present, without which thecitizen cannot rightly regulate his conduct, the indispensable keyis--Science. Alike for the most perfect production and highest enjoymentof art in all its forms, the needful preparation is still--Science. Andfor purposes of discipline--intellectual, moral, religious--the mostefficient study is, once more--Science. The question which at firstseemed so perplexed, has become, in the course of our inquiry, comparatively simple. We have not to estimate the degrees of importanceof different orders of human activity, and different studies asseverally fitting us for them; since we find that the study of Science, in its most comprehensive meaning, is the best preparation for all theseorders of activity. We have not to decide between the claims ofknowledge of great though conventional value, and knowledge of lessthough intrinsic value; seeing that the knowledge which proves to be ofmost value in all other respects, is intrinsically most valuable: itsworth is not dependent upon opinion, but is as fixed as is the relationof man to the surrounding world. Necessary and eternal as are itstruths, all Science concerns all mankind for all time. Equally atpresent and in the remotest future, must it be of incalculableimportance for the regulation of their conduct, that men shouldunderstand the science of life, physical, mental, and social; and thatthey should understand all other science as a key to the science oflife. 

And yet this study, immensely transcending all other in importance, isthat which, in an age of boasted education, receives the leastattention. While what we call civilisation could never have arisen hadit not been for science, science forms scarcely an appreciable elementin our so-called civilised training. Though to the progress of sciencewe owe it, that millions find support where once there was food only forthousands; yet of these millions but a few thousands pay any respect tothat which has made their existence possible. Though increasingknowledge of the properties and relations of things has not only enabledwandering tribes to grow into populous nations, but has given to thecountless members of these populous nations, comforts and pleasureswhich their few naked ancestors never even conceived, or could havebelieved, yet is this kind of knowledge only now receiving a grudgingrecognition in our highest educational institutions. To the slowlygrowing acquaintance with the uniform co-existences and sequences ofphenomena--to the establishment of invariable laws, we owe ouremancipation from the grossest superstitions. But for science we shouldbe still worshipping fetishes; or, with hecatombs of victims, propitiating diabolical deities. And yet this science, which, in placeof the most degrading conceptions of things, has given us some insightinto the grandeurs of creation, is written against in our theologies andfrowned upon from our pulpits. 

Paraphrasing an Eastern fable, we may say that in the family ofknowledges, Science is the household drudge, who, in obscurity, hidesunrecognised perfections. To her has been committed all the works; byher skill, intelligence, and devotion, have all conveniences andgratifications been obtained; and while ceaselessly ministering to therest, she has been kept in the background, that her haughty sistersmight flaunt their fripperies in the eyes of the world. The parallelholds yet further. For we are fast coming to the _dénouement_, when thepositions will be changed; and while these haughty sisters sink intomerited neglect, Science, proclaimed as highest alike in worth andbeauty, will reign supreme. 

INTELLECTUAL EDUCATION

There cannot fail to be a relationship between the successive systems ofeducation, and the successive social states with which they haveco-existed. Having a common origin in the national mind, theinstitutions of each epoch, whatever be their special functions, musthave a family likeness. When men received their creed and itsinterpretations from an infallible authority deigning no explanations, it was natural that the teaching of children should be purely dogmatic. While "believe and ask no questions" was the maxim of the Church, it wasfitly the maxim of the school. Conversely, now that Protestantism hasgained for adults a right of private judgment and established thepractice of appealing to reason, there is harmony in the change that hasmade juvenile instruction a process of exposition addressed to theunderstanding. Along with political despotism, stern in its commands, ruling by force of terror, visiting trifling crimes with death, andimplacable in its vengeance on the disloyal, there necessarily grew upan academic discipline similarly harsh--a discipline of multipliedinjunctions and blows for every breach of them--a discipline ofunlimited autocracy upheld by rods, and ferules, and the black-hole. Onthe other hand, the increase of political liberty, the abolition of lawsrestricting individual action, and the amelioration of the criminalcode, have been accompanied by a kindred progress towards non-coerciveeducation: the pupil is hampered by fewer restraints, and other meansthan punishments are used to govern him. In those ascetic days when men, acting on the greatest-misery principle, held that the moregratifications they denied themselves the more virtuous they were, they, as a matter of course, considered that the best education which mostthwarted the wishes of their children, and cut short all spontaneousactivity with--"You mustn't do so. " While, on the contrary, now thathappiness is coming to be regarded as a legitimate aim--now that hoursof labour are being shortened and popular recreations provided--parentsand teachers are beginning to see that most childish desires may rightlybe gratified, that childish sports should be encouraged, and that thetendencies of the growing mind are not altogether so diabolical as wassupposed. The age in which all believed that trades must be establishedby bounties and prohibitions; that manufacturers needed their materialsand qualities and prices to be prescribed; and that the value of moneycould be determined by law; was an age which unavoidably cherished thenotions that a child's mind could be made to order; that its powers wereto be imparted by the schoolmaster; that it was a receptacle into whichknowledge was to be put, and there built up after the teacher's ideal. In this free-trade era, however, when we are learning that there is muchmore self-regulation in things than was supposed; that labour, andcommerce, and agriculture, and navigation, can do better withoutmanagement than with it; that political governments, to be efficient, must grow up from within and not be imposed from without; we are alsobeing taught that there is a natural process of mental evolution whichis not to be disturbed without injury; that we may not force on theunfolding mind our artificial forms; but that psychology, also, discloses to us a law of supply and demand to which, if we would not doharm, we must conform. Thus, alike in its oracular dogmatism, in itsharsh discipline, in its multiplied restrictions, in its professedasceticism, and in its faith in the devices of men, the old educationalregime was akin to the social systems with which it was contemporaneous;and similarly, in the reverse of these characteristics, our modern modesof culture correspond to our more liberal religious and politicalinstitutions. 

But there remain further parallelisms to which we have not yet adverted:that, namely, between the processes by which these respective changeshave been wrought out; and that between the several states ofheterogeneous opinion to which they have led. Some centuries ago therewas uniformity of belief--religious, political, and educational. All menwere Romanists, all were Monarchists, all were disciples of Aristotle;and no one thought of calling in question that grammar-school routineunder which all were brought up. The same agency has in each casereplaced this uniformity by a constantly-increasing diversity. Thattendency towards assertion of the individuality, which, aftercontributing to produce the great Protestant movement, has since gone onto produce an ever-increasing number of sects--that tendency whichinitiated political parties, and out of the two primary ones has, inthese modern days, evolved a multiplicity to which every year adds--thattendency which led to the Baconian rebellion against the schools, andhas since originated here and abroad, sundry new systems of thought--isa tendency which, in education also, has caused divisions and theaccumulation of methods. As external consequences of the same internalchange, these processes have necessarily been more or less simultaneous. The decline of authority, whether papal, philosophic, kingly, ortutorial, is essentially one phenomenon; in each of its aspects aleaning towards free action is seen alike in the working out of thechange itself, and in the new forms of theory and practice to which thechange has given birth. 

While many will regret this multiplication of schemes of juvenileculture, the catholic observer will discern in it a means of ensuringthe final establishment of a rational system. Whatever may be thought oftheological dissent, it is clear that dissent in education results infacilitating inquiry by the division in labour. Were we in possession ofthe true method, divergence from it would, of course, be prejudicial;but the true method having to be found, the efforts of numerousindependent seekers carrying out their researches in differentdirections, constitute a better agency for finding it than any thatcould be devised. Each of them struck by some new thought which probablycontains more or less of basis in facts--each of them zealous on behalfof his plan, fertile in expedients to test its correctness, and untiringin his efforts to make known its success--each of them merciless in hiscriticism on the rest; there cannot fail, by composition of forces, tobe a gradual approximation of all towards the right course. Whateverportion of the normal method any one has discovered, must, by theconstant exhibition of its results, force itself into adoption; whateverwrong practices he has joined with it must, by repeated experiment andfailure, be exploded. And by this aggregation of truths and eliminationof errors, there must eventually be developed a correct and completebody of doctrine. Of the three phases through which human opinionpasses--the unanimity of the ignorant, the disagreement of theinquiring, and the unanimity of the wise--it is manifest that the secondis the parent of the third. They are not sequences in time only, theyare sequences in causation. However impatiently, therefore, we maywitness the present conflict of educational systems, and however much wemay regret its accompanying evils, we must recognise it as a transitionstage needful to be passed through, and beneficent in its ultimateeffects. 

Meanwhile, may we not advantageously take stock of our progress? Afterfifty years of discussion, experiment, and comparison of results, maywe not expect a few steps towards the goal to be already made good? Someold methods must by this time have fallen out of use; some new ones musthave become established; and many others must be in process of generalabandonment or adoption. Probably we may see in these various changes, when put side by side, similar characteristics--may find in them acommon tendency; and so, by inference, may get a clue to the directionin which experience is leading us, and gather hints how we may achieveyet further improvements. Let us then, as a preliminary to a deeperconsideration of the matter, glance at the leading contrasts between theeducation of the past and that of the present. 

 * * * * *

The suppression of every error is commonly followed by a temporaryascendency of the contrary one; and so it happened, that after the ageswhen physical development alone was aimed at, there came an age whenculture of the mind was the sole solicitude--when children hadlesson-books put before them at between two and three years old, and thegetting of knowledge was thought the one thing needful. As, further, itusually happens that after one of these reactions the next advance isachieved by co-ordinating the antagonist errors, and perceiving thatthey are opposite sides of one truth; so, we are now coming to theconviction that body and mind must both be cared for, and the wholething being unfolded. The forcing-system has been, by many, given up;and precocity is discouraged. People are beginning to see that the firstrequisite to success in life, is to be a good animal. The best brain isfound of little service, if there be not enough vital energy to work it;and hence to obtain the one by sacrificing the source of the other, isnow considered a folly--a folly which the eventual failure of juvenileprodigies constantly illustrates. Thus we are discovering the wisdom ofthe saying, that one secret in education is "to know how wisely to losetime. "

The once universal practice of learning by rote, is daily falling moreinto discredit. All modern authorities condemn the old mechanical way ofteaching the alphabet. The multiplication table is now frequently taughtexperimentally. In the acquirement of languages, the grammar-school planis being superseded by plans based on the spontaneous process followedby the child in gaining its mother tongue. Describing the methods thereused, the "Reports on the Training School at Battersea" say:--"Theinstruction in the whole preparatory course is chiefly oral, and isillustrated as much as possible by appeals to nature. " And sothroughout. The rote-system, like ether systems of its age, made more ofthe forms and symbols than of the things symbolised. To repeat the wordscorrectly was everything; to understand their meaning nothing; and thusthe spirit was sacrificed to the letter. It is at length perceived that, in this case as in others, such a result is not accidental butnecessary--that in proportion as there is attention to the signs, theremust be inattention to the things signified; or that, as Montaigne longago said--_Sçavoir par coeur n'est pas sçavoir_. 

Along with rote-teaching, is declining also the nearly-allied teachingby rules. The particulars first, and then the generalisation, is the newmethod--a method, as the Battersea School Reports remarks, which, though"the reverse of the method usually followed, which consists in givingthe pupil the rule first, " is yet proved by experience to be the rightone. Rule-teaching is now condemned as imparting a merely empiricalknowledge--as producing an appearance of understanding without thereality. To give the net product of inquiry, without the inquiry thatleads to it, is found to be both enervating and inefficient. Generaltruths to be of due and permanent use, must be earned. "Easy come easygo, " is a saying as applicable to knowledge as to wealth. While rules, lying isolated in the mind--not joined to its other contents asout-growths from them--are continually forgotten; the principles whichthose rules express piecemeal, become, when once reached by theunderstanding, enduring possessions. While the rule-taught youth is atsea when beyond his rules, the youth instructed in principles solves anew case as readily as an old one. Between a mind of rules and a mind ofprinciples, there exists a difference such as that between a confusedheap of materials, and the same materials organised into a completewhole, with all its parts bound together. Of which types this last hasnot only the advantage that its constituent parts are better retained, but the much greater advantage that it forms an efficient agent forinquiry, for independent thought, for discovery--ends for which thefirst is useless. Nor let it be supposed that this is a simile only: itis the literal truth. The union of facts into generalisations _is_ theorganisation of knowledge, whether considered as an objective phenomenonor a subjective one; and the mental grasp may be measured by the extentto which this organisation is carried. 

From the substitution of principles for rules, and the necessarilyco-ordinate practice of leaving abstractions untaught till the mind hasbeen familiarised with the facts from which they are abstracted, hasresulted the postponement of some once early studies to a late period. This is exemplified in the abandonment of that intensely stupid custom, the teaching of grammar to children. As M. Marcel says:--"It may withouthesitation be affirmed that grammar is not the stepping-stone, but thefinishing instrument. " As Mr. Wyse argues:--"Grammar and Syntax are acollection of laws and rules. Rules are gathered from practice; they arethe results of induction to which we come by long observation andcomparison of facts. It is, in fine, the science, the philosophy oflanguage. In following the process of nature, neither individuals nornations ever arrive at the science _first_. A language is spoken, andpoetry written, many years before either a grammar or prosody is eventhought of. Men did not wait till Aristotle had constructed his logic, to reason. " In short, as grammar was made after language, so ought it tobe taught after language: an inference which all who recognise therelationship between the evolution of the race and that of theindividual, will see to be unavoidable. 

Of new practices that have grown up during the decline of these oldones, the most important is the systematic culture of the powers ofobservation. After long ages of blindness, men are at last seeing thatthe spontaneous activity of the observing faculties in children has ameaning and a use. What was once thought mere purposeless action, orplay, or mischief, as the case might be, is now recognised as theprocess of acquiring a knowledge on which all after-knowledge is based. Hence the well-conceived but ill-conducted system of _object-lessons_. The saying of Bacon, that physics is the mother of the sciences, hascome to have a meaning in education. Without an accurate acquaintancewith the visible and tangible properties of things, our conceptions mustbe erroneous, our inferences fallacious, and our operationsunsuccessful. "The education of the senses neglected, all aftereducation partakes of a drowsiness, a haziness, an insufficiency, whichit is impossible to cure. " Indeed, if we consider it, we shall find thatexhaustive observation is an element in all great success. It is not toartists, naturalists, and men of science only, that it is needful; it isnot only that the physician depends on it for the correctness of hisdiagnosis, and that to the engineer it is so important that some yearsin the workshop are prescribed for him; but we may see that thephilosopher, also, is fundamentally one who _observes_ relationships ofthings which others had overlooked, and that the poet, too, is one who_sees_ the fine facts in nature which all recognise when pointed out, but did not before remark. Nothing requires more to be insisted on thanthat vivid and complete impressions are all-essential. No sound fabricof wisdom can be woven out of a rotten raw-material. 

While the old method of presenting truths in the abstract has beenfalling out of use, there has been a corresponding adoption of the newmethod of presenting them in the concrete. The rudimentary facts ofexact science are now being learnt by direct intuition, as textures, andtastes, and colours are learnt. Employing the ball-frame for firstlessons in arithmetic exemplifies this. It is well illustrated, too, inProfessor De Morgan's mode of explaining the decimal notation. M. Marcel, rightly repudiating the old system of tables, teaches weightsand measures by referring to the actual yard and foot, pound and ounce, gallon and quart; and lets the discovery of their relationships beexperimental. The use of geographical models and models of the regularbodies, etc. , as introductory to geography and geometry respectively, are facts of the same class. Manifestly, a common trait of these methodsis, that they carry each child's mind through a process like that whichthe mind of humanity at large has gone through. The truths of number, ofform, of relationship in position, were all originally drawn fromobjects; and to present these truths to the child in the concrete is tolet him learn them as the race learnt them. By and by, perhaps, it willbe seen that he cannot possibly learn them in any other way; for that ifhe is made to repeat them as abstractions, the abstractions can have nomeaning for him, until he finds that they are simply statements of whathe intuitively discerns. 

But of all the changes taking place, the most significant is the growingdesire to make the acquirement of knowledge pleasurable rather thanpainful--a desire based on the more or less distinct perception, that ateach age the intellectual action which a child likes is a healthful onefor it; and conversely. There is a spreading opinion that the rise of anappetite for any kind of information implies that the unfolding mind hasbecome fit to assimilate it, and needs it for purposes of growth; andthat, on the other hand, the disgust felt towards such information is asign either that it is prematurely presented, or that it is presented inan indigestible form. Hence the efforts to make early education amusing, and all education interesting. Hence the lectures on the value of play. Hence the defence of nursery rhymes and fairy tales. Daily we more andmore conform our plans to juvenile opinion. Does the child like this orthat kind of teaching?--does he take to it? we constantly ask. "Hisnatural desire of variety should be indulged, " says M. Marcel; "and thegratification of his curiosity should be combined with his improvement. ""Lessons, " he again remarks, "should cease before the child evincessymptoms of weariness. " And so with later education. Short breaks duringschool-hours, excursions into the country, amusing lectures, choralsongs--in these and many like traits the change may be discerned. Asceticism is disappearing out of education as out of life; and theusual test of political legislation--its tendency to promotehappiness--is beginning to be, in a great degree, the test oflegislation for the school and the nursery. 

What now is the common characteristic of these several changes? Is itnot an increasing conformity to the methods of Nature? Therelinquishment of early forcing, against which Nature rebels, and theleaving of the first years for exercise of the limbs and senses, showthis. The superseding of rote-learnt lessons by lessons orally andexperimentally given, like those of the field and play-ground, showsthis. The disuse of rule-teaching, and the adoption of teaching byprinciples--that is, the leaving of generalisations until there areparticulars to base them on--show this. The system of object-lessonsshows this. The teaching of the rudiments of science in the concreteinstead of the abstract, shows this. And above all, this tendency isshown in the variously-directed efforts to present knowledge inattractive forms, and so to make the acquirement of it pleasurable. For, as it is the order of Nature in all creatures that the gratificationaccompanying the fulfilment of needful functions serves as a stimulus totheir fulfilment--as, during the self-education of the young child, thedelight taken in the biting of corals and the pulling to pieces of toys, becomes the prompter to actions which teach it the properties of matter;it follows that, in choosing the succession of subjects and the modes ofinstruction which most interest the pupil, we are fulfilling Nature'sbehests, and adjusting our proceedings to the laws of life. 

Thus, then, we are on the highway towards the doctrine long agoenunciated by Pestalozzi, that alike in its order and its methods, education must conform to the natural process of mental evolution--thatthere is a certain sequence in which the faculties spontaneouslydevelop, and a certain kind of knowledge which each requires during itsdevelopment; and that it is for us to ascertain this sequence, andsupply this knowledge. All the improvements above alluded to are partialapplications of this general principle. A nebulous perception of it nowprevails among teachers; and it is daily more insisted on in educationalworks. "The method of nature is the archetype of all methods, " says M. Marcel. "The vital principle in the pursuit is to enable the pupilrightly to instruct himself, " writes Mr. Wyse. The more sciencefamiliarises us with the constitution of things, the more do we see inthem an inherent self-sufficingness. A higher knowledge tendscontinually to limit our interference with the processes of life. As inmedicine the old "heroic treatment" has given place to mild treatment, and often no treatment save a normal regimen--as we have found that itis not needful to mould the bodies of babes by bandaging them inpapoose-fashion or otherwise--as in gaols it is being discovered that nocunningly-devised discipline of ours is so efficient in producingreformation as the natural discipline of self-maintenance by productivelabour; so in education, we are finding that success is to be achievedonly by making our measures subservient to that spontaneous unfoldingwhich all minds go through in their progress to maturity. 

Of course, this fundamental principle of tuition, that the arrangementof matter and method must correspond with the order of evolution andmode of activity of the faculties--a principle so obviously true, thatonce stated it seems almost self-evident--has never been whollydisregarded. Teachers have unavoidably made their school-coursescoincide with it in some degree, for the simple reason that education ispossible only on that condition. Boys were never taught therule-of-three until after they had learnt addition. They were not set towrite exercises before they had got into their copybooks. Conic sectionshave always been preceded by Euclid. But the error of the old methodsconsists in this, that they do not recognise in detail what they areobliged to recognise in general. Yet the principle applies throughout. If from the time when a child is able to conceive two things as relatedin position, years must elapse before it can form a true concept of theEarth, as a sphere made up of land and sea, covered with mountains, forests, rivers, and cities, revolving on its axis, and sweeping roundthe Sun--if it gets from the one concept to the other by degrees--if theintermediate concepts which it forms are consecutively larger and morecomplicated; is it not manifest that there is a general successionthrough which alone it can pass; that each larger concept is made by thecombination of smaller ones, and presupposes them; and that to presentany of these compound concepts before the child is in possession of itsconstituent ones, is only less absurd than to present the final conceptof the series before the initial one? In the mastering of every subjectsome course of increasingly complex ideas has to be gone through. Theevolution of the corresponding faculties consists in the assimilation ofthese; which, in any true sense, is impossible without they are put intothe mind in the normal order. And when this order is not followed, theresult is, that they are received with apathy or disgust; and thatunless the pupil is intelligent enough eventually to fill up the gapshimself, they lie in his memory as dead facts, capable of being turnedto little or no use. 

"But why trouble ourselves about any _curriculum_ at all?" it may beasked. "If it be true that the mind like the body has a predeterminedcourse of evolution--if it unfolds spontaneously--if its successivedesires for this or that kind of information arise when these areseverally required for its nutrition--if there thus exists in itself aprompter to the right species of activity at the right time; whyinterfere in any way? Why not leave children _wholly_ to the disciplineof nature?--why not remain quite passive and let them get knowledge asthey best can?--why not be consistent throughout?" This is anawkward-looking question. Plausibly implying as it does, that a systemof complete _laissez-faire_ is the logical outcome of the doctrines setforth, it seems to furnish a disproof of them by _reductio ad absurdum_. In truth, however, they do not, when rightly understood, commit us toany such untenable position. A glance at the physical analogies willclearly show this. It is a general law of life that the more complex theorganism to be produced, the longer the period during which it isdependent on a parent organism for food and protection. The differencebetween the minute, rapidly-formed, and self-moving spore of a conferva, and the slowly-developed seed of a tree, with its multiplied envelopesand large stock of nutriment laid by to nourish the germ during itsfirst stages of growth, illustrates this law in its application to thevegetal world. Among animals we may trace it in a series of contrastsfrom the monad whose spontaneously-divided halves are as self-sufficingthe moment after their separation as was the original whole; up to man, whose offspring not only passes through a protracted gestation, andsubsequently long depends on the breast for sustenance; but after thatmust have its food artificially administered; must, when it has learnedto feed itself, continue to have bread, clothing, and shelter provided;and does not acquire the power of complete self-support until a timevarying from fifteen to twenty years after its birth. Now this lawapplies to the mind as to the body. For mental pabulum also, everyhigher creature, and especially man, is at first dependent on adult aid. Lacking the ability to move about, the babe is almost as powerless toget materials on which to exercise its perceptions as it is to getsupplies for its stomach. Unable to prepare its own food, it is in likemanner unable to reduce many kinds of knowledge to a fit form forassimilation. The language through which all higher truths are to begained, it wholly derives from those surrounding it. And we see in suchan example as the Wild Boy of Aveyron, the arrest of development thatresults when no help is received from parents and nurses. Thus, inproviding from day to day the right kind of facts, prepared in the rightmanner, and giving them in due abundance at appropriate intervals, thereis as much scope for active ministration to a child's mind as to itsbody. In either case, it is the chief function of parents to see thatthe _conditions_ requisite to growth are maintained. And as, insupplying aliment, and clothing, and shelter, they may fulfil thisfunction without at all interfering with the spontaneous development ofthe limbs and viscera, either in their order or mode; so, they maysupply sounds for imitation, objects for examination, books for reading, problems for solution, and, if they use neither direct nor indirectcoercion, may do this without in any way disturbing the normal processof mental evolution; or rather, may greatly facilitate that process. Hence the admission of the doctrines enunciated does not, as some mightargue, involve the abandonment of teaching; but leaves ample room for anactive and elaborate course of culture. 

 * * * * *

Passing from generalities to special considerations, it is to beremarked that in practice the Pestalozzian system seems scarcely to havefulfilled the promise of its theory. We hear of children not at allinterested in its lessons, --disgusted with them rather; and, so far aswe can gather, the Pestalozzian school have not turned out any unusualproportion of distinguished men: if even they have reached the average. We are not surprised at this. The success of every appliance dependsmainly upon the intelligence with which it is used. It is a triteremark that, having the choicest tools, an unskilful artisan will botchhis work; and bad teachers will fail even with the best methods. Indeed, the goodness of the method becomes in such case a cause of failure; as, to continue the simile, the perfection of the tool becomes inundisciplined hands a source of imperfection in results. A simple, unchanging, almost mechanical routine of tuition, may be carried out bythe commonest intellects, with such small beneficial effect as it iscapable of producing; but a complete system--a system as heterogeneousin its appliances as the mind in its faculties--a system proposing aspecial means for each special end, demands for its right employmentpowers such as few teachers possess. The mistress of a dame-school canhear spelling-lessons; and any hedge-schoolmaster can drill boys in themultiplication-table. But to teach spelling rightly by using the powersof the letters instead of their names, or to instruct in numericalcombinations by experimental synthesis, a modicum of understanding isneedful; and to pursue a like rational course throughout the entirerange of studies, asks an amount of judgment, of invention, ofintellectual sympathy, of analytical faculty, which we shall never seeapplied to it while the tutorial official is held in such small esteem. True education is practicable only by a true philosopher. Judge, then, what prospect a philosophical method now has of being acted out! Knowingso little as we yet do of psychology, and ignorant as our teachers areof that little, what chance has a system which requires psychology forits basis?

Further hindrance and discouragement has arisen from confounding thePestalozzian principle with the forms in which it has been embodied. Because particular plans have not answered expectation, discredit hasbeen cast upon the doctrine associated with them: no inquiry being madewhether these plans truly conform to the doctrine. Judging as usual bythe concrete rather than the abstract, men have blamed the theory forthe bunglings of the practice. It is as though the first futile attemptto construct a steam-engine had been held to prove that steam could notbe used as a motive power. Let it be constantly borne in mind that whileright in his fundamental ideas, Pestalozzi was not therefore right inall his applications of them. As described even by his admirers, Pestalozzi was a man of partial intuitions--a man who had occasionalflashes of insight rather than a man of systematic thought. His firstgreat success at Stantz was achieved when he had no books or appliancesof ordinary teaching, and when "the only object of his attention was tofind out at each moment what instruction his children stood peculiarlyin need of, and what was the best manner of connecting it with theknowledge they already possessed. " Much of his power was due, not tocalmly reasoned-out plans of culture, but to his profound sympathy, which gave him a quick perception of childish needs and difficulties. Helacked the ability logically to co-ordinate and develop the truths whichhe thus from time to time laid hold of; and had in great measure toleave this to his assistants, Kruesi, Tobler, Buss, Niederer, andSchmid. The result is, that in their details his own plans, and thosevicariously devised, contain numerous crudities and inconsistencies. Hisnursery-method, described in _The Mother's Manual_, beginning as it doeswith a nomenclature of the different parts of the body, and proceedingnext to specify their relative positions, and next their connections, may be proved not at all in accordance with the initial stages of mentalevolution. His process of teaching the mother-tongue by formal exercisesin the meanings of words and in the construction of sentences, is quiteneedless, and must entail on the pupil loss of time, labour, andhappiness. His proposed lessons in geography are utterly unpestalozzian. And often where his plans are essentially sound, they are eitherincomplete or vitiated by some remnant of the old regime. While, therefore, we would defend in its entire extent the general doctrinewhich Pestalozzi inaugurated, we think great evil likely to result froman uncritical reception of his specific methods. That tendency, constantly exhibited by mankind, to canonise the forms and practicesalong with which any great truth has been bequeathed to them--theirliability to prostrate their intellects before the prophet, and swear byhis every word--their proneness to mistake the clothing of the idea forthe idea itself; renders it needful to insist strongly upon thedistinction between the fundamental principle of the Pestalozziansystem, and the set of expedients devised for its practice; and tosuggest that while the one may be considered as established, the otheris probably nothing but an adumbration of the normal course. Indeed, onlooking at the state of our knowledge, we may be quite sure that is thecase. Before educational methods can be made to harmonise in characterand arrangement with the faculties in their mode and order of unfolding, it is first needful that we ascertain with some completeness how thefaculties _do_ unfold. At present we have acquired, on this point, onlya few general notions. These general notions must be developed indetail--must be transformed into a multitude of specific propositions, before we can be said to possess that _science_ on which the _art_ ofeducation must be based. And then, when we have definitely made out inwhat succession and in what combinations the mental powers becomeactive, it remains to choose out of the many possible ways of exercisingeach of them, that which best conforms to its natural mode of action. Evidently, therefore, it is not to be supposed that even our mostadvanced modes of teaching are the right ones, or nearly the right ones. 

Bearing in mind then this distinction between the principle and thepractice of Pestalozzi, and inferring from the grounds assigned that thelast must necessarily be very defective, the reader will rate at itstrue worth the dissatisfaction with the system which some haveexpressed; and will see that the realisation of the Pestalozzian idearemains to be achieved. Should he argue, however, from what has justbeen said, that no such realisation is at present practicable, and thatall effort ought to be devoted to the preliminary inquiry; we reply, that though it is not possible for a scheme of culture to be perfectedeither in matter or form until a rational psychology has beenestablished, it is possible, with the aid of certain guiding principles, to make empirical approximations towards a perfect scheme. To preparethe way for further research we will now specify these principles. Someof them have been more or less distinctly implied in the foregoingpages; but it will be well here to state them all in logical order. 

1. That in education we should proceed from the simple to the complex, is a truth which has always been to some extent acted upon: notprofessedly, indeed, nor by any means consistently. The mind develops. Like all things that develop it progresses from the homogeneous to theheterogeneous; and a normal training system, being an objectivecounterpart of this subjective process, must exhibit a like progression. Moreover, thus interpreting it, we may see that this formula has muchwider application than at first appears. For its _rationale_ involves, not only that we should proceed from the single to the combined in theteaching of each branch of knowledge; but that we should do the likewith knowledge as a whole. As the mind, consisting at first of but fewactive faculties, has its later-completed faculties successively broughtinto play, and ultimately comes to have all its faculties insimultaneous action; it follows that our teaching should begin with butfew subjects at once, and successively adding to these, should finallycarry on all subjects abreast. Not only in its details should educationproceed from the simple to the complex, but in its _ensemble_ also. 

2. The development of the mind, as all other development, is an advancefrom the indefinite to the definite. In common with the rest of theorganism, the brain reaches its finished structure only at maturity; andin proportion as its structure is unfinished, its actions are wanting inprecision. Hence like the first movements and the first attempts atspeech, the first perceptions and thoughts are extremely vague. As froma rudimentary eye, discerning only the difference between light anddarkness, the progress is to an eye that distinguishes kinds andgradations of colour, and details of form, with the greatest exactness;so, the intellect as a whole and in each faculty, beginning with therudest discriminations among objects and actions, advances towardsdiscriminations of increasing nicety and distinctness. To this generallaw our educational course and methods must conform. It is notpracticable, nor would it be desirable if practicable, to put preciseideas into the undeveloped mind. We may indeed at an early agecommunicate the verbal forms in which such ideas are wrapped up; andteachers, who habitually do this, suppose that when the verbal formshave been correctly learnt, the ideas which should fill them have beenacquired. But a brief cross-examination of the pupil proves thecontrary. It turns out either that the words have been committed tomemory with little or no thought about their meaning, or else that theperception of their meaning which has been gained is a very cloudy one. Only as the multiplication of experiences gives materials for definiteconceptions--only as observation year by year discloses the lessconspicuous attributes which distinguish things and processes previouslyconfounded together--only as each class of co-existences and sequencesbecomes familiar through the recurrence of cases coming under it--onlyas the various classes of relations get accurately marked off from eachother by mutual limitation, can the exact definitions of advancedknowledge become truly comprehensible. Thus in education we must becontent to set out with crude notions. These we must aim to makegradually clearer by facilitating the acquisition of experiences such aswill correct, first their greatest errors, and afterwards theirsuccessively less marked errors. And the scientific formulæ must begiven only as fast as the conceptions are perfected. 

3. To say that our lessons ought to start from the concrete and end inthe abstract, may be considered as in part a repetition of the first ofthe foregoing principles. Nevertheless it is a maxim that must bestated: if with no other view, then with the view of showing in certaincases what are truly the simple and the complex. For unfortunately therehas been much misunderstanding on this point. General formulas which menhave devised to express groups of details, and which have severallysimplified their conceptions by uniting many facts into one fact, theyhave supposed must simplify the conceptions of a child also. They haveforgotten that a generalisation is simple only in comparison with thewhole mass of particular truths it comprehends--that it is more complexthan any one of these truths taken singly--that only after many of thesesingle truths have been acquired does the generalisation ease the memoryand help the reason--and that to a mind not possessing these singletruths it is necessarily a mystery. Thus confounding two kinds ofsimplification, teachers have constantly erred by setting out with"first principles": a proceeding essentially, though not apparently, atvariance with the primary rule; which implies that the mind should beintroduced to principles through the medium of examples, and so shouldbe led from the particular to the general--from the concrete to theabstract. 

4. The education of the child must accord both in mode and arrangementwith the education of mankind, considered historically. In other words, the genesis of knowledge in the individual must follow the same courseas the genesis of knowledge in the race. In strictness, this principlemay be considered as already expressed by implication; since both, beingprocesses of evolution, must conform to those same general laws ofevolution above insisted on, and must therefore agree with each other. Nevertheless this particular parallelism is of value for the specificguidance it affords. To M. Comte we believe society owes the enunciationof it; and we may accept this item of his philosophy without at allcommitting ourselves to the rest. This doctrine may be upheld by tworeasons, quite independent of any abstract theory; and either of themsufficient to establish it. One is deducible from the law of hereditarytransmission as considered in its wider consequences. For if it be truethat men exhibit likeness to ancestry, both in aspect and character--ifit be true that certain mental manifestations, as insanity, occur insuccessive members of the same family at the same age--if, passing fromindividual cases in which the traits of many dead ancestors mixing withthose of a few living ones greatly obscure the law, we turn to nationaltypes, and remark how the contrasts between them are persistent from ageto age--if we remember that these respective types came from a commonstock, and that hence the present marked differences between them musthave arisen from the action of modifying circumstances upon successivegenerations who severally transmitted the accumulated effects to theirdescendants--if we find the differences to be now organic, so that aFrench child grows into a French man even when brought up amongstrangers--and if the general fact thus illustrated is true of the wholenature, intellect inclusive; then it follows that if there be an orderin which the human race has mastered its various kinds of knowledge, there will arise in every child an aptitude to acquire these kinds ofknowledge in the same order. So that even were the order intrinsicallyindifferent, it would facilitate education to lead the individual mindthrough the steps traversed by the general mind. But the order is _not_intrinsically indifferent; and hence the fundamental reason whyeducation should be a repetition of civilisation in little. It isprovable both that the historical sequence was, in its main outlines, anecessary one; and that the causes which determined it apply to thechild as to the race. Not to specify these causes in detail, it willsuffice here to point out that as the mind of humanity placed in themidst of phenomena and striving to comprehend them, has, after endlesscomparisons, speculations, experiments, and theories, reached itspresent knowledge of each subject by a specific route; it may rationallybe inferred that the relationship between mind and phenomena is such asto prevent this knowledge from being reached by any other route; andthat as each child's mind stands in this same relationship to phenomena, they can be accessible to it only through the same route. Hence indeciding upon the right method of education, an inquiry into the methodof civilisation will help to guide us. 

5. One of the conclusions to which such an inquiry leads, is, that ineach branch of instruction we should proceed from the empirical to therational. During human progress, every science is evolved out of itscorresponding art. It results from the necessity we are under, bothindividually and as a race, of reaching the abstract by way of theconcrete, that there must be practice and an accruing experience withits empirical generalisation, before there can be science. Science isorganised knowledge; and before knowledge can be organised, some of itmust be possessed. Every study, therefore, should have a purelyexperimental introduction; and only after an ample fund of observationshas been accumulated, should reasoning begin. As illustrativeapplications of this rule, we may instance the modern course of placinggrammar, not before language, but after it; or the ordinary custom ofprefacing perspective by practical drawing. By and by furtherapplications of it will be indicated. 

6. A second corollary from the foregoing general principle, and onewhich cannot be too strenuously insisted on, is, that in education theprocess of self-development should be encouraged to the uttermost. Children should be led to make their own investigations, and to drawtheir own inferences. They should be _told_ as little as possible, andinduced to _discover_ as much as possible. Humanity has progressedsolely by self-instruction; and that to achieve the best results, eachmind must progress somewhat after the same fashion, is continuallyproved by the marked success of self-made men. Those who have beenbrought up under the ordinary school-drill, and have carried away withthem the idea that education is practicable only in that style, willthink it hopeless to make children their own teachers. If, however, theywill consider that the all-important knowledge of surrounding objectswhich a child gets in its early years is got without help--if they willremember that the child is self-taught in the use of its mothertongue--if they will estimate the amount of that experience of life, that out-of-school wisdom, which every boy gathers for himself--if theywill mark the unusual intelligence of the uncared-for London _gamin_, asshown in whatever directions his faculties have been tasked--if, further, they will think how many minds have struggled up unaided, notonly through the mysteries of our irrationally-planned _curriculum_, butthrough hosts of other obstacles besides; they will find it a notunreasonable conclusion that if the subjects be put before him in rightorder and right form, any pupil of ordinary capacity will surmount hissuccessive difficulties with but little assistance. Who indeed can watchthe ceaseless observation, and inquiry, and inference going on in achild's mind, or listen to its acute remarks on matters within the rangeof its faculties, without perceiving that these powers it manifests, ifbrought to bear systematically upon studies _within the same range_, would readily master them without help? This need for perpetual tellingresults from our stupidity, not from the child's. We drag it away fromthe facts in which it is interested, and which it is activelyassimilating of itself. We put before it facts far too complex for it tounderstand; and therefore distasteful to it. Finding that it will notvoluntarily acquire these facts, we thrust them into its mind by forceof threats and punishment. By thus denying the knowledge it craves, andcramming it with knowledge it cannot digest, we produce a morbid stateof its faculties; and a consequent disgust for knowledge in general. Andwhen, as a result partly of the stolid indolence we have brought on, andpartly of still-continued unfitness in its studies, the child canunderstand nothing without explanation, and becomes a mere passiverecipient of our instruction, we infer that education must necessarilybe carried on thus. Having by our method induced helplessness, we makethe helplessness a reason for our method. Clearly then, the experienceof pedagogues cannot rationally be quoted against the system we areadvocating. And whoever sees this, will see that we may safely followthe discipline of Nature throughout--may, by a skilful ministration, make the mind as self-developing in its later stages as it is in itsearlier ones; and that only by doing this can we produce the highestpower and activity. 

7. As a final test by which to judge any plan of culture, should comethe question, --Does it create a pleasurable excitement in the pupils?When in doubt whether a particular mode or arrangement is or is not morein harmony with the foregoing principles than some other, we may safelyabide by this criterion. Even when, as considered theoretically, theproposed course seems the best, yet if it produces no interest, or lessinterest than some other course, we should relinquish it; for a child'sintellectual instincts are more trustworthy than our reasonings. Inrespect to the knowing-faculties, we may confidently trust in thegeneral law, that under normal conditions, healthful action ispleasurable, while action which gives pain is not healthful. Though atpresent very incompletely conformed to by the emotional nature, yet bythe intellectual nature, or at least by those parts of it which thechild exhibits, this law is almost wholly conformed to. The repugnancesto this and that study which vex the ordinary teacher, are not innate, but result from his unwise system. Fellenberg says, "Experience hastaught me that _indolence_ in young persons is so directly opposite totheir natural disposition to activity, that unless it is the consequenceof bad education, it is almost invariably connected with someconstitutional defect. " And the spontaneous activity to which childrenare thus prone, is simply the pursuit of those pleasures which thehealthful exercise of the faculties gives. It is true that some of thehigher mental powers, as yet but little developed in the race, andcongenitally possessed in any considerable degree only by the mostadvanced, are indisposed to the amount of exertion required of them. Butthese, in virtue of their very complexity, will, in a normal course ofculture, come last into exercise; and will therefore have no demandsmade on them until the pupil has arrived at an age when ulterior motivescan be brought into play, and an indirect pleasure made tocounterbalance a direct displeasure. With all faculties lower thanthese, however, the immediate gratification consequent on activity, isthe normal stimulus; and under good management the only needfulstimulus. When we have to fall back on some other, we must take the factas evidence that we are on the wrong track. Experience is daily showingwith greater clearness, that there is always a method to be foundproductive of interest--even of delight; and it ever turns out that thisis the method proved by all other tests to be the right one. 

With most, these guiding principles will weigh but little if left inthis abstract form. Partly, therefore, to exemplify their application, and partly with a view of making sundry specific suggestions, we proposenow to pass from the theory of education to the practice of it. 

 * * * * *

It was the opinion of Pestalozzi, and one which has ever since his daybeen gaining ground, that education of some kind should begin from thecradle. Whoever has watched, with any discernment, the wide-eyed gaze ofthe infant at surrounding objects knows very well that education _does_begin thus early, whether we intend it or not; and that these fingeringsand suckings of everything it can lay hold of, these open-mouthedlistenings to every sound, are first steps in the series which ends inthe discovery of unseen planets, the invention of calculating engines, the production of great paintings, or the composition of symphonies andoperas. This activity of the faculties from the very first, beingspontaneous and inevitable, the question is whether we shall supply indue variety the materials on which they may exercise themselves; and tothe question so put, none but an affirmative answer can be given. Asbefore said, however, agreement with Pestalozzi's theory does notinvolve agreement with his practice; and here occurs a case in point. Treating of instruction in spelling he says:--

 "The spelling-book ought, therefore, to contain all the sounds of the language, and these ought to be taught in every family from the earliest infancy. The child who learns his spelling book ought to repeat them to the infant in the cradle, before it is able to pronounce even one of them, so that they may be deeply impressed upon its mind by frequent repetition. "

Joining this with the suggestions for "a nursery method, " set down inhis _Mother's Manual_, in which he makes the names, positions, connections, numbers, properties, and uses of the limbs and body hisfirst lessons, it becomes clear that Pestalozzi's notions on earlymental development were too crude to enable him to devise judiciousplans. Let us consider the course which Psychology dictates. 

The earliest impressions which the mind can assimilate are theundecomposable sensations produced by resistance, light, sound, etc. Manifestly, decomposable states of consciousness cannot exist before thestates of consciousness out of which they are composed. There can be noidea of form until some familiarity with light in its gradations andqualities, or resistance in its different intensities, has beenacquired; for, as has been long known, we recognise visible form bymeans of varieties of light, and tangible form by means of varieties ofresistance. Similarly, no articulate sound is cognisable until theinarticulate sounds which go to make it up have been learned. And thusmust it be in every other case. Following, therefore, the necessary lawof progression from the simple to the complex, we should provide for theinfant a sufficiency of objects presenting different degrees and kindsof resistance, a sufficiency of objects reflecting different amounts andqualities of light, and a sufficiency of sounds contrasted in theirloudness, their pitch and their _timbre_. How fully this _à priori_conclusion is confirmed by infantile instincts, all will see on beingreminded of the delight which every young child has in biting its toys, in feeling its brother's bright jacket-buttons, and pulling papa'swhiskers--how absorbed it becomes in gazing at any gaudily-paintedobject, to which it applies the word "pretty, " when it can pronounce it, wholly because of the bright colours--and how its face broadens into alaugh at the tattlings of its nurse, the snapping of a visitor'sfingers, or any sound which it has not before heard. Fortunately, theordinary practices of the nursery fulfil these early requirements ofeducation to a considerable degree. Much, however, remains to be done;and it is of more importance that it should be done than at firstappears. Every faculty during that spontaneous activity whichaccompanies its evolution is capable of receiving more vivid impressionsthan at any other period. Moreover, as these simplest elements have tobe mastered, and as the mastery of them whenever achieved must taketime, it becomes an economy of time to occupy this first stage ofchildhood, during which no other intellectual action is possible, ingaining a complete familiarity with them in all their modifications. Norlet us omit the fact, that both temper and health will be improved bythe continual gratification resulting from a due supply of theseimpressions which every child so greedily assimilates. Space, could itbe spared, might here be well filled by some suggestions towards a moresystematic ministration to these simplest of the perceptions. But itmust suffice to point out that any such ministration, recognising thegeneral law of evolution from the indefinite to the definite, shouldproceed upon the corollary that in the development of every faculty, markedly contrasted impressions are the first to be distinguished; thathence sounds greatly differing in loudness and pitch, colours veryremote from each other, and substances widely unlike in hardness ortexture, should be the first supplied; and that in each case theprogression must be by slow degrees to impressions more nearly allied. 

Passing on to object-lessons, which manifestly form a naturalcontinuation of this primary culture of the senses, it is to beremarked, that the system commonly pursued is wholly at variance withthe method of Nature, as exhibited alike in infancy, in adult life, andin the course of civilisation. "The child, " says M. Marcel, "must be_shown_ how all the parts of an object are connected, etc. ;" and thevarious manuals of these object-lessons severally contain lists of thefacts which the child is to be _told_ respecting each of the things putbefore it. Now it needs but a glance at the daily life of the infant tosee that all the knowledge of things which is gained before theacquirement of speech, is self-gained--that the qualities of hardnessand weight associated with certain appearances, the possession ofparticular forms and colours by particular persons, the production ofspecial sounds by animals of special aspects, are phenomena which itobserves for itself. In manhood too, when there are no longer teachersat hand, the observations and inferences hourly required for guidancemust be made unhelped; and success in life depends upon the accuracy andcompleteness with which they are made. Is it probable, then, that whilethe process displayed in the evolution of humanity at large is repeatedalike by the infant and the man, a reverse process must be followedduring the period between infancy and manhood? and that too, even in sosimple a thing as learning the properties of objects? Is it not obvious, on the contrary, that one method must be pursued throughout? And is notNature perpetually thrusting this method upon us, if we had but the witto see it, and the humility to adopt it? What can be more manifest thanthe desire of children for intellectual sympathy? Mark how the infantsitting on your knee thrusts into your face the toy it holds, that youtoo may look at it. See when it makes a creak with its wet finger on thetable, how it turns and looks at you; does it again, and again looks atyou; thus saying as clearly as it can--"Hear this new sound. " Watch theelder children coming into the room exclaiming--"Mamma, see what acurious thing, " "Mamma, look at this, " "Mamma, look at that:" a habitwhich they would continue, did not the silly mamma tell them not totease her. Observe that, when out with the nurse-maid, each little oneruns up to her with the new flower it has gathered, to show her howpretty it is, and to get her also to say it is pretty. Listen to theeager volubility with which every urchin describes any novelty he hasbeen to see, if only he can find some one who will attend with anyinterest. Does not the induction lie on the surface? Is it not clearthat we must conform our course to these intellectual instincts--that wemust just systematise the natural process--that we must listen to allthe child has to tell us about each object; must induce it to sayeverything it can think of about such object; must occasionally draw itsattention to facts it has not yet observed, with the view of leading itto notice them itself whenever they recur; and must go on by and by toindicate or supply new series of things for a like exhaustiveexamination? Note the way in which, on this method, the intelligentmother conducts her lessons. Step by step she familiarises her littleboy with the names of the simpler attributes, hardness, softness, colour, taste, size: in doing which she finds him eagerly help bybringing this to show her that it is red, and the other to make her feelthat it is hard, as fast as she gives him words for these properties. Each additional property, as she draws his attention to it in some freshthing which he brings her, she takes care to mention in connection withthose he already knows; so that by the natural tendency to imitate, hemay get into the habit of repeating them one after another. Gradually asthere occur cases in which he omits to name one or more of theproperties he has become acquainted with, she introduces the practiceof asking him whether there is not something more that he can tell herabout the thing he has got. Probably he does not understand. Afterletting him puzzle awhile she tells him; perhaps laughing at him alittle for his failure. A few recurrences of this and he perceives whatis to be done. When next she says she knows something more about theobject than he has told her, his pride is roused; he looks at itintently; he thinks over all that he has heard; and the problem beingeasy, presently finds it out. He is full of glee at his success, and shesympathises with him. In common with every child, he delights in thediscovery of his powers. He wishes for more victories, and goes in questof more things about which to tell her. As his faculties unfold she addsquality after quality to his list: progressing from hardness andsoftness to roughness and smoothness, from colour to polish, from simplebodies to composite ones--thus constantly complicating the problem as hegains competence, constantly taxing his attention and memory to agreater extent, constantly maintaining his interest by supplying himwith new impressions such as his mind can assimilate, and constantlygratifying him by conquests over such small difficulties as he canmaster. In doing this she is manifestly but following out thatspontaneous process which was going on during a still earlierperiod--simply aiding self-evolution; and is aiding it in the modesuggested by the boy's instinctive behaviour to her. Manifestly, too, the course she is adopting is the one best calculated to establish ahabit of exhaustive observation; which is the professed aim of theselessons. To _tell_ a child this and to _show_ it the other, is not toteach it how to observe, but to make it a mere recipient of another'sobservations: a proceeding which weakens rather than strengthens itspowers of self-instruction--which deprives it of the pleasures resultingfrom successful activity--which presents this all-attractive knowledgeunder the aspect of formal tuition--and which thus generates thatindifference and even disgust not unfrequently felt towards theseobject-lessons. On the other hand, to pursue the course above describedis simply to guide the intellect to its appropriate food; to join withthe intellectual appetites their natural adjuncts--_amour propre_ andthe desire for sympathy; to induce by the union of all these anintensity of attention which insures perceptions both vivid andcomplete; and to habituate the mind from the beginning to that practiceof self-help which it must ultimately follow. 

Object-lessons should not only be carried on after quite a differentfashion from that commonly pursued, but should be extended to a range ofthings far wider, and continued to a period far later, than now. Theyshould not be limited to the contents of the house; but should includethose of the fields and the hedges, the quarry and the sea-shore. Theyshould not cease with early childhood; but should be so kept up duringyouth, as insensibly to merge into the investigations of the naturalistand the man of science. Here again we have but to follow Nature'sleadings. Where can be seen an intenser delight than that of childrenpicking up new flowers and watching new insects; or hoarding pebbles andshells? And who is there but perceives that by sympathising with themthey may be led on to any extent of inquiry into the qualities andstructures of these things? Every botanist who has had children with himin the woods and lanes must have noticed how eagerly they joined in hispursuits, how keenly they searched out plants for him, how intently theywatched while he examined them, how they overwhelmed him with questions. The consistent follower of Bacon--the "servant and interpreter ofnature, " will see that we ought modestly to adopt the course of culturethus indicated. Having become familiar with the simpler properties ofinorganic objects, the child should by the same process be led on to anexhaustive examination of the things it picks up in its daily walks--theless complex facts they present being alone noticed at first: in plants, the colours, numbers, and forms of the petals, and shapes of the stalksand leaves; in insects, the numbers of the wings, legs, and antennæ, andtheir colours. As these become fully appreciated and invariablyobserved, further facts may be successively introduced: in the one case, the numbers of stamens and pistils, the forms of the flowers, whetherradial or bilateral in symmetry, the arrangement and character of theleaves, whether opposite or alternate, stalked or sessile, smooth orhairy, serrated, toothed, or crenate; in the other, the divisions of thebody, the segments of the abdomen, the markings of the wings, the numberof joints in the legs, and the forms of the smaller organs--the systempursued throughout being that of making it the child's ambition to sayrespecting everything it finds all that can be said. Then when a fit agehas been reached, the means of preserving these plants, which havebecome so interesting in virtue of the knowledge obtained of them, mayas a great favour be supplied; and eventually, as a still greaterfavour, may also be supplied the apparatus needful for keeping the larvæof our common butterflies and moths through their transformations--apractice which, as we can personally testify, yields the highestgratification; is continued with ardour for years; when joined with theformation of an entomological collection, adds immense interest toSaturday-afternoon rambles; and forms an admirable introduction to thestudy of physiology. 

We are quite prepared to hear from many that all this is throwing awaytime and energy; and that children would be much better occupied inwriting their copies or learning their pence-tables, and so fittingthemselves for the business of life. We regret that such crude ideas ofwhat constitutes education, and such a narrow conception of utility, should still be prevalent. Saying nothing on the need for a systematicculture of the perceptions and the value of the practices aboveinculcated as subserving that need, we are prepared to defend them evenon the score of the knowledge gained. If men are to be mere cits, mereporers over ledgers, with no ideas beyond their trades--if it is wellthat they should be as the cockney whose conception of rural pleasuresextends no further than sitting in a tea-garden smoking pipes anddrinking porter; or as the squire who thinks of woods as places forshooting in, of uncultivated plants as nothing but weeds, and whoclassifies animals into game, vermin, and stock--then indeed it isneedless to learn anything that does not directly help to replenish thetill and fill the larder. But if there is a more worthy aim for us thanto be drudges--if there are other uses in the things around than theirpower to bring money--if there are higher faculties to be exercised thanacquisitive and sensual ones--if the pleasures which poetry and art andscience and philosophy can bring are of any moment; then is it desirablethat the instinctive inclination which every child shows to observenatural beauties and investigate natural phenomena, should beencouraged. But this gross utilitarianism which is content to come intothe world and quit it again without knowing what kind of a world it isor what it contains, may be met on its own ground. It will by and by befound that a knowledge of the laws of life is more important than anyother knowledge whatever--that the laws of life underlie not only allbodily and mental processes, but by implication all the transactions ofthe house and the street, all commerce, all politics, all morals--andthat therefore without a comprehension of them, neither personal norsocial conduct can be rightly regulated. It will eventually be seen too, that the laws of life are essentially the same throughout the wholeorganic creation; and further, that they cannot be properly understoodin their complex manifestations until they have been studied in theirsimpler ones. And when this is seen, it will be also seen that in aidingthe child to acquire the out-of-door information for which it shows sogreat an avidity, and in encouraging the acquisition of such informationthroughout youth, we are simply inducing it to store up the raw materialfor future organisation--the facts that will one day bring home to itwith due force, those great generalisations of science by which actionsmay be rightly guided. 

The spreading recognition of drawing as an element of education is oneamong many signs of the more rational views on mental culture nowbeginning to prevail. Once more it may be remarked that teachers are atlength adopting the course which Nature has perpetually been pressing ontheir notice. The spontaneous attempts made by children to represent themen, houses, trees, and animals around them--on a slate if they can getnothing better, or with lead-pencil on paper if they can beg them--arefamiliar to all. To be shown through a picture-book is one of theirhighest gratifications; and as usual, their strong imitative tendencypresently generates in them the ambition to make pictures themselvesalso. This effort to depict the striking things they see is a furtherinstinctive exercise of the perceptions--a means whereby still greateraccuracy and completeness of observation are induced. And alike bytrying to interest us in their discoveries of the sensible properties ofthings, and by their endeavours to draw, they solicit from us just thatkind of culture which they most need. 

Had teachers been guided by Nature's hints, not only in making drawing apart of education but in choosing modes of teaching it, they would havedone still better than they have done. What is that the child firsttries to represent? Things that are large, things that are attractive incolour, things round which its pleasurable associations mostcluster--human beings from whom it has received so many emotions; cowsand dogs which interest by the many phenomena they present; houses thatare hourly visible and strike by their size and contrast of parts. Andwhich of the processes of representation gives it most delight?Colouring. Paper and pencil are good in default of something better; buta box of paints and a brush--these are the treasures. The drawing ofoutlines immediately becomes secondary to colouring--is gone throughmainly with a view to the colouring; and if leave can be got to colour abook of prints, how great is the favour! Now, ridiculous as such aposition will seem to drawing-masters who postpone colouring and whoteach form by a dreary discipline of copying lines, we believe that thecourse of culture thus indicated is the right one. The priority ofcolour to form, which, as already pointed out, has a psychologicalbasis, should be recognised from the beginning; and from the beginningalso, the things imitated should be real. That greater delight in colourwhich is not only conspicuous in children but persists in most personsthroughout life, should be continuously employed as the natural stimulusto the mastery of the comparatively difficult and unattractive form: thepleasure of the subsequent tinting should be the prospective reward forthe labour of delineation. And these efforts to represent interestingactualities should be encouraged; in the conviction that as, by awidening experience, simpler and more practicable objects becomeinteresting, they too will be attempted; and that so a gradualapproximation will be made towards imitations having some resemblance tothe realities. The extreme indefiniteness which, in conformity with thelaw of evolution, these first attempts exhibit, is anything but a reasonfor ignoring them. No matter how grotesque the shapes produced; nomatter how daubed and glaring the colours. The question is not whetherthe child is producing good drawings. The question is, whether it isdeveloping its faculties. It has first to gain some command over itsfingers, some crude notions of likeness; and this practice is betterthan any other for these ends, since it is the spontaneous andinteresting one. During early childhood no formal drawing-lessons arepossible. Shall we therefore repress, or neglect to aid, these effortsat self-culture? or shall we encourage and guide them as normalexercises of the perceptions and the powers of manipulation? If byfurnishing cheap woodcuts to be painted, and simple contour-maps to havetheir boundary lines tinted, we can not only pleasurably draw out thefaculty of colour, but can incidentally produce some familiarity withthe outlines of things and countries, and some ability to move the brushsteadily; and if by the supply of tempting objects we can keep up theinstinctive practice of making representations, however rough; it musthappen that when the age for lessons in drawing is reached, there willexist a facility that would else have been absent. Time will have beengained; and trouble, both to teacher and pupil, saved. 

From what has been said, it may be readily inferred that we condemn thepractice of drawing from copies; and still more so that formaldiscipline in making straight lines and curved lines and compound lines, with which it is the fashion of some teachers to begin. We regret thatthe Society of Arts has recently, in its series of manuals on"Rudimentary Art Instruction, " given its countenance to an elementarydrawing-book, which is the most vicious in principle that we have seen. We refer to the _Outline from Outline, or from the Flat_, by John Bell, sculptor. As explained in the prefatory note, this publication proposes"to place before the student a simple, yet logical mode of instruction;"and to this end sets out with a number of definitions thus:--

 "A simple line in drawing is a thin mark drawn from one point to another. 

 "Lines may be divided, as to their nature in drawing, into two classes:--

 "1. _Straight_, which are marks that go the shortest road between two points, as A B. 

 "2. Or _Curved_, which are marks which do not go the shortest road between two points, as C D. "

And so the introduction progresses to horizontal lines, perpendicularlines, oblique lines, angles of the several kinds, and the variousfigures which lines and angles make up. The work is, in short, a grammarof form, with exercises. And thus the system of commencing with a dryanalysis of elements, which, in the teaching of language, has beenexploded, is to be re-instituted in the teaching of drawing. We are toset out with the definite, instead of with the indefinite. The abstractis to be preliminary to the concrete. Scientific conceptions are toprecede empirical experiences. That this is an inversion of the normalorder, we need scarcely repeat. It has been well said concerning thecustom of prefacing the art of speaking any tongue by a drilling in theparts of speech and their functions, that it is about as reasonable asprefacing the art of walking by a course of lessons on the bones, muscles, and nerves of the legs; and much the same thing may be said ofthe proposal to preface the art of representing objects, by anomenclature and definitions of the lines which they yield on analysis. These technicalities are alike repulsive and needless. They render thestudy distasteful at the very outset; and all with the view of teachingthat which, in the course of practice, will be learnt unconsciously. Just as the child incidentally gathers the meanings of ordinary wordsfrom the conversations going on around it, without the help ofdictionaries; so, from the remarks on objects, pictures, and its owndrawings, will it presently acquire, not only without effort but evenpleasurably, those same scientific terms which, when taught at first, are a mystery and a weariness. 

If any dependence is to be placed on the general principles of educationthat have been laid down, the process of learning to draw should bethroughout continuous with those efforts of early childhood, describedabove as so worthy of encouragement. By the time that the voluntarypractice thus initiated has given some steadiness of hand, and sometolerable ideas of proportion, there will have arisen a vague notion ofbody as presenting its three dimensions in perspective. And when, aftersundry abortive, Chinese-like attempts to render this appearance onpaper, there has grown up a pretty clear perception of the thing to bedone, and a desire to do it, a first lesson in empirical perspective maybe given by means of the apparatus occasionally used in explainingperspective as a science. This sounds alarming; but the experiment isboth comprehensible and interesting to any boy or girl of ordinaryintelligence. A plate of glass so framed as to stand vertically on thetable, being placed before the pupil, and a book or like simple objectlaid on the other side of it, he is requested, while keeping the eye inone position, to make ink-dots on the glass so that they may coincidewith, or hide, the corners of this object. He is next told to join thesedots by lines; on doing which he perceives that the lines he makes hide, or coincide with, the outlines of the object. And then by putting asheet of paper on the other side of the glass, it is made manifest tohim that the lines he has thus drawn represent the object as he saw it. They not only look like it, but he perceives that they must be like it, because he made them agree with its outlines; and by removing the paperhe can convince himself that they do agree with its outlines. The factis new and striking; and serves him as an experimental demonstration, that lines of certain lengths, placed in certain directions on a plane, can represent lines of other lengths, and having other directions, inspace. By gradually changing the position of the object, he may be ledto observe how some lines shorten and disappear, while others come intosight and lengthen. The convergence of parallel lines, and, indeed, allthe leading facts of perspective, may, from time to time, be similarlyillustrated to him. If he has been duly accustomed to self-help, he willgladly, when it is suggested, attempt to draw one of these outlines onpaper, by the eye only; and it may soon be made an exciting aim toproduce, unassisted, a representation as like as he can to onesubsequently sketched on the glass. Thus, without the unintelligent, mechanical practice of copying other drawings, but by a method at oncesimple and attractive--rational, yet not abstract--a familiarity withthe linear appearances of things, and a faculty of rendering them, maybe step by step acquired. To which advantages add these:--that even thusearly the pupil learns, almost unconsciously, the true theory of apicture (namely, that it is a delineation of objects as they appear whenprojected on a plane placed between them and the eye); and that when hereaches a fit age for commencing scientific perspective, he is alreadythoroughly acquainted with the facts which form its logical basis. 

As exhibiting a rational mode of conveying primary conceptions ingeometry, we cannot do better than quote the following passage from Mr. Wyse:--

 "A child has been in the habit of using cubes for arithmetic; let him use them also for the elements of geometry. I would begin with solids, the reverse of the usual plan. It saves all the difficulty of absurd definitions, and bad explanations on points, lines, and surfaces, which are nothing but abstractions. . . . A cube presents many of the principal elements of geometry; it at once exhibits points, straight lines, parallel lines, angles, parallelograms, etc. , etc. These cubes are divisible into various parts. The pupil has already been familiarised with such divisions in numeration, and he now proceeds to a comparison of their several parts, and of the relation of these parts to each other. . . . From thence he advances to globes, which furnish him with elementary notions of the circle, of curves generally, etc. , etc. 

 "Being tolerably familiar with solids, he may now substitute planes. The transition may be made very easy. Let the cube, for instance, be cut into thin divisions, and placed on paper; he will then see as many plane rectangles as he has divisions; so with all the others. Globes may be treated in the same manner; he will thus see how surfaces really are generated, and be enabled to abstract them with facility in every solid. 

 "He has thus acquired the alphabet and reading of geometry. He now proceeds to write it. 

 "The simplest operation, and therefore the first, is merely to place these planes on a piece of paper, and pass the pencil round them. When this has been frequently done, the plane may be put at a little distance, and the child required to copy it, and so on. "

A stock of geometrical conceptions having been obtained, in some suchmanner as this recommended by Mr. Wyse, a further step may be taken, byintroducing the practice of testing the correctness of figures drawn byeye: thus both exciting an ambition to make them exact, and continuallyillustrating the difficulty of fulfilling that ambition. There can belittle doubt that geometry had its origin (as, indeed, the word implies)in the methods discovered by artizans and others, of making accuratemeasurements for the foundations of buildings, areas of inclosures, andthe like; and that its truths came to be treasured up, merely with aview to their immediate utility. They would be introduced to the pupilunder analogous relationships. In cutting out pieces for hiscard-houses, in drawing ornamental diagrams for colouring, and in thosevarious instructive occupations which an inventive teacher will lead himinto, he may for a length of time be advantageously left, like theprimitive builder, to tentative processes; and so will learn throughexperience the difficulty of achieving his aims by the unaided senses. When, having meanwhile undergone a valuable discipline of theperceptions, he has reached a fit age for using a pair of compasses, hewill, while duly appreciating these as enabling him to verify his ocularguesses, be still hindered by the imperfections of the approximativemethod. In this stage he may be left for a further period: partly asbeing yet too young for anything higher; partly because it is desirablethat he should be made to feel still more strongly the want ofsystematic contrivances. If the acquisition of knowledge is to be madecontinuously interesting; and if, in the early civilisation of thechild, as in the early civilisation of the race, science is valued onlyas ministering to art; it is manifest that the proper preliminary togeometry, is a long practice in those constructive processes whichgeometry will facilitate. Observe that here, too, Nature points the way. Children show a strong propensity to cut out things in paper, to make, to build--a propensity which, if encouraged and directed, will not onlyprepare the way for scientific conceptions, but will develop thosepowers of manipulation in which most people are so deficient. 

When the observing and inventive faculties have attained the requisitepower, the pupil may be introduced to empirical geometry; thatis--geometry dealing with methodical solutions, but not with thedemonstrations of them. Like all other transitions in education, thisshould be made not formally but incidentally; and the relationship toconstructive art should still be maintained. To make, out of cardboard, a tetrahedron like one given to him, is a problem which will interestthe pupil and serve as a convenient starting-point. In attempting this, he finds it needful to draw four equilateral triangles arranged inspecial positions. Being unable in the absence of an exact method to dothis accurately, he discovers on putting the triangles into theirrespective positions, that he cannot make their sides fit; and thattheir angles do not meet at the apex. He may now be shown how, bydescribing a couple of circles, each of these triangles may be drawnwith perfect correctness and without guessing; and after his failure hewill value the information. Having thus helped him to the solution ofhis first problem, with the view of illustrating the nature ofgeometrical methods, he is in future to be left to solve the questionsput to him as best he can. To bisect a line, to erect a perpendicular, to describe a square, to bisect an angle, to draw a line parallel to agiven line, to describe a hexagon, are problems which a little patiencewill enable him to find out. And from these he may be led on step bystep to more complex questions: all of which, under judiciousmanagement, he will puzzle through unhelped. Doubtless, many of thosebrought up under the old regime, will look upon this assertionsceptically. We speak from facts, however; and those neither few norspecial. We have seen a class of boys become so interested in making outsolutions to such problems, as to look forward to their geometry-lessonas a chief event of the week. Within the last month, we have heard ofone girl's school, in which some of the young ladies voluntarily occupythemselves with geometrical questions out of school-hours; and ofanother, where they not only do this, but where one of them is beggingfor problems to find out during the holidays: both which facts we stateon the authority of the teacher. Strong proofs, these, of thepracticability and the immense advantage of self-development! A branchof knowledge which, as commonly taught, is dry and even repulsive, isthus, by following the method of Nature, made extremely interesting andprofoundly beneficial. We say profoundly beneficial, because the effectsare not confined to the gaining of geometrical facts, but oftenrevolutionise the whole state of mind. It has repeatedly occurred thatthose who have been stupefied by the ordinary school-drill--by itsabstract formulas, its wearisome tasks, its cramming--have suddenly hadtheir intellects roused by thus ceasing to make them passive recipients, and inducing them to become active discoverers. The discouragementcaused by bad teaching having been diminished by a little sympathy, andsufficient perseverance excited to achieve a first success, there arisesa revulsion of feeling affecting the whole nature. They no longer findthemselves incompetent; they, too, can do something. And gradually assuccess follows success, the incubus of despair disappears, and theyattack the difficulties of their other studies with a courage insuringconquest. 

A few weeks after the foregoing remarks were originally published, Professor Tyndall in a lecture at the Royal Institution "On theImportance of the Study of Physics as a Branch of Education, " gave someconclusive evidence to the same effect. His testimony, based on personalobservation, is of such great value that we cannot refrain from quotingit. Here it is. 

 "One of the duties which fell to my share, during the period to which I have referred, was the instruction of a class in mathematics, and I usually found that Euclid and the ancient geometry generally, when addressed to the understanding, formed a very attractive study for youth. But it was my habitual practice to withdraw the boys from the routine of the book, and to appeal to their self-power in the treatment of questions not comprehended in that routine. At first, the change from the beaten track usually excited a little aversion: the youth felt like a child amid strangers; but in no single instance have I found this aversion to continue. When utterly disheartened, I have encouraged the boy by that anecdote of Newton, where he attributes the difference between him and other men, mainly to his own patience; or of Mirabeau, when he ordered his servant, who had stated something to be impossible, never to use that stupid word again. Thus cheered, he has returned to his task with a smile, which perhaps had something of doubt in it, but which, nevertheless, evinced a resolution to try again. I have seen the boy's eye brighten, and at length, with a pleasure of which the ecstasy of Archimedes was but a simple expansion, heard him exclaim, 'I have it, sir. ' The consciousness of self-power, thus awakened, was of immense value; and animated by it, the progress of the class was truly astonishing. It was often my custom to give the boys their choice of pursuing their propositions in the book, or of trying their strength at others not to be found there. Never in a single instance have I known the book to be chosen. I was ever ready to assist when I deemed help needful, but my offers of assistance were habitually declined. The boys had tasted the sweets of intellectual conquest and demanded victories of their own. I have seen their diagrams scratched on the walls, cut into the beams upon the play ground, and numberless other illustrations of the living interest they took in the subject. For my own part, as far as experience in teaching goes, I was a mere fledgling: I knew nothing of the rules of pedagogics, as the Germans name it; but I adhered to the spirit indicated at the commencement of this discourse, and endeavoured to make geometry a _means_ and not a _branch_ of education. The experiment was successful, and some of the most delightful hours of my existence have been spent in marking the vigorous and cheerful expansion of mental power, when appealed to in the manner I have described. "

This empirical geometry which presents an endless series of problems, should be continued along with other studies for years; and maythroughout be advantageously accompanied by those concrete applicationsof its principles which serve as its preliminary. After the cube, theoctahedron, and the various forms of pyramid and prism have beenmastered, may come the more complex regular bodies--the dodecahedron andicosahedron--to construct which out of single pieces of cardboard, requires considerable ingenuity. From these, the transition maynaturally be made to such modified forms of the regular bodies as aremet with in crystals--the truncated cube, the cube with its dihedral aswell as its solid angles truncated, the octahedron and the variousprisms as similarly modified: in imitating which numerous forms assumedby different metals and salts, an acquaintance with the leading facts ofmineralogy will be incidentally gained. [1]

After long continuance in exercises of this kind, rational geometry, asmay be supposed, presents no obstacles. Habituated to contemplaterelationships of form and quantity, and vaguely perceiving from time totime the necessity of certain results as reached by certain means, thepupil comes to regard the demonstrations of Euclid as the missingsupplements to his familiar problems. His well-disciplined facultiesenable him easily to master its successive propositions, and toappreciate their value; and he has the occasional gratification offinding some of his own methods proved to be true. Thus he enjoys whatis to the unprepared a dreary task. It only remains to add, that hismind will presently arrive at a fit condition for that most valuable ofall exercises for the reflective faculties--the making of originaldemonstrations. Such theorems as those appended to the successive booksof the Messrs. Chambers's Euclid, will soon become practicable to him;and in proving them, the process of self-development will be notintellectual only, but moral. 

To continue these suggestions much further, would be to write a detailedtreatise on education, which we do not purpose. The foregoing outlinesof plans for exercising the perceptions in early childhood, forconducting object-lessons, for teaching drawing and geometry, must beconsidered simply as illustrations of the method dictated by the generalprinciples previously specified. We believe that on examination theywill be found not only to progress from the simple to the complex, fromthe indefinite to the definite, from the concrete to the abstract, fromthe empirical to the rational; but to satisfy the further requirements, that education shall be a repetition of civilisation in little, that itshall be as much as possible a process of self-evolution, and that itshall be pleasurable. The fulfilment of all these conditions by one typeof method, tends alike to verify the conditions, and to prove that typeof the method the right one. Mark too, that this method is the logicaloutcome of the tendency characterising all modern improvements intuition--that it is but an adoption in full of the natural system whichthey adopt partially--that it displays this complete adoption of thenatural system, both by conforming to the above principles, and byfollowing the suggestions which the unfolding mind itself gives:facilitating its spontaneous activities, and so aiding the developmentswhich Nature is busy with. Thus there seems abundant reason to conclude, that the mode of procedure above exemplified, closely approximates tothe true one. 

 * * * * *

A few paragraphs must be added in further inculcation of the two generalprinciples, that are alike the most important and the least attended to;namely, the principle that throughout youth, as in early childhood andin maturity, the process shall be one of self-instruction; and theobverse principle, that the mental action induced shall be throughoutintrinsically grateful. If progression from simple to complex, fromindefinite to definite, and from concrete to abstract, be considered theessential requirements as dictated by abstract psychology; then do therequirements that knowledge shall be self-mastered, and pleasurablymastered, become tests by which we may judge whether the dictates ofabstract psychology are being obeyed. If the first embody the leadinggeneralisations of the _science_ of mental growth, the last are thechief canons of the _art_ of fostering mental growth. For manifestly, ifthe steps in our _curriculum_ are so arranged that they can besuccessively ascended by the pupil himself with little or no help, theymust correspond with the stages of evolution in his faculties; andmanifestly, if the successive achievements of these steps areintrinsically gratifying to him, it follows that they require no morethan a normal exercise of his powers. 

But making education a process of self-evolution, has other advantagesthan this of keeping our lessons in the right order. In the first place, it guarantees a vividness and permanency of impression which the usualmethods can never produce. Any piece of knowledge which the pupil hashimself acquired--any problem which he has himself solved, becomes, byvirtue of the conquest, much more thoroughly his than it could else be. The preliminary activity of mind which his success implies, theconcentration of thought necessary to it, and the excitement consequenton his triumph, conspire to register the facts in his memory in a waythat no mere information heard from a teacher, or read in a school-book, can be registered. Even if he fails, the tension to which his facultieshave been wound up, insures his remembrance of the solution when givento him, better than half-a-dozen repetitions would. Observe, again, thatthis discipline necessitates a continuous organisation of the knowledgehe acquires. It is in the very nature of facts and inferencesassimilated in this normal manner, that they successively become thepremises of further conclusions--the means of solving further questions. The solution of yesterday's problem helps the pupil in masteringto-day's. Thus the knowledge is turned into faculty as soon as it istaken in, and forthwith aids in the general function of thinking--doesnot lie merely written on the pages of an internal library, as whenrote-learnt. Mark further, the moral culture which this constantself-help involves. Courage in attacking difficulties, patientconcentration of the attention, perseverance through failures--these arecharacteristics which after-life specially requires; and these arecharacteristics which this system of making the mind work for its foodspecially produces. That it is thoroughly practicable to carry outinstruction after this fashion, we can ourselves testify; having been inyouth thus led to solve the comparatively complex problems ofperspective. And that leading teachers have been tending in thisdirection, is indicated alike in the saying of Fellenberg, that "theindividual, independent activity of the pupil is of much greaterimportance than the ordinary busy officiousness of many who assume theoffice of educators;" in the opinion of Horace Mann, that "unfortunatelyeducation amongst us at present consists too much in _telling_, not in_training_;" and in the remark of M. Marcel, that "what the learnerdiscovers by mental exertion is better known than what is told to him. "

Similarly with the correlative requirement, that the method of culturepursued shall be one productive of an intrinsically happy activity, --anactivity not happy because of extrinsic rewards to be obtained, butbecause of its own healthfulness. Conformity to this requirement, besides preventing us from thwarting the normal process of evolution, incidentally secures positive benefits of importance. Unless we are toreturn to an ascetic morality (or rather _im_-morality) the maintenanceof youthful happiness must be considered as in itself a worthy aim. Notto dwell upon this, however, we go on to remark that a pleasurable stateof feeling is far more favourable to intellectual action than a state ofindifference or disgust. Every one knows that things read, heard, orseen with interest, are better remembered than things read, heard, orseen with apathy. In the one case the faculties appealed to are activelyoccupied with the subject presented; in the other they are inactivelyoccupied with it, and the attention is continually drawn away by moreattractive thoughts. Hence the impressions are respectively strong andweak. Moreover, to the intellectual listlessness which a pupil's lack ofinterest in any study involves, must be added the paralysing fear ofconsequences. This, by distracting his attention, increases thedifficulty he finds in bringing his faculties to bear upon facts thatare repugnant to them. Clearly, therefore, the efficiency of tuitionwill, other things equal, be proportionate to the gratification withwhich tasks are performed. 

It should be considered also, that grave moral consequences depend uponthe habitual pleasure or pain which daily lessons produce. No one cancompare the faces and manners of two boys--the one made happy bymastering interesting subjects, and the other made miserable by disgustwith his studies, by consequent inability, by cold looks, by threats, bypunishment--without seeing that the disposition of the one is beingbenefited and that of the other injured. Whoever has marked the effectsof success and failure upon the mind, and the power of the mind over thebody, will see that in the one case both temper and health arefavourably affected, while in the other there is danger of permanentmoroseness, or permanent timidity, and even of permanent constitutionaldepression. There remains yet another indirect result of no smallmoment. The relationship between teachers and their pupils is, otherthings equal, rendered friendly and influential, or antagonistic andpowerless, according as the system of culture produces happiness ormisery. Human beings are at the mercy of their associated ideas. A dailyminister of pain cannot fail to be regarded with secret dislike; and ifhe causes no emotions but painful ones, will inevitably be hated. Conversely, he who constantly aids children to their ends, hourlyprovides them with the satisfactions of conquest, hourly encourages themthrough their difficulties and sympathises in their successes, will beliked; nay, if his behaviour is consistent throughout, must be loved. And when we remember how efficient and benign is the control of a masterwho is felt to be a friend, when compared with the control of one who islooked upon with aversion, or at best indifference, we may infer thatthe indirect advantages of conducting education on the happinessprinciple do not fall far short of the direct ones. To all who questionthe possibility of acting out the system here advocated, we reply asbefore, that not only does theory point to it, but experience commendsit. To the many verdicts of distinguished teachers who sincePestalozzi's time have testified this, may be here added that ofProfessor Pillans, who asserts that "where young people are taught asthey ought to be, they are quite as happy in school as at play, seldomless delighted, nay, often more, with the well-directed exercise oftheir mental energies than with that of their muscular powers. "

As suggesting a final reason for making education a process ofself-instruction, and by consequence a process of pleasurableinstruction, we may advert to the fact that, in proportion as it is madeso, is there a probability that it will not cease when schooldays end. As long as the acquisition of knowledge is rendered habituallyrepugnant, so long will there be a prevailing tendency to discontinue itwhen free from the coercion of parents and masters. And when theacquisition of knowledge has been rendered habitually gratifying, thenwill there be as prevailing a tendency to continue, withoutsuperintendence, that self-culture previously carried on undersuperintendence. These results are inevitable. While the laws of mentalassociation remain true--while men dislike the things and places thatsuggest painful recollections, and delight in those which call to mindby-gone pleasures--painful lessons will make knowledge repulsive, andpleasurable lessons will make it attractive. The men to whom in boyhoodinformation came in dreary tasks along with threats of punishment, andwho were never led into habits of independent inquiry, are unlikely tobe students in after years; while those to whom it came in the naturalforms, at the proper times, and who remember its facts as not onlyinteresting in themselves, but as the occasions of a long series ofgratifying successes, are likely to continue through life thatself-instruction commenced in youth. 

[1] Those who seek aid in carrying out the system of culture abovedescribed, will find it in a little work entitled _InventionalGeometry_; published by J. And C. Mozley, Paternoster Row, London. 

MORAL EDUCATION

The greatest defect in our programmes of education is entirelyoverlooked. While much is being done in the detailed improvement of oursystems in respect both of matter and manner, the most pressingdesideratum has not yet been even recognised as a desideratum. Toprepare the young for the duties of life is tacitly admitted to be theend which parents and schoolmasters should have in view; and happily, the value of the things taught, and the goodness of the methods followedin teaching them, are now ostensibly judged by their fitness to thisend. The propriety of substituting for an exclusively classicaltraining, a training in which the modern languages shall have a share, is argued on this ground. The necessity of increasing the amount ofscience is urged for like reasons. But though some care is taken to fityouth of both sexes for society and citizenship, no care whatever istaken to fit them for the position of parents. While it is seen that forthe purpose of gaining a livelihood, an elaborate preparation is needed, it appears to be thought that for the bringing up of children, nopreparation whatever is needed. While many years are spent by a boy ingaining knowledge of which the chief value is that it constitutes "theeducation of a gentleman;" and while many years are spent by a girl inthose decorative acquirements which fit her for evening parties; not anhour is spent by either in preparation for that gravest of allresponsibilities--the management of a family. Is it that thisresponsibility is but a remote contingency? On the contrary, it is sureto devolve on nine out of ten. Is it that the discharge of it is easy?Certainly not: of all functions which the adult has to fulfil, this isthe most difficult. Is it that each may be trusted by self-instructionto fit himself, or herself, for the office of parent? No: not only isthe need for such self-instruction unrecognised, but the complexity ofthe subject renders it the one of all others in which self-instructionis least likely to succeed. No rational plea can be put forward forleaving the Art of Education out of our _curriculum_. Whether as bearingon the happiness of parents themselves, or whether as affecting thecharacters and lives of their children and remote descendants, we mustadmit that a knowledge of the right methods of juvenile culture, physical, intellectual, and moral, is a knowledge of extreme importance. This topic should be the final one in the course of instruction passedthrough by each man and woman. As physical maturity is marked by theability to produce offspring, so mental maturity is marked by theability to train those offspring. _The subject which involves all othersubjects, and therefore the subject in which education should culminate, is the Theory and Practice of Education. _

In the absence of this preparation, the management of children, and moreespecially the moral management, is lamentably bad. Parents either neverthink about the matter at all, or else their conclusions are crude andinconsistent. In most cases, and especially on the part of mothers, thetreatment adopted on every occasion is that which the impulse of themoment prompts: it springs not from any reasoned-out conviction as towhat will most benefit the child, but merely expresses the dominantparental feelings, whether good or ill; and varies from hour to hour asthese feelings vary. Or if the dictates of passion are supplemented byany definite doctrines and methods, they are those handed down from thepast, or those suggested by the remembrances of childhood, or thoseadopted from nurses and servants--methods devised not by theenlightenment, but by the ignorance, of the time. Commenting on thechaotic state of opinion and practice relative to family government, Richter writes:--

 "If the secret variances of a large class of ordinary fathers were brought to light, and laid down as a plan of studies and reading, catalogued for a moral education, they would run somewhat after this fashion:--In the first hour 'pure morality must be read to the child, either by myself or the tutor;' in the second, 'mixed morality, or that which may be applied to one's own advantage;' in the third, 'do you not see that your father does so and so?' in the fourth, 'you are little, and this is only fit for grown-up people;' in the fifth, 'the chief matter is that you should succeed in the world, and become something in the state;' in the sixth, 'not the temporary, but the eternal, determines the worth of a man;' in the seventh, 'therefore rather suffer injustice, and be kind;' in the eighth, 'but defend yourself bravely if any one attack you;' in the ninth, 'do not make a noise, dear child;' in the tenth, 'a boy must not sit so quiet;' in the eleventh, 'you must obey your parents better;' in the twelfth, 'and educate yourself. ' So by the hourly change of his principles, the father conceals their untenableness and onesidedness. As for his wife, she is neither like him, nor yet like that harlequin who came on to the stage with a bundle of papers under each arm, and answered to the inquiry, what he had under his right arm, 'orders, ' and to what he had under his left arm, 'counter-orders. ' But the mother might be much better compared to a giant Briareus, who had a hundred arms, and a bundle of papers under each. "

This state of things is not to be readily changed. Generations mustpass before a great amelioration of it can be expected. Like politicalconstitutions, educational systems are not made, but grow; and withinbrief periods growth is insensible. Slow, however, as must be anyimprovement, even that improvement implies the use of means; and amongthe means is discussion. 

 * * * * *

We are not among those who believe in Lord Palmerston's dogma, that "allchildren are born good. " On the whole, the opposite dogma, untenable asit is, seems to us less wide of the truth. Nor do we agree with thosewho think that, by skilful discipline, children may be made altogetherwhat they should be. Contrariwise, we are satisfied that thoughimperfections of nature may be diminished by wise management, theycannot be removed by it. The notion that an ideal humanity might beforthwith produced by a perfect system of education, is near akin tothat implied in the poems of Shelley, that would mankind give up theirold institutions and prejudices, all the evils in the world would atonce disappear: neither notion being acceptable to such as havedispassionately studied human affairs. 

Nevertheless, we may fitly sympathise with those who entertain these toosanguine hopes. Enthusiasm, pushed even to fanaticism, is a usefulmotive-power--perhaps an indispensable one. It is clear that the ardentpolitician would never undergo the labours and make the sacrifices hedoes, did he not believe that the reform he fights for is the one thingneedful. But for his conviction that drunkenness is the root of allsocial evils, the teetotaler would agitate far less energetically. Inphilanthropy, as in other things, great advantage results from divisionof labour; and that there may be division of labour, each class ofphilanthropists must be more or less subordinated to its function--musthave an exaggerated faith in its work. Hence, of those who regardeducation, intellectual or moral, as the panacea, we may say that theirundue expectations are not without use; and that perhaps it is part ofthe beneficent order of things that their confidence cannot be shaken. 

Even were it true, however, that by some possible system of moralcontrol, children could be moulded into the desired form; and even couldevery parent be indoctrinated with this system, we should still be farfrom achieving the object in view. It is forgotten that the carrying outof any such system presupposes, on the part of adults, a degree ofintelligence, of goodness, of self-control, possessed by no one. Theerror made by those who discuss questions of domestic discipline, liesin ascribing all the faults and difficulties to the children, and noneto the parents. The current assumption respecting family government, asrespecting national government, is, that the virtues are with the rulersand the vices with the ruled. Judging by educational theories, men andwomen are entirely transfigured in their relations to offspring. Thecitizens we do business with, the people we meet in the world, we knowto be very imperfect creatures. In the daily scandals, in the quarrelsof friends, in bankruptcy disclosures, in lawsuits, in police reports, we have constantly thrust before us the pervading selfishness, dishonesty, brutality. Yet when we criticise nursery-management andcanvass the misbehaviour of juveniles, we habitually take for grantedthat these culpable persons are free from moral delinquency in thetreatment of their boys and girls! So far is this from the truth, thatwe do not hesitate to blame parental misconduct for a great part of thedomestic disorder commonly ascribed to the perversity of children. We donot assert this of the more sympathetic and self-restrained, among whomwe hope most of our readers may be classed; but we assert it of themass. What kind of moral culture is to be expected from a mother who, time after time, angrily shakes her infant because it will not suck;which we once saw a mother do? How much sense of justice is likely to beinstilled by a father who, on having his attention drawn by a scream tothe fact that his child's finger is jammed between the window-sash andsill, begins to beat the child instead of releasing it? Yet that thereare such fathers is testified to us by an eye-witness. Or, to take astill stronger case, also vouched for by direct testimony--what are theeducational prospects of the boy who, on being taken home with adislocated thigh, is saluted with a castigation? It is true that theseare extreme instances--instances exhibiting in human beings that blindinstinct which impels brutes to destroy the weakly and injured of theirown race. But extreme though they are, they typify feelings and conductdaily observable in many families. Who has not repeatedly seen a childslapped by nurse or parent for a fretfulness probably resulting frombodily derangement? Who, when watching a mother snatch up a fallenlittle one, has not often traced, both in the rough manner and in thesharply-uttered exclamation--"You stupid little thing!"--an irascibilityforetelling endless future squabbles? Is there not in the harsh tones inwhich a father bids his children be quiet, evidence of a deficientfellow-feeling with them? Are not the constant, and often quiteneedless, thwartings that the young experience--the injunctions to sitstill, which an active child cannot obey without suffering great nervousirritation, the commands not to look out of the window when travellingby railway, which on a child of any intelligence entails seriousdeprivation--are not these thwartings, we ask, signs of a terrible lackof sympathy? The truth is, that the difficulties of moral education arenecessarily of dual origin--necessarily result from the combined faultsof parents and children. If hereditary transmission is a law of nature, as every naturalist knows it to be, and as our daily remarks and currentproverbs admit it to be; then, on the average of cases, the defects ofchildren mirror the defects of their parents;--on the average of cases, we say, because, complicated as the results are by the transmittedtraits of remoter ancestors, the correspondence is not special but onlygeneral. And if, on the average of cases, this inheritance of defectsexists, then the evil passions which parents have to check in theirchildren, imply like evil passions in themselves: hidden, it may be, from the public eye, or perhaps obscured by other feelings, but stillthere. Evidently, therefore, the general practice of any ideal system ofdiscipline is hopeless: parents are not good enough. 

Moreover, even were there methods by which the desired end could be atonce effected; and even had fathers and mothers sufficient insight, sympathy, and self-command to employ these methods consistently; itmight still be contended that it would be of no use to reformfamily-government faster than other things are reformed. What is it thatwe aim to do? Is it not that education of whatever kind has for itsproximate end to prepare a child for the business of life--to produce acitizen who, while he is well conducted, is also able to make his way inthe world? And does not making his way in the world (by which we mean, not the acquirement of wealth, but of the funds requisite for bringingup a family)--does not this imply a certain fitness for the world as itnow is? And if by any system of culture an ideal human being could beproduced, is it not doubtful whether he would be fit for the world as itnow is? May we not, on the contrary, suspect that his too keen sense ofrectitude, and too elevated standard of conduct, would make lifeintolerable or even impossible? And however admirable the result mightbe, considered individually, would it not be self-defeating in so far associety and posterity are concerned? There is much reason for thinkingthat as in a nation so in a family, the kind of government is, on thewhole, about as good as the general state of human nature permits it tobe. We may argue that in the one case, as in the other, the averagecharacter of the people determines the quality of the control exercised. In both cases it may be inferred that amelioration of the averagecharacter leads to an amelioration of system; and further, that were itpossible to ameliorate the system without the average character beingfirst ameliorated, evil rather than good would follow. Such degree ofharshness as children now experience from their parents and teachers, may be regarded as but a preparation for that greater harshness whichthey will meet on entering the world. And it may be urged that were itpossible for parents and teachers to treat them with perfect equity andentire sympathy, it would but intensify the sufferings which theselfishness of men must, in after life, inflict on them. [1]

"But does not this prove too much?" some one will ask. "If no system ofmoral training can forthwith make children what they should be; if, evenwere there a system that would do this, existing parents are tooimperfect to carry it out; and if even could such a system besuccessfully carried out, its results would be disastrously incongruouswith the present state of society; does it not follow that to reform thesystem now in use is neither practicable nor desirable?" No. It merelyfollows that reform in domestic government must go on, _pari passu_, with other reforms. It merely follows that methods of discipline neithercan be nor should be ameliorated, except by instalments. It merelyfollows that the dictates of abstract rectitude will, in practice, inevitably be subordinated by the present state of human nature--by theimperfections alike of children, of parents, and of society; and canonly be better fulfilled as the general character becomes better. 

"At any rate, then, " may rejoin our critic, "it is clearly useless toset up any ideal standard of family discipline. There can be noadvantage in elaborating and recommending methods that are in advance ofthe time. " Again we contend for the contrary. Just as in the case ofpolitical government, though pure rectitude may be at presentimpracticable, it is requisite to know where the right lies, in orderthat the changes we make may be _towards_ the right instead of _away_from it; so, in the case of domestic government, an ideal must beupheld, that there may be gradual approximations to it. We need fear noevil consequences from the maintenance of such an ideal. On the averagethe constitutional conservatism of mankind is strong enough to preventtoo rapid a change. Things are so organised that until men have grown upto the level of a higher belief, they cannot receive it: nominally, theymay hold it, but not virtually. And even when the truth gets recognised, the obstacles to conformity with it are so persistent as to outlive thepatience of philanthropists and even of philosophers. We may be sure, therefore, that the difficulties in the way of a normal government ofchildren, will always put an adequate check upon the efforts to realiseit. 

With these preliminary explanations, let us go on to consider the trueaims and methods of moral education. After a few pages devoted to thesettlement of general principles, during the perusal of which we bespeakthe reader's patience, we shall aim by illustrations to make clear theright methods of parental behaviour in the hourly occurring difficultiesof family government. 

 * * * * *

When a child falls, or runs its head against the table, it suffers apain, the remembrance of which tends to make it more careful; and byrepetition of such experiences, it is eventually disciplined into properguidance of its movements. If it lays hold of the fire-bars, thrusts itshand into a candle-flame, or spills boiling water on any part of itsskin, the resulting burn or scald is a lesson not easily forgotten. Sodeep an impression is produced by one or two events of this kind, thatno persuasion will afterwards induce it thus to disregard the laws ofits constitution. 

Now in these cases, Nature illustrates to us in the simplest way, thetrue theory and practice of moral discipline--a theory and practicewhich, however much they may seem to the superficial like those commonlyreceived, we shall find on examination to differ from them very widely. 

Observe, first, that in bodily injuries and their penalties we havemisconduct and its consequences reduced to their simplest forms. Though, according to their popular acceptations, _right_ and _wrong_ are wordsscarcely applicable to actions that have none but direct bodily effects;yet whoever considers the matter will see that such actions must be asmuch classifiable under these heads as any other actions. From whateverassumption they start, all theories of morality agree that conduct whosetotal results, immediate and remote, are beneficial, is good conduct;while conduct whose total results, immediate and remote, are injurious, is bad conduct. The _ultimate_ standards by which all men judge ofbehaviour, are the resulting happiness or misery. We considerdrunkenness wrong because of the physical degeneracy and accompanyingmoral evils entailed on the drunkard and his dependents. Did theft givepleasure both to taker and loser, we should not find it in our catalogueof sins. Were it conceivable that kind actions multiplied humansufferings, we should condemn them--should not consider them kind. Itneeds but to read the first newspaper-leader, or listen to anyconversation on social affairs, to see that acts of parliament, political movements, philanthropic agitations, in common with the doingsof individuals are judged by their anticipated results in augmenting thepleasures or pains of men. And if on analysing all secondarysuperinduced ideas, we find these to be our final tests of right andwrong, we cannot refuse to class bodily conduct as right or wrongaccording to the beneficial or detrimental results produced. 

Note, in the second place, the character of the punishments by whichthese physical transgressions are prevented. Punishments, we call them, in the absence of a better word; for they are not punishments in theliteral sense. They are not artificial and unnecessary inflictions ofpain; but are simply the beneficent checks to actions that areessentially at variance with bodily welfare--checks in the absence ofwhich life would be quickly destroyed by bodily injuries. It is thepeculiarity of these penalties, if we must so call them, that they aresimply the _unavoidable consequences_ of the deeds which they follow:they are nothing more than the _inevitable reactions_ entailed by thechild's actions. 

Let it be further borne in mind that these painful reactions areproportionate to the transgressions. A slight accident brings a slightpain; a more serious one, a severer pain. It is not ordained that anurchin who tumbles over the doorstep, shall suffer in excess of theamount necessary; with the view of making it still more cautious thanthe necessary suffering will make it. But from its daily experience itis left to learn the greater or less penalties of greater or lesserrors; and to behave accordingly. 

And then mark, lastly, that these natural reactions which follow thechild's wrong actions, are constant, direct, unhesitating, and not to beescaped. No threats; but a silent, rigorous performance. If a child runsa pin into its finger, pain follows. If it does it again, there is againthe same result: and so on perpetually. In all its dealing withinorganic Nature it finds this unswerving persistence, which listens tono excuse, and from which there is no appeal; and very soon recognisingthis stern though beneficent discipline, it becomes extremely carefulnot to transgress. 

Still more significant will these general truths appear, when weremember that they hold throughout adult life as well as throughoutinfantine life. It is by an experimentally-gained knowledge of thenatural consequences, that men and women are checked when they go wrong. After home-education has ceased, and when there are no longer parentsand teachers to forbid this or that kind of conduct, there comes intoplay a discipline like that by which the young child is trained toself-guidance. If the youth entering on the business of life idles awayhis time and fulfils slowly or unskilfully the duties entrusted to him, there by and by follows the natural penalty: he is discharged, and leftto suffer for awhile the evils of a relative poverty. On the unpunctualman, ever missing his appointments of business and pleasure, therecontinually fall the consequent inconveniences, losses, anddeprivations. The tradesmen who charges too high a rate of profit, loseshis customers, and so is checked in his greediness. Diminishing practiceteaches the inattentive doctor to bestow more trouble on his patients. The too credulous creditor and the over-sanguine speculator, alike learnby the difficulties which rashness entails on them, the necessity ofbeing more cautious in their engagements. And so throughout the life ofevery citizen. In the quotation so often made _apropos_ of suchcases--"The burnt child dreads the fire"--we see not only that theanalogy between this social discipline and Nature's early discipline ofinfants is universally recognised; but we also see an implied convictionthat this discipline is of the most efficient kind. Nay indeed, thisconviction is more than implied; it is distinctly stated. Every one hasheard others confess that only by "dearly bought experience" had theybeen induced to give up some bad or foolish course of conduct formerlypursued. Every one has heard, in the criticism passed on the doings ofthis spendthrift or the other schemer, the remark that advice wasuseless, and that nothing but "bitter experience" would produce anyeffect: nothing, that is, but suffering the unavoidable consequences. And if further proof be needed that the natural reaction is not only themost efficient penalty, but that no humanly-devised penalty can replaceit, we have such further proof in the notorious ill-success of ourvarious penal systems. Out of the many methods of criminal disciplinethat have been proposed and legally enforced, none have answered theexpectations of their advocates. Artificial punishments have failed toproduce reformation; and have in many cases increased the criminality. The only successful reformatories are those privately-established oneswhich approximate their regime to the method of Nature--which do littlemore than administer the natural consequences of criminal conduct:diminishing the criminal's liberty of action as much as is needful forthe safety of society, and requiring him to maintain himself whileliving under this restraint. Thus we see, both that the discipline bywhich the young child is taught to regulate its movements is thediscipline by which the great mass of adults are kept in order, and moreor less improved; and that the discipline humanly-devised for the worstadults, fails when it diverges from this divinely-ordained discipline, and begins to succeed on approximating to it. 

 * * * * *

Have we not here, then, the guiding principle of moral education? Mustwe not infer that the system so beneficent in its effects during infancyand maturity, will be equally beneficent throughout youth? Can any onebelieve that the method which answers so well in the first and the lastdivisions of life, will not answer in the intermediate division? Is itnot manifest that as "ministers and interpreters of Nature" it is thefunction of parents to see that their children habitually experience thetrue consequences of their conduct--the natural reactions: neitherwarding them off, nor intensifying them, nor putting artificialconsequences in place of them? No unprejudiced reader will hesitate inhis assent. 

Probably, however, not a few will contend that already most parents dothis--that the punishments they inflict are, in the majority of cases, the true consequences of ill-conduct--that parental anger, ventingitself in harsh words and deeds, is the result of a child'stransgression--and that, in the suffering, physical or moral, which thechild is subject to, it experiences the natural reaction of itsmisbehaviour. Along with much error this assertion contains some truth. It is unquestionable that the displeasure of fathers and mothers is atrue consequence of juvenile delinquency; and that the manifestation ofit is a normal check upon such delinquency. The scoldings, and threats, and blows, which a passionate parent visits on offending little ones, are doubtless effects actually drawn from such a parent by theiroffences; and so are, in some sort, to be considered as among thenatural reactions of their wrong actions. Nor are we prepared to saythat these modes of treatment are not relatively right--right, that is, in relation to the uncontrollable children of ill-controlled adults; andright in relation to a state of society in which such ill-controlledadults make up the mass of the people. As already suggested, educationalsystems, like political and other institutions, are generally as good asthe state of human nature permits. The barbarous children of barbarousparents are probably only to be restrained by the barbarous methodswhich such parents spontaneously employ; while submission to thesebarbarous methods is perhaps the best preparation such children can havefor the barbarous society in which they are presently to play a part. Conversely, the civilised members of a civilised society willspontaneously manifest their displeasure in less violent ways--willspontaneously use milder measures--measures strong enough for theirbetter-natured children. Thus it is true that, in so far as theexpression of parental feeling is concerned, the principle of thenatural reaction is always more or less followed. The system of domesticgovernment ever gravitates towards its right form. 

But now observe two important facts. The first fact is that, in statesof rapid transition like ours, which witness a continuous battle betweenold and new theories and old and new practices, the educational methodsin use are apt to be considerably out of harmony with the times. Indeference to dogmas fit only for the ages that uttered them, manyparents inflict punishments that do violence to their own feelings, andso visit on their children _un_natural reactions; while other parents, enthusiastic in their hopes of immediate perfection, rush to theopposite extreme. The second fact is, that the discipline of chief valueis not the experience of parental approbation or disapprobation; but itis the experience of those results which would ultimately flow from theconduct in the absence of parental opinion or interference. The trulyinstructive and salutary consequences are not those inflicted byparents when they take upon themselves to be Nature's proxies; but theyare those inflicted by Nature herself. We will endeavour to make thisdistinction clear by a few illustrations, which, while they show what wemean by natural reactions as contrasted with artificial ones, willafford some practical suggestions. 

In every family where there are young children there daily occur casesof what mothers and servants call "making a litter. " A child has had outits box of toys, and leaves them scattered about the floor. Or a handfulof flowers, brought in from a morning walk, is presently seen dispersedover tables and chairs. Or a little girl, making doll's-clothes, disfigures the room with shreds. In most cases the trouble of rectifyingthis disorder falls anywhere but where it should. Occurring in thenursery, the nurse herself, with many grumblings about "tiresome littlethings, " undertakes the task; if below-stairs, the task usually devolveseither on one of the elder children or on the housemaid: thetransgressor being visited with nothing more than a scolding. In thisvery simple case, however, there are many parents wise enough to followout, more or less consistently, the normal course--that of making thechild itself collect the toys or shreds. The labour of putting things inorder is the true consequence of having put them in disorder. Everytrader in his office, every wife in her household, has daily experienceof this fact. And if education be a preparation for the business oflife, then every child should also, from the beginning, have dailyexperience of this fact. If the natural penalty be met by refractorybehaviour (which it may perhaps be where the system of moral disciplinepreviously pursued has been bad), then the proper course is to let thechild feel the ulterior reaction caused by its disobedience. Havingrefused or neglected to pick up and put away the things it has scatteredabout, and having thereby entailed the trouble of doing this on some oneelse, the child should, on subsequent occasions, be denied the means ofgiving this trouble. When next it petitions for its toy-box, the replyof its mamma should be--"The last time you had your toys you left themlying on the floor, and Jane had to pick them up. Jane is too busy topick up every day the things you leave about; and I cannot do it myself. So that, as you will not put away your toys when you have done withthem, I cannot let you have them. " This is obviously a naturalconsequence, neither increased nor lessened; and must be so recognisedby a child. The penalty comes, too, at the moment when it is most keenlyfelt. A new-born desire is balked at the moment of anticipatedgratification; and the strong impression so produced can scarcely failto have an effect on the future conduct: an effect which, by consistentrepetition, will do whatever can be done in curing the fault. Add towhich, that, by this method, a child is early taught the lesson whichcannot be learnt too soon, that in this world of ours pleasures arerightly to be obtained only by labour. 

Take another case. Not long since we had frequently to hear thereprimands visited on a little girl who was scarcely ever ready in timefor the daily walk. Of eager disposition, and apt to become absorbed inthe occupation of the moment, Constance never thought of putting on herthings till the rest were ready. The governess and the other childrenhad almost invariably to wait; and from the mamma there almostinvariably came the same scolding. Utterly as this system failed, itnever occurred to the mamma to let Constance experience the naturalpenalty. Nor, indeed, would she try it when it was suggested to her. Inthe world, unreadiness entails the loss of some advantage that wouldelse have been gained: the train is gone; or the steam-boat is justleaving its moorings; or the best things in the market are sold; or allthe good seats in the concert-room are filled. And every one, in casesperpetually occurring, may see that it is the prospective deprivationswhich prevent people from being too late. Is not the inference obvious?Should not the prospective deprivations control a child's conduct also?If Constance is not ready at the appointed time, the natural result isthat of being left behind, and losing her walk. And after having once ortwice remained at home while the rest were enjoying themselves in thefields--after having felt that this loss of a much-prized gratificationwas solely due to want of promptitude; amendment would in allprobability take place. At any rate, the measure would be more effectivethan that perpetual scolding which ends only in producing callousness. 

Again, when children, with more than usual carelessness, break or losethe things given to them, the natural penalty--the penalty which makesgrown-up persons more careful--is the consequent inconvenience. The lackof the lost or damaged article, and the cost of replacing it, are theexperiences by which men and women are disciplined in these matters; andthe experiences of children should be as much as possible assimilated totheirs. We do not refer to that early period at which toys are pulled topieces in the process of learning their physical properties, and atwhich the results of carelessness cannot be understood; but to a laterperiod, when the meaning and advantages of property are perceived. Whena boy, old enough to possess a penknife, uses it so roughly as to snapthe blade, or leaves it in the grass by some hedge-side where he wascutting a stick, a thoughtless parent, or some indulgent relative, willcommonly forthwith buy him another, not seeing that, by doing this, avaluable lesson is prevented. In such a case, a father may properlyexplain that penknives cost money, and that to get money requireslabour; that he cannot afford to purchase new penknives for one wholoses or breaks them; and that until he sees evidence of greatercarefulness he must decline to make good the loss. A parallel disciplinewill serve to check extravagance. 

These few familiar instances, here chosen because of the simplicity withwhich they illustrate our point, will make clear to every one thedistinction between those natural penalties which we contend are thetruly efficient ones, and those artificial penalties commonlysubstituted for them. Before going on to exhibit the higher and subtlerapplications of the principle exemplified, let us note its many andgreat superiorities over the principle, or rather the empiricalpractice, which prevails in most families. 

One superiority is that the pursuance of it generates right conceptionsof cause and effect; which by frequent and consistent experience areeventually rendered definite and complete. Proper conduct in life ismuch better guaranteed when the good and evil consequences of actionsare understood, than when they are merely believed on authority. A childwho finds that disorderliness entails the trouble of putting things inorder, or who misses a gratification from dilatoriness, or whosecarelessness is followed by the want of some much-prized possession, notonly suffers a keenly-felt consequence, but gains a knowledge ofcausation: both the one and the other being just like those which adultlife will bring. Whereas a child who in such cases receives a reprimand, or some factitious penalty, not only experiences a consequence for whichit often cares very little, but misses that instruction respecting theessential natures of good and evil conduct, which it would else havegathered. It is a vice of the common system of artificial rewards andpunishments, long since noticed by the clear-sighted, that bysubstituting for the natural results of misbehaviour certain tasks orcastigations, it produces a radically wrong moral standard. Havingthroughout infancy and boyhood always regarded parental or tutorialdispleasure as the chief result of a forbidden action, the youth hasgained an established association of ideas between such action and suchdispleasure, as cause and effect. Hence when parents and tutors haveabdicated, and their displeasure is not to be feared, the restraints onforbidden actions are in great measure removed: the true restraints, thenatural reactions, having yet to be learnt by sad experience. As writesone who has had personal knowledge of this short-sighted system:--"Youngmen let loose from school, particularly those whose parents haveneglected to exert their influence, plunge into every description ofextravagance; they know no rule of action--they are ignorant of thereasons for moral conduct--they have no foundation to rest upon--anduntil they have been severely disciplined by the world are extremelydangerous members of society. "

Another great advantage of this natural discipline is, that it is adiscipline of pure justice; and will be recognised as such by everychild. Whoso suffers nothing more than the evil which in the order ofnature results from his own misbehaviour, is much less likely to thinkhimself wrongly treated than if he suffers an artificially inflictedevil; and this will hold of children as of men. Take the case of a boywho is habitually reckless of his clothes--scrambles through hedgeswithout caution, or is utterly regardless of mud. If he is beaten, orsent to bed, he is apt to consider himself ill-used; and is more likelyto brood over his injuries than to repent of his transgressions. Butsuppose he is required to rectify as far as possible the harm he hasdone--to clean off the mud with which he has covered himself, or to mendthe tear as well as he can. Will he not feel that the evil is one of hisown producing? Will he not while paying this penalty be continuouslyconscious of the connection between it and its cause? And will he not, spite his irritation, recognise more or less clearly the justice of thearrangement? If several lessons of this kind fail to produceamendment--if suits of clothes are prematurely spoiled--if the father, pursuing this same system of discipline, declines to spend money for newones until the ordinary time has elapsed--and if meanwhile, there occuroccasions on which, having no decent clothes to go in, the boy isdebarred from joining the rest of the family on holiday excursions and_fête_ days, it is manifest that while he will keenly feel thepunishment, he can scarcely fail to trace the chain of causation, and toperceive that his own carelessness is the origin of it. And seeing this, he will not have any such sense of injustice as if there were no obviousconnection between the transgression and its penalty. 

Again, the tempers both of parents and children are much less liable tobe ruffled under this system than under the ordinary system. Wheninstead of letting children experience the painful results whichnaturally follow from wrong conduct, parents themselves inflict certainother painful results, they produce double mischief. Making, as they do, multiplied family laws; and identifying their own supremacy and dignitywith the maintenance of these laws; every transgression is regarded asan offence against themselves, and a cause of anger on their part. Andthen come the further vexations which result from taking uponthemselves, in the shape of extra labour or cost, those evilconsequences which should have been allowed to fall on the wrong-doers. Similarly with the children. Penalties which the necessary reaction ofthings brings round upon them--penalties which are inflicted byimpersonal agency, produce an irritation that is comparatively slightand transient; whereas, penalties voluntarily inflicted by a parent, andafterwards thought of as caused by him or her, produce an irritationboth greater and more continued. Just consider how disastrous would bethe result if this empirical method were pursued from the beginning. Suppose it were possible for parents to take upon themselves thephysical sufferings entailed on their children by ignorance andawkwardness; and that while bearing these evil consequences they visitedon their children certain other evil consequences, with the view ofteaching them the impropriety of their conduct. Suppose that when achild, who had been forbidden to meddle with the kettle, spilt boilingwater on its foot, the mother vicariously assumed the scald and gave ablow in place of it; and similarly in all other cases. Would not thedaily mishaps be sources of far more anger than now? Would there not bechronic ill-temper on both sides? Yet an exactly parallel policy ispursued in after-years. A father who beats his boy for carelessly orwilfully breaking a sister's toy, and then himself pays for a new toy, does substantially this same thing--inflicts an artificial penalty onthe transgressor, and takes the natural penalty on himself: his ownfeelings and those of the transgressor being alike needlessly irritated. Did he simply require restitution to be made, he would produce far lessheart-burning. If he told the boy that a new toy must be bought at his, the boy's, cost; and that his supply of pocket-money must be withheld tothe needful extent; there would be much less disturbance of temper oneither side: while in the deprivation afterwards felt, the boy wouldexperience the equitable and salutary consequence. In brief, the systemof discipline by natural reactions is less injurious to temper, bothbecause it is perceived to be nothing more than pure justice, andbecause it in great part substitutes the impersonal agency of Nature forthe personal agency of parents. 

Whence also follows the manifest corollary, that under this system theparental and filial relation, being a more friendly, will be a moreinfluential one. Whether in parent or child, anger, however caused, andto whomsoever directed, is detrimental. But anger in a parent towards achild, and in a child towards a parent, is especially detrimental;because it weakens that bond of sympathy which is essential tobeneficent control. From the law of association of ideas, it inevitablyresults, both in young and old, that dislike is contracted towardsthings which in experience are habitually connected with disagreeablefeelings. Or where attachment originally existed, it is diminished, orturned into repugnance, according to the quantity of painful impressionsreceived. Parental wrath, venting itself in reprimands and castigations, cannot fail, if often repeated, to produce filial alienation; while theresentment and sulkiness of children cannot fail to weaken the affectionfelt for them, and may even end in destroying it. Hence the numerouscases in which parents (and especially fathers, who are commonly deputedto inflict the punishment) are regarded with indifference, if not withaversion; and hence the equally numerous cases in which children arelooked upon as inflictions. Seeing then, as all must do, thatestrangement of this kind is fatal to a salutary moral culture, itfollows that parents cannot be too solicitous in avoiding occasions ofdirect antagonism with their children. And therefore they cannot tooanxiously avail themselves of this discipline of natural consequences;which, by relieving them from penal functions, prevents mutualexasperations and estrangements. 

The method of moral culture by experience of the normal reactions, whichis the divinely-ordained method alike for infancy and for adult life, wethus find to be equally applicable during the intermediate childhood andyouth. Among the advantages of this method we see:--First: that it givesthat rational knowledge of right and wrong conduct which results frompersonal experience of their good and bad consequences. Second: that thechild, suffering nothing more than the painful effects of its own wrongactions, must recognise more or less clearly the justice of thepenalties. Third: that recognising the justice of the penalties, andreceiving them through the working of things rather than at the handsof an individual, its temper is less disturbed; while the parentfulfilling the comparatively passive duty of letting the naturalpenalties be felt, preserves a comparative equanimity. Fourth: thatmutual exasperations being thus prevented, a much happier, and a moreinfluential relation, will exist between parent and child. 

 * * * * *

"But what is to be done in cases of more serious misconduct?" some willask. "How is this plan to be carried out when a petty theft has beencommitted? or when a lie has been told? or when some younger brother orsister has been ill-used?"

Before replying to these questions, let us consider the bearings of afew illustrative facts. 

Living in the family of his brother-in-law, a friend of ours hadundertaken the education of his little nephew and niece. This he hadconducted, more perhaps from natural sympathy than from reasoned-outconclusions, in the spirit of the method above set forth. The twochildren were in doors his pupils and out of doors his companions. Theydaily joined him in walks and botanising excursions, eagerly soughtplants for him, looked on while he examined and identified them, and inthis and other ways were ever gaining pleasure and instruction in hissociety. In short, morally considered, he stood to them much more in theposition of parent than either their father or mother did. Describing tous the results of this policy, he gave, among other instances, thefollowing. One evening, having need for some article lying in anotherpart of the house, he asked his nephew to fetch it. Interested as theboy was in some amusement of the moment, he, contrary to his wont, either exhibited great reluctance or refused, we forget which. Hisuncle, disapproving of a coercive course, went himself for that which hewanted: merely exhibiting by his manner the annoyance this ill-behaviourgave him. And when, later in the evening, the boy made overtures for theusual play, they were gravely repelled--the uncle manifested just thatcoldness naturally produced in him; and so let the boy feel thenecessary consequences of his conduct. Next morning at the usual timefor rising, our friend heard a new voice outside the door, and in walkedhis little nephew with the hot water. Peering about the room to see whatelse could be done, the boy then exclaimed, "Oh! you want your boots;"and forthwith rushed downstairs to fetch them. In this and other ways heshowed a true penitence for his misconduct. He endeavoured by unusualservices to make up for the service he had refused. His better feelingshad made a real conquest over his lower ones; and acquired strength bythe victory. And having felt what it was to be without it, he valuedmore than before the friendship he thus regained. 

This gentleman is now himself a father; acts on the same system; andfinds it answer completely. He makes himself thoroughly his children'sfriend. The evening is longed for by them because he will be at home;and they especially enjoy Sunday because he is with them all day. Thuspossessing their perfect confidence and affection, he finds that thesimple display of his approbation or disapprobation gives him abundantpower of control. If, on his return home, he hears that one of his boyshas been naughty, he behaves towards him with that coolness which theconsciousness of the boy's misconduct naturally produces; and he findsthis a most efficient punishment. The mere withholding of the usualcaresses, is a source of much distress--produces a more prolonged fit ofcrying than a beating would do. And the dread of this purely moralpenalty is, he says, ever present during his absence: so much so, thatfrequently during the day his children ask their mamma how they havebehaved, and whether the report will be good. Recently, the eldest, anactive urchin of five, in one of those bursts of animal spirits commonin healthy children, committed sundry extravagances during his mamma'sabsence--cut off part of his brother's hair and wounded himself with arazor taken from his father's dressing-case. Hearing of theseoccurrences on his return, the father did not speak to the boy eitherthat night or next morning. Besides the immediate tribulation the effectwas, that when, a few days after, the mamma was about to go out, she wasentreated by the boy not to do so; and on inquiry, it appeared his fearwas that he might again transgress in her absence. 

We have introduced these facts before replying to the question--"What isto be done with the graver offences?" for the purpose of firstexhibiting the relation that may and ought to be established betweenparents and children; for on the existence of this relation depends thesuccessful treatment of these graver offences. And as a furtherpreliminary, we must now point out that the establishment of thisrelation will result from adopting the system here advocated. Already wehave shown that by simply letting a child experience the painfulreactions of its own wrong actions, a parent avoids antagonism andescapes being regarded as an enemy; but it remains to be shown thatwhere this course has been consistently pursued from the beginning, afeeling of active friendship will be generated. 

At present, mothers and fathers are mostly considered by their offspringas friend enemies. Determined as the impressions of children inevitablyare by the treatment they receive; and oscillating as that treatmentdoes between bribery and thwarting, between petting and scolding, between gentleness and castigation; they necessarily acquire conflictingbeliefs respecting the parental character. A mother commonly thinks itsufficient to tell her little boy that she is his best friend; andassuming that he ought to believe her, concludes that he will do so. "Itis all for your good;" "I know what is proper for you better than you doyourself;" "You are not old enough to understand it now, but when yougrow up you will thank me for doing what I do;"--these, and likeassertions, are daily reiterated. Meanwhile the boy is daily sufferingpositive penalties; and is hourly forbidden to do this, that, and theother, which he wishes to do. By words he hears that his happiness isthe end in view; but from the accompanying deeds he habitually receivesmore or less pain. Incompetent as he is to understand that future whichhis mother has in view, or how this treatment conduces to the happinessof that future, he judges by the results he feels; and finding suchresults anything but pleasurable, he becomes sceptical respecting herprofessions of friendship. And is it not folly to expect any otherissue? Must not the child reason from the evidence he has got? and doesnot this evidence seem to warrant his conclusion? The mother wouldreason in just the same way if similarly placed. If, among heracquaintance, she found some one who was constantly thwarting herwishes, uttering sharp reprimands, and occasionally inflicting actualpenalties on her, she would pay small attention to any professions ofanxiety for her welfare which accompanied these acts. Why, then, doesshe suppose that her boy will do otherwise?

But now observe how different will be the results if the system wecontend for be consistently pursued--if the mother not only avoidsbecoming the instrument of punishment, but plays the part of a friend, by warning her boy of the punishments which Nature will inflict. Take acase; and that it may illustrate the mode in which this policy is to beearly initiated, let it be one of the simplest cases. Suppose that, prompted by the experimental spirit so conspicuous in children, whoseproceedings instinctively conform to the inductive method ofinquiry--suppose that so prompted, the boy is amusing himself bylighting pieces of paper in the candle and watching them burn. A motherof the ordinary unreflective stamp, will either, on the plea of keepinghim "out of mischief, " or from fear that he will burn himself, commandhim to desist; and in case of non-compliance will snatch the paper fromhim. But, should he be fortunate enough to have a mother of somerationality, who knows that this interest with which he is watching thepaper burn, results from a healthy inquisitiveness, and who has also thewisdom to consider the results of interference, she will reasonthus:--"If I put a stop to this I shall prevent the acquirement of acertain amount of knowledge. It is true that I may save the child from aburn; but what then? He is sure to burn himself sometime; and it isquite essential to his safety in life that he should learn by experiencethe properties of flame. If I forbid him from running this present risk, he will certainly hereafter run the same or a greater risk when no oneis present to prevent him; whereas, should he have an accident now thatI am by, I can save him from any great injury. Moreover, were I to makehim desist, I should thwart him in the pursuit of what is in itself apurely harmless, and indeed, instructive gratification; and he wouldregard me with more or less ill-feeling. Ignorant as he is of the painfrom which I would save him, and feeling only the pain of a balkeddesire, he could not fail to look on me as the cause of that pain. Tosave him from a hurt which he cannot conceive, and which has thereforeno existence for him, I hurt him in a way which he feels keenly enough;and so become, from his point of view, a minister of evil. My bestcourse then, is simply to warn him of the danger, and to be ready toprevent any serious damage. " And following out this conclusion, she saysto the child--"I fear you will hurt yourself if you do that. " Suppose, now, that the boy, persevering as he will probably do, ends by burninghis hand. What are the results? In the first place he has gained anexperience which he must gain eventually, and which, for his own safety, he cannot gain too soon. And in the second place, he has found that hismother's disapproval or warning was meant for his welfare: he has afurther positive experience of her benevolence--a further reason forplacing confidence in her judgment and kindness--a further reason forloving her. 

Of course, in those occasional hazards where there is a risk of brokenlimbs or other serious injury, forcible prevention is called for. Butleaving out extreme cases, the system pursued should be, not that ofguarding a child from the small risks which it daily runs, but that ofadvising and warning it against them. And by pursuing this course, amuch stronger filial affection will be generated than commonly exists. If here, as elsewhere, the discipline of the natural reactions isallowed to come into play--if in those out-door scramblings and in-doorexperiments, by which children are liable to injure themselves, they areallowed to persist, subject only to dissuasion more or less earnestaccording to the danger, there cannot fail to arise an ever-increasingfaith in the parental friendship and guidance. Not only, as beforeshown, does the adoption of this course enable fathers and mothers toavoid the odium which attaches to the infliction of positive punishment;but, as we here see, it enables them to avoid the odium which attachesto constant thwartings; and even to turn those incidents that commonlycause squabbles, into a means of strengthening the mutual good feeling. Instead of being told in words, which deeds seem to contradict, thattheir parents are their best friends, children will learn this truth bya consistent daily experience; and so learning it, will acquire a degreeof trust and attachment which nothing else can give. 

And now, having indicated the more sympathetic relation which mustresult from the habitual use of this method, let us return to thequestion above put--How is this method to be applied to the graveroffences?

Note, in the first place, that these graver offences are likely to beboth less frequent and less grave under the régime we have describedthan under the ordinary régime. The ill-behaviour of many children isitself a consequence of that chronic irritation in which they are keptby bad management. The state of isolation and antagonism produced byfrequent punishment, necessarily deadens the sympathies; necessarily, therefore, opens the way to those transgressions which the sympathiescheck. That harsh treatment which children of the same family inflict oneach other, is often, in great measure, a reflex of the harsh treatmentthey receive from adults--partly suggested by direct example, and partlygenerated by the ill-temper and the tendency to vicarious retaliation, which follow chastisements and scoldings. It cannot be questioned thatthe greater activity of the affections and happier state of feeling, maintained in children by the discipline we have described, must preventthem from sinning against each other so gravely and so frequently. Thestill more reprehensible offences, as lies and petty thefts, will, bythe same causes, be diminished. Domestic estrangement is a fruitfulsource of such transgressions. It is a law of human nature, visibleenough to all who observe, that those who are debarred the highergratifications fall back upon the lower; those who have no sympatheticpleasures seek selfish ones; and hence, conversely, the maintenance ofhappier relations between parents and children is calculated to diminishthe number of those offences of which selfishness is the origin. 

When, however, such offences are committed, as they will occasionally beeven under the best system, the discipline of consequences may still beresorted to; and if there exists that bond of confidence and affectionabove described, this discipline will be efficient. For what are thenatural consequences, say, of a theft? They are of two kinds--direct andindirect. The direct consequence, as dictated by pure equity, is that ofmaking restitution. A just ruler (and every parent should aim to be one)will demand that, when possible, a wrong act shall be undone by a rightone; and in the case of theft this implies either the restoration of thething stolen, or, if it is consumed, the giving of an equivalent: which, in the case of a child, may be effected out of its pocket-money. Theindirect and more serious consequence is the grave displeasure ofparents--a consequence which inevitably follows among all peoplescivilised enough to regard theft as a crime. "But, " it will be said, "the manifestation of parental displeasure, either in words or blows, isthe ordinary course in these cases: the method leads here to nothingnew. " Very true. Already we have admitted that, in some directions, thismethod is spontaneously pursued. Already we have shown that there is atendency for educational systems to gravitate towards the true system. And here we may remark, as before, that the intensity of this naturalreaction will, in the beneficent order of things, adjust itself to therequirements--that this parental displeasure will vent itself in violentmeasures during comparatively barbarous times, when children are alsocomparatively barbarous; and will express itself less cruelly in thosemore advanced social states in which, by implication, the children areamenable to milder treatment. But what it chiefly concerns us here toobserve is, that the manifestation of strong parental displeasure, produced by one of these graver offences, will be potent for good, justin proportion to the warmth of the attachment existing between parentand child. Just in proportion as the discipline of natural consequenceshas been consistently pursued in other cases, will it be efficient inthis case. Proof is within the experience of all, if they will look forit. 

For does not every one know that when he has offended another, theamount of regret he feels (of course, leaving worldly considerations outof the question) varies with the degree of sympathy he has for thatother? Is he not conscious that when the person offended is an enemy, the having given him annoyance is apt to be a source rather of secretsatisfaction than of sorrow? Does he not remember that where umbrage hasbeen taken by some total stranger, he has felt much less concern than hewould have done had such umbrage been taken by one with whom he wasintimate? While, conversely, has not the anger of an admired andcherished friend been regarded by him as a serious misfortune, long andkeenly regretted? Well, the effects of parental displeasure on childrenmust similarly vary with the pre-existing relationship. Where there isan established alienation, the feeling of a child who has transgressedis a purely selfish fear of the impending physical penalties ordeprivations; and after these have been inflicted, the injuriousantagonism and dislike which result, add to the alienation. On thecontrary, where there exists a warm filial affection produced by aconsistent parental friendship, the state of mind caused by parentaldispleasure is not only a salutary check to future misconduct of likekind, but is intrinsically salutary. The moral pain consequent onhaving, for the time being, lost so loved a friend, stands in place ofthe physical pain usually inflicted; and proves equally, if not more, efficient. While instead of the fear and vindictiveness excited by theone course, there are excited by the other a sympathy with parentalsorrow, a genuine regret for having caused it, and a desire, by someatonement, to reestablish the friendly relationship. Instead of bringinginto play those egotistic feelings whose predominance is the cause ofcriminal acts, there are brought into play those altruistic feelingswhich check criminal acts. Thus the discipline of natural consequencesis applicable to grave as well as trivial faults; and the practice of itconduces not simply to the repression, but to the eradication of suchfaults. 

In brief, the truth is that savageness begets savageness, and gentlenessbegets gentleness. Children who are unsympathetically treated becomeunsympathetic; whereas treating them with due fellow-feeling is a meansof cultivating their fellow-feeling. With family governments as withpolitical ones, a harsh despotism itself generates a great part of thecrimes it has to repress; while on the other hand a mild and liberalrule both avoids many causes of dissension, and so ameliorates the toneof feeling as to diminish the tendency to transgression. As John Lockelong since remarked, "Great severity of punishment does but very littlegood, nay, great harm, in education; and I believe it will be foundthat, _cæteris paribus_, those children who have been most chastisedseldom make the best men. " In confirmation of which opinion we may citethe fact not long since made public by Mr. Rogers, Chaplain of thePentonville Prison, that those juvenile criminals who have been whippedare those who most frequently return to prison. Conversely, thebeneficial effects of a kinder treatment are well illustrated in a factstated to us by a French lady, in whose house we recently stayed inParis. Apologising for the disturbance daily caused by a little boy whowas unmanageable both at home and at school, she expressed her fear thatthere was no remedy save that which had succeeded in the case of anelder brother; namely, sending him to an English school. She explainedthat at various schools in Paris this elder brother had proved utterlyuntractable; that in despair they had followed the advice to send him toEngland; and that on his return home he was as good as he had beforebeen bad. This remarkable change she ascribed entirely to thecomparative mildness of the English discipline. 

 * * * * *

After the foregoing exposition of principles, our remaining space maybest be occupied by a few of the chief maxims and rules deducible fromthem; and with a view to brevity we will put these in a hortatory form. 

Do not expect from a child any great amount of moral goodness. Duringearly years every civilised man passes through that phase of characterexhibited by the barbarous race from which he is descended. As thechild's features--flat nose, forward-opening nostrils, large lips, wide-apart eyes, absent frontal sinus, etc. --resemble for a time thoseof the savage, so, too, do his instincts. Hence the tendencies tocruelty, to thieving, to lying, so general among children--tendencieswhich, even without the aid of discipline, will become more or lessmodified just as the features do. The popular idea that children are"innocent, " while it is true with respect to evil _knowledge_, istotally false with respect to evil _impulses_; as half an hour'sobservation in the nursery will prove to any one. Boys when left tothemselves, as at public schools, treat each other more brutally thanmen do; and were they left to themselves at an earlier age theirbrutality would be still more conspicuous. 

Not only is it unwise to set up a high standard of good conduct forchildren, but it is even unwise to use very urgent incitements to goodconduct. Already most people recognise the detrimental results ofintellectual precocity; but there remains to be recognised the fact that_moral precocity_ also has detrimental results. Our higher moralfaculties, like our higher intellectual ones, are comparatively complex. By consequence, both are comparatively late in their evolution. And withthe one as with the other, an early activity produced by stimulationwill be at the expense of the future character. Hence the not uncommonanomaly that those who during childhood were models of juvenilegoodness, by and by undergo a seemingly inexplicable change for theworse, and end by being not above but below par; while relativelyexemplary men are often the issue of a childhood by no means promising. 

Be content, therefore, with moderate measures and moderate results. Bearin mind that a higher morality, like a higher intelligence, must bereached by slow growth; and you will then have patience with thoseimperfections which your child hourly displays. You will be less proneto that constant scolding, and threatening, and forbidding, by whichmany parents induce a chronic domestic irritation, in the foolish hopethat they will thus make their children what they should be. 

This liberal form of domestic government, which does not seekdespotically to regulate all the details of a child's conduct, necessarily results from the system we advocate. Satisfy yourself withseeing that your child always suffers the natural consequences of hisactions, and you will avoid that excess of control in which so manyparents err. Leave him wherever you can to the discipline of experience, and you will save him from that hot-house virtue which over-regulationproduces in yielding natures, or that demoralising antagonism which itproduces in independent ones. 

By aiming in all cases to insure the natural reactions to your child'sactions, you will put an advantageous check on your own temper. Themethod of moral education pursued by many, we fear by most, parents, islittle else than that of venting their anger in the way that firstsuggests itself. The slaps, and rough shakings and sharp words, withwhich a mother commonly visits her offspring's small offences (many ofthem not offences considered intrinsically), are generally but themanifestations of her ill-controlled feelings--result much more from thepromptings of those feelings than from a wish to benefit the offenders. But by pausing in each case of transgression to consider what is thenormal consequence, and how it may best be brought home to thetransgressor, some little time is obtained for the mastery of yourself;the mere blind anger first aroused settles down into a less vehementfeeling, and one not so likely to mislead you. 

Do not, however, seek to behave as a passionless instrument. Rememberthat besides the natural reactions to your child's actions which theworking of things tends to bring round on him, your own approbation ordisapprobation is also a natural reaction, and one of the ordainedagencies for guiding him. The error we have been combating is that of_substituting_ parental displeasure and its artificial penalties, forthe penalties which Nature has established. But while it should not be_substituted_ for these natural penalties, we by no means argue that itshould not, in some form, _accompany_ them. Though the _secondary_ kindof punishment should not usurp the place of the _primary_ kind; it may, in moderation, rightly supplement the primary kind. Such amount ofsorrow or indignation as you feel, should be expressed in words ormanner; subject, of course, to the approval of your judgment. The kindand degree of feeling produced in you will necessarily depend on yourown character; and it is therefore useless to say it should be this orthat. Nevertheless, you may endeavour to modify the feeling into thatwhich you believe ought to be entertained. Beware, however, of the twoextremes; not only in respect of the intensity, but in respect of theduration, of your displeasure. On the one hand, avoid that weakimpulsiveness, so general among mothers, which scolds and forgivesalmost in the same breath. On the other hand, do not unduly continue toshow estrangement of feeling, lest you accustom your child to do withoutyour friendship, and so lose your influence over him. The moralreactions called forth from you by your child's actions, you should asmuch as possible assimilate to those which you conceive would be calledforth from a parent of perfect nature. 

Be sparing of commands. Command only when other means are inapplicable, or have failed. "In frequent orders the parents' advantage is moreconsidered than the child's, " says Richter. As in primitive societies abreach of law is punished, not so much because it is intrinsically wrongas because it is a disregard of the king's authority--a rebellionagainst him; so in many families, the penalty visited on a transgressoris prompted less by reprobation of the offence than by anger at thedisobedience. Listen to the ordinary speeches--"How _dare_ you disobeyme?" "I tell you I'll _make_ you do it, sir. " "I'll soon teach you whois _master_"--and then consider what the words, the tone, and the mannerimply. A determination to subjugate is far more conspicuous in them, than anxiety for the child's welfare. For the time being the attitude ofmind differs but little from that of a despot bent on punishing arecalcitrant subject. The right-feeling parent, however, like thephilanthropic legislator, will rejoice not in coercion, but indispensing with coercion. He will do without law wherever other modes ofregulating conduct can be successfully employed; and he will regret thehaving recourse to law when law is necessary. As Richter remarks--"Thebest rule in politics is said to be '_pas trop gouverner_:' it is alsotrue in education. " And in spontaneous conformity with this maxim, parents whose lust of dominion is restrained by a true sense of duty, will aim to make their children control themselves as much as possible, and will fall back upon absolutism only as a last resort. 

But whenever you _do_ command, command with decision and consistency. Ifthe case is one which really cannot be otherwise dealt with, then issueyour fiat, and having issued it, never afterwards swerve from it. Consider well what you are going to do; weigh all the consequences;think whether you have adequate firmness of purpose; and then, if youfinally make the law, enforce obedience at whatever cost. Let yourpenalties be like the penalties inflicted by inanimateNature--inevitable. The hot cinder burns a child the first time heseizes it; it burns him the second time; it burns him the third time; itburns him every time; and he very soon learns not to touch the hotcinder. If you are equally consistent--if the consequences which youtell your child will follow specified acts, follow with like uniformity, he will soon come to respect your laws as he does those of Nature. Andthis respect once established, will prevent endless domestic evils. Oferrors in education one of the worst is inconsistency. As in acommunity, crimes multiply when there is no certain administration ofjustice; so in a family, an immense increase of transgressions resultsfrom a hesitating or irregular infliction of punishments. A weak mother, who perpetually threatens and rarely performs--who makes rules in hasteand repents of them at leisure--who treats the same offence now withseverity and now with leniency, as the passing humour dictates, islaying up miseries for herself and her children. She is making herselfcontemptible in their eyes; she is setting them an example ofuncontrolled feelings; she is encouraging them to transgress by theprospect of probable impunity: she is entailing endless squabbles andaccompanying damage to her own temper and the tempers of her littleones; she is reducing their minds to a moral chaos, which after years ofbitter experience will with difficulty bring into order. Better even abarbarous form of domestic government carried out consistently, than ahumane one inconsistently carried out. Again we say, avoid coercivemeasures whenever it is possible to do so; but when you find despotismreally necessary, be despotic in good earnest. 

Remember that the aim of your discipline should be to produce a_self-governing_ being; not to produce a being to be _governed byothers_. Were your children fated to pass their lives as slaves, youcould not too much accustom them to slavery during their childhood; butas they are by and by to be free men, with no one to control their dailyconduct, you cannot too much accustom them to self-control while theyare still under your eye. This it is which makes the system ofdiscipline by natural consequences so especially appropriate to thesocial state which we in England have now reached. In feudal times, whenone of the chief evils the citizen had to fear was the anger of hissuperiors, it was well that during childhood, parental vengeance shouldbe a chief means of government. But now that the citizen has little tofear from any one--now that the good or evil which he experiences ismainly that which in the order of things results from his own conduct, he should from his first years begin to learn, experimentally, the goodor evil consequences which naturally follow this or that conduct. Aim, therefore, to diminish the parental government, as fast as you cansubstitute for it in your child's mind that self-government arising froma foresight of results. During infancy a considerable amount ofabsolutism is necessary. A three-year old urchin playing with an openrazor, cannot be allowed to learn by this discipline of consequences;for the consequences may be too serious. But as intelligence increases, the number of peremptory interferences may be, and should be, diminished, with the view of gradually ending them as maturity isapproached. All transitions are dangerous; and the most dangerous is thetransition from the restraint of the family circle to the non-restraintof the world. Hence the importance of pursuing the policy we advocate;which, by cultivating a boy's faculty of self-restraint, by continuallyincreasing the degree in which he is left to his self-restraint, and byso bringing him, step by step, to a state of unaided self-restraint, obliterates the ordinary sudden and hazardous change fromexternally-governed youth to internally-governed maturity. Let thehistory of your domestic rule typify, in little, the history of ourpolitical rule: at the outset, autocratic control, where control isreally needful; by and by an incipient constitutionalism, in which theliberty of the subject gains some express recognition; successiveextensions of this liberty of the subject; gradually ending in parentalabdication. 

Do not regret the display of considerable self-will on the part of yourchildren. It is the correlative of that diminished coerciveness soconspicuous in modern education. The greater tendency to assert freedomof action on the one side, corresponds to the smaller tendency totyrannise on the other. They both indicate an approach to the system ofdiscipline we contend for, under which children will be more and moreled to rule themselves by the experience of natural consequences; andthey are both accompaniments of our more advanced social state. Theindependent English boy is the father of the independent English man;and you cannot have the last without the first. German teachers say thatthey had rather manage a dozen German boys than one English one. Shallwe, therefore, wish that our boys had the manageableness of German ones, and with it the submissiveness and political serfdom of adult Germans?Or shall we not rather tolerate in our boys those feelings which makethem free men, and modify our methods accordingly?

Lastly, always recollect that to educate rightly is not a simple andeasy thing, but a complex and extremely difficult thing, the hardesttask which devolves on adult life. The rough-and-ready style of domesticgovernment is indeed practicable by the meanest and most uncultivatedintellects. Slaps and sharp words are penalties that suggest themselvesalike to the least reclaimed barbarian and the stolidest peasant. Evenbrutes can use this method of discipline; as you may see in the growland half-bite with which a bitch will check a too-exigeant puppy. But ifyou would carry out with success a rational and civilised system, youmust be prepared for considerable mental exertion--for some study, someingenuity, some patience, some self-control. You will have habitually toconsider what are the results which in adult life follow certain kindsof acts; and you must then devise methods by which parallel resultsshall be entailed on the parallel acts of your children. It will dailybe needful to analyse the motives of juvenile conduct--to distinguishbetween acts that are really good and those which, though simulatingthem, proceed from inferior impulses; while you will have to be ever onyour guard against the cruel mistake not unfrequently made, oftranslating neutral acts into transgressions, or ascribing worsefeelings than were entertained. You must more or less modify your methodto suit the disposition of each child; and must be prepared to makefurther modifications as each child's disposition enters on a new phase. Your faith will often be taxed to maintain the requisite perseverance ina course which seems to produce little or no effect. Especially if youare dealing with children who have been wrongly treated, you must beprepared for a lengthened trial of patience before succeeding withbetter methods; since that which is not easy even where a right state offeeling has been established from the beginning, becomes doublydifficult when a wrong state of feeling has to be set right. Not onlywill you have constantly to analyse the motives of your children, butyou will have to analyse your own motives--to discriminate between thoseinternal suggestions springing from a true parental solicitude and thosewhich spring from your own selfishness, your love of ease, your lust ofdominion. And then, more trying still, you will have not only to detect, but to curb these baser impulses. In brief, you will have to carry onyour own higher education at the same time that you are educating yourchildren. Intellectually you must cultivate to good purpose that mostcomplex of subjects--human nature and its laws, as exhibited in yourchildren, in yourself, and in the world. Morally, you must keep inconstant exercise your higher feelings, and restrain your lower. It is atruth yet remaining to be recognised, that the last stage in the mentaldevelopment of each man and woman is to be reached only through a properdischarge of the parental duties. And when this truth is recognised, itwill be seen how admirable is the arrangement through which human beingsare led by their strongest affections to subject themselves to adiscipline that they would else elude. 

While some will regard this conception of education as it should be withdoubt and discouragement, others will, we think, perceive in the exaltedideal which it involves, evidence of its truth. That it cannot berealised by the impulsive, the unsympathetic, and the short-sighted, but demands the higher attributes of human nature, they will see to beevidence of its fitness for the more advanced states of humanity. Thoughit calls for much labour and self-sacrifice, they will see that itpromises an abundant return of happiness, immediate and remote. Theywill see that while in its injurious effects on both parent and child abad system is twice cursed, a good system is twice blessed--it blesseshim that trains and him that's trained. 

[1] Of this nature is the plea put in by some for the rough treatmentexperienced by boys at our public schools; where, as it is said, theyare introduced to a miniature world whose hardships prepare them forthose of the real world. It must be admitted that the plea has someforce; but it is a very insufficient plea. For whereas domestic andschool discipline, though they should not be much better than thediscipline of adult life, should be somewhat better; the disciplinewhich boys meet with at Eton, Winchester, Harrow, etc. , is worse thanthat of adult life--more unjust and cruel. Instead of being an aid tohuman progress, which all culture should be, the culture of our publicschools, by accustoming boys to a despotic form of government and anintercourse regulated by brute force, tends to fit them for a lowerstate of society than that which exists. And chiefly recruited as ourlegislature is from among those who are brought up at such schools, thisbarbarising influence becomes a hindrance to national progress. 

PHYSICAL EDUCATION

Equally at the squire's table after the withdrawal of the ladies, at thefarmers' market-ordinary, and at the village ale-house, the topic which, after the political question of the day, excites the most generalinterest, is the management of animals. Riding home from hunting, theconversation usually gravitates towards horse-breeding, and pedigrees, and comments on this or that "good point;" while a day on the moors isvery unlikely to end without something being said on the treatment ofdogs. When crossing the fields together from church, the tenants ofadjacent farms are apt to pass from criticisms on the sermon tocriticisms on the weather, the crops, and the stock; and thence to slideinto discussions on the various kinds of fodder and their feedingqualities. Hodge and Giles, after comparing notes over their respectivepig-styes, show by their remarks that they have been observant of theirmasters' beasts and sheep; and of the effects produced on them by thisor that kind of treatment. Nor is it only among the rural populationthat the regulations of the kennel, the stable, the cow-shed, and thesheep-pen, are favourite subjects. In towns, too, the numerous artisanswho keep dogs, the young men who are rich enough to now and then indulgetheir sporting tendencies, and their more staid seniors who talk overagricultural progress or read Mr. Mechi's annual reports and Mr. Caird'sletters to the _Times_, form, when added together, a large portion ofthe inhabitants. Take the adult males throughout the kingdom, and agreat majority will be found to show some interest in the breeding, rearing, or training of animals, of one kind or other. 

But, during after-dinner conversations, or at other times of likeintercourse, who hears anything said about the rearing of children? Whenthe country gentleman has paid his daily visit to the stable, andpersonally inspected the condition and treatment of his horses; when hehas glanced at his minor live stock, and given directions about them;how often does he go up to the nursery and examine into its dietary, itshours, its ventilation? On his library-shelves may be found White's_Farriery_, Stephens's _Book of the Farm_, Nimrod _on the Condition ofHunters_; and with the contents of these he is more or less familiar;but how many books has he read on the management of infancy andchildhood? The fattening properties of oil-cake, the relative values ofhay and chopped straw, the dangers of unlimited clover, are points onwhich every landlord, farmer, and peasant has some knowledge; but whatpercentage of them inquire whether the food they give their children isadapted to the constitutional needs of growing boys and girls? Perhapsthe business-interests of these classes will be assigned as accountingfor this anomaly. The explanation is inadequate, however; seeing thatthe same contrast holds among other classes. Of a score of townspeople, few, if any, would prove ignorant of the fact that it is undesirable towork a horse soon after it has eaten; and yet, of this same score, supposing them all to be fathers, probably not one would be found whohad considered whether the time elapsing between his children's dinnerand their resumption of lessons was sufficient. Indeed, oncross-examination, nearly every man would disclose the latent opinionthat the regimen of the nursery was no concern of his. "Oh, I leave allthose things to the women, " would probably be the reply. And in mostcases the tone of this reply would convey the implication, that suchcares are not consistent with masculine dignity. 

Regarded from any but a conventional point of view, the fact seemsstrange that while the raising of first-rate bullocks is an occupationon which educated men willingly bestow much time and thought, thebringing up of fine human beings is an occupation tacitly voted unworthyof their attention. Mammas who have been taught little but languages, music, and accomplishments, aided by nurses full of antiquatedprejudices, are held competent regulators of the food, clothing, andexercise of children. Meanwhile the fathers read books and periodicals, attend agricultural meetings, try experiments, and engage indiscussions, all with the view of discovering how to fatten prize pigs!We see infinite pains taken to produce a racer that shall win the Derby:none to produce a modern athlete. Had Gulliver narrated of the Laputansthat the men vied with each other in learning how best to rear theoffspring of other creatures, and were careless of learning how best torear their own offspring, he would have paralleled any of the otherabsurdities he ascribes to them. 

The matter is a serious one, however. Ludicrous as is the antithesis, the fact it expresses is not less disastrous. As remarks a suggestivewriter, the first requisite to success in life is "to be a good animal;"and to be a nation of good animals is the first condition to nationalprosperity. Not only is it that the event of a war often turns on thestrength and hardiness of soldiers; but it is that the contests ofcommerce are in part determined by the bodily endurance of producers. Thus far we have found no reason to fear trials of strength with otherraces in either of these fields. But there are not wanting signs thatour powers will presently be taxed to the uttermost. The competition ofmodern life is so keen, that few can bear the required applicationwithout injury. Already thousands break down under the high pressurethey are subject to. If this pressure continues to increase, as it seemslikely to do, it will try severely even the soundest constitutions. Hence it is becoming of especial importance that the training ofchildren should be so carried on, as not only to fit them mentally forthe struggle before them, but also to make them physically fit to bearits excessive wear and tear. 

Happily the matter is beginning to attract attention. The writings ofMr. Kingsley indicate a reaction against over-culture; carried perhaps, as reactions usually are, somewhat too far. Occasional letters andleaders in the newspapers have shown an awakening interest in physicaltraining. And the formation of a school, significantly nicknamed that of"muscular Christianity, " implies a growing opinion that our presentmethods of bringing up children do not sufficiently regard the welfareof the body. The topic is evidently ripe for discussion. 

To conform the regimen of the nursery and the school to the establishedtruths of modern science--this is the desideratum. It is time that thebenefits which our sheep and oxen are deriving from the investigationsof the laboratory, should be participated in by our children. Withoutcalling in question the great importance of horse-training andpig-feeding, we would suggest that, as the rearing of well-grown men andwomen is also of some moment, these conclusions which theory indicatesand practice indorses, ought to be acted on in the last case as in thefirst. Probably not a few will be startled--perhaps offended--by thiscollocation of ideas. But it is a fact not to be disputed, and to whichwe must reconcile ourselves, that man is subject to the same organiclaws as inferior creatures. No anatomist, no physiologist, no chemist, will for a moment hesitate to assert, that the general principles whichare true of the vital processes in animals are equally true of the vitalprocesses in man. And a candid admission of this fact is not without itsreward: namely, that the generalisations established by observation andexperiment on brutes, become available for human guidance. Rudimentaryas is the Science of Life, it has already attained to certainfundamental principles underlying the development of all organisms, thehuman included. That which has now to be done, and that which we shallendeavour in some measure to do, is to trace the bearings of thesefundamental principles on the physical training of childhood and youth. 

 * * * * *

The rhythmical tendency which is traceable in all departments of sociallife--which is illustrated in the access of despotism after revolution, or, among ourselves, in the alternation of reforming epochs andconservative epochs--which, after a dissolute age, brings an age ofasceticism, and conversely, --which, in commerce, produces the recurringinflations and panics--which carries the devotees of fashion from oneabsurd extreme to the opposite one;--this rhythmical tendency affectsalso our table-habits, and by implication, the dietary of the young. After a period distinguished by hard drinking and hard eating, has comea period of comparative sobriety, which, in teetotalism andvegetarianism, exhibits extreme forms of protest against the riotousliving of the past. And along with this change in the regimen of adults, has come a parallel change in the regimen for boys and girls. In pastgenerations the belief was, that the more a child could be induced toeat, the better; and even now, among farmers and in remote districts, where traditional ideas most linger, parents may be found who tempttheir children into repletion. But among the educated classes, whochiefly display this reaction towards abstemiousness, there may be seena decided leaning to the under-feeding, rather than the over-feeding, ofchildren. Indeed their disgust for by-gone animalism, is more clearlyshown in the treatment of their offspring than in the treatment ofthemselves; for while their disguised asceticism is, in so far as theirpersonal conduct is concerned, kept in check by their appetites, it hasfull play in legislating for juveniles. 

That over-feeding and under-feeding are both bad, is a truism. Of thetwo, however, the last is the worst. As writes a high authority, "theeffects of casual repletion are less prejudicial, and more easilycorrected, than those of inanition. "[1] Besides, where there has been noinjudicious interference, repletion seldom occurs. "Excess is the vicerather of adults than of the young, who are rarely either gourmands orepicures, unless through the fault of those who rear them. "[2] Thissystem of restriction which many parents think so necessary, is basedupon inadequate observation, and erroneous reasoning. There is anover-legislation in the nursery, as well as an over-legislation in theState; and one of the most injurious forms of it is this limitation inthe quantity of food. 

"But are children to be allowed to surfeit themselves? Shall they besuffered to take their fill of dainties and make themselves ill, as theycertainly will do?" As thus put, the question admits of but one reply. But as thus put, it assumes the point at issue. We contend that, asappetite is a good guide to all the lower creation--as it is a goodguide to the infant--as it is a good guide to the invalid--as it is agood guide to the differently-placed races of men--and as it is a goodguide for every adult who leads a healthful life; it may safely beinferred that it is a good guide for childhood. It would be strangeindeed were it here alone untrustworthy. 

Perhaps some will read this reply with impatience; being able, as theythink, to cite facts totally at variance with it. It may appear absurdif we deny the relevancy of these facts. And yet the paradox is quitedefensible. The truth is, that the instances of excess which suchpersons have in mind, are usually the _consequences_ of the restrictivesystem they seem to justify. They are the sensual reactions caused by anascetic regimen. They illustrate on a small scale that commonly-remarkedtruth, that those who during youth have been subject to the mostrigorous discipline, are apt afterwards to rush into the wildestextravagances. They are analogous to those frightful phenomena, once notuncommon in convents, where nuns suddenly lapsed from the extremestausterities into an almost demoniac wickedness. They simply exhibit theuncontrollable vehemence of long-denied desires. Consider the ordinarytastes and the ordinary treatment of children. The love of sweets isconspicuous and almost universal among them. Probably ninety-nine peoplein a hundred presume that there is nothing more in this thangratification of the palate; and that, in common with other sensualdesires, it should be discouraged. The physiologist, however, whosediscoveries lead him to an ever-increasing reverence for thearrangements of things, suspects something more in this love of sweetsthan is currently supposed; and inquiry confirms the suspicion. He findsthat sugar plays an important part in the vital processes. Bothsaccharine and fatty matters are eventually oxidised in the body; andthere is an accompanying evolution of heat. Sugar is the form to whichsundry other compounds have to be reduced before they are available asheat-making food; and this _formation_ of sugar is carried on in thebody. Not only is starch changed into sugar in the course of digestion, but it has been proved by M. Claude Bernard that the liver is a factoryin which other constituents of food are transformed into sugar: the needfor sugar being so imperative that it is even thus produced fromnitrogenous substances when no others are given. Now, when to the factthat children have a marked desire for this valuable heat-food, we jointhe fact that they have usually a marked dislike to that food whichgives out the greatest amount of heat during oxidation (namely, fat), wehave reason for thinking that excess of the one compensates for defectof the other--that the organism demands more sugar because it cannotdeal with much fat. Again, children are fond of vegetable acids. Fruitsof all kinds are their delight; and, in the absence of anything better, they will devour unripe gooseberries and the sourest of crabs. Now notonly are vegetable acids, in common with mineral ones, very good tonics, and beneficial as such when taken in moderation; but they have, whenadministered in their natural forms, other advantages. "Ripe fruit, "says Dr. Andrew Combe, "is more freely given on the Continent than inthis country; and, particularly when the bowels act imperfectly, it isoften very useful. " See, then, the discord between the instinctive wantsof children and their habitual treatment. Here are two dominant desires, which in all probability express certain needs of the child'sconstitution; and not only are they ignored in the nursery-regimen, butthere is a general tendency to forbid the gratification of them. Bread-and-milk in the morning, tea and bread-and-butter at night, orsome dietary equally insipid, is rigidly adhered to; and anyministration to the palate is thought needless, or rather, wrong. Whatis the consequence? When, on fête-days, there is unlimited access togood things--when a gift of pocket-money brings the contents of theconfectioner's window within reach, or when by some accident the freerun of a fruit-garden is obtained; then the long-denied, and thereforeintense, desires lead to great excesses. There is an impromptu carnival, due partly to release from past restraints, and partly to theconsciousness that a long Lent will begin on the morrow. And then, whenthe evils of repletion display themselves, it is argued that childrenmust not be left to the guidance of their appetites! These disastrousresults of artificial restrictions, are themselves cited as proving theneed for further restrictions! We contend, therefore, that the reasoningused to justify this system of interference is vicious. We contend that, were children allowed daily to partake of these more sapid edibles, forwhich there is a physiological requirement, they would rarely exceed, asthey now mostly do when they have the opportunity: were fruit, as Dr. Combe recommends, "to constitute a part of the regular food" (given, ashe advises, not between meals, but along with them), there would be noneof that craving which prompts the devouring of crabs and sloes. Andsimilarly in other cases. 

Not only is it that the _à priori_ reasons for trusting the appetites ofchildren are strong; and that the reasons assigned for distrusting themare invalid; but it is that no other guidance is worthy of confidence. What is the value of this parental judgment, set up as an alternativeregulator? When to "Oliver asking for more, " the mamma or governess says"No, " on what data does she proceed? She _thinks_ he has had enough. Butwhere are her grounds for so thinking? Has she some secret understandingwith the boy's stomach--some _clairvoyant_ power enabling her to discernthe needs of his body? If not, how can she safely decide? Does she notknow that the demand of the system for food is determined by numerousand involved causes--varies with the temperature, with the hygrometricstate of the air, with the electric state of the air--varies alsoaccording to the exercise taken, according to the kind and quantity offood eaten at the last meal, and according to the rapidity with whichthe last meal was digested? How can she calculate the result of such acombination of causes? As we heard said by the father of afive-years-old boy, who stands a head taller than most of his age, andis proportionately robust, rosy, and active:--"I can see no artificialstandard by which to mete out his food. If I say, 'this much is enough, 'it is a mere guess; and the guess is as likely to be wrong as right. Consequently, having no faith in guesses, I let him eat his fill. " Andcertainly, any one judging of his policy by its effects, would beconstrained to admit its wisdom. In truth, this confidence, with whichmost parents legislate for the stomachs of their children, proves theirunacquaintance with physiology: if they knew more, they would be moremodest. "The pride of science is humble when compared with the pride ofignorance. " If any one would learn how little faith is to be placed inhuman judgments, and how much in the pre-established arrangements ofthings, let him compare the rashness of the inexperienced physician withthe caution of the most advanced; or let him dip into Sir John Forbes'swork, _On Nature and Art in the Cure of Disease_; and he will see that, in proportion as men gain knowledge of the laws of life, they come tohave less confidence in themselves, and more in Nature. 

Turning from the question of _quantity_ of food to that of _quality_, wemay discern the same ascetic tendency. Not simply a restricted diet, buta comparatively low diet, is thought proper for children. The currentopinion is, that they should have but little animal food. Among the lesswealthy classes, economy seems to have dictated this opinion--the wishhas been father to the thought. Parents not affording to buy much meat, answer the petitions of juveniles with--"Meat is not good for littleboys and girls;" and this, at first probably nothing but a convenientexcuse, has by repetition grown into an article of faith. While theclasses with whom cost is no consideration, have been swayed partly bythe example of the majority, partly by the influence of nurses drawnfrom the lower classes, and in some measure by the reaction against pastanimalism. 

If, however, we inquire for the basis of this opinion, we find little ornone. It is a dogma repeated and received without proof, like thatwhich, for thousands of years, insisted on swaddling-clothes. Veryprobably for the infant's stomach, not yet endowed with much muscularpower, meat, which requires considerable trituration before it can bemade into chyme, is an unfit aliment. But this objection does not tellagainst animal food from which the fibrous part has been extracted; nordoes it apply when, after the lapse of two or three years, considerablemuscular vigour has been acquired. And while the evidence in support ofthis dogma, partially valid in the case of very young children, is notvalid in the case of older children, who are, nevertheless, ordinarilytreated in conformity with it, the adverse evidence is abundant andconclusive. The verdict of science is exactly opposite to the popularopinion. We have put the question to two of our leading physicians, andto several of the most distinguished physiologists, and they uniformlyagree in the conclusion, that children should have a diet not _less_nutritive, but, if anything, _more_ nutritive than that of adults. 

The grounds for this conclusion are obvious, and the reasoning simple. It needs but to compare the vital processes of a man with those of aboy, to see that the demand for sustenance is relatively greater in theboy than in the man. What are the ends for which a man requires food?Each day his body undergoes more or less wear--wear through muscularexertion, wear of the nervous system through mental actions, wear of theviscera in carrying on the functions of life; and the tissue thus wastedhas to be renewed. Each day, too, by radiation, his body loses a largeamount of heat; and as, for the continuance of the vital actions, thetemperature of the body must be maintained, this loss has to becompensated by a constant production of heat: to which end certainconstituents of the body are ever undergoing oxidation. To make up forthe day's waste, and to supply fuel for the day's expenditure of heat, are, then, the sole purposes for which the adult requires food. Considernow the case of the boy. He, too, wastes the substance of his body byaction; and it needs but to note his restless activity to see that, inproportion to his bulk, he probably wastes as much as a man. He, too, loses heat by radiation; and, as his body exposes a greater surface inproportion to its mass than does that of a man, and therefore loses heatmore rapidly, the quantity of heat-food he requires is, bulk for bulk, greater than that required by a man. So that even had the boy no othervital processes to carry on than the man has, he would need, relativelyto his size, a somewhat larger supply of nutriment. But, besidesrepairing his body and maintaining its heat, the boy has to make newtissue--to grow. After waste and thermal loss have been provided for, such surplus of nutriment as remains goes to the further building up ofthe frame; and only in virtue of this surplus is normal growth possible;the growth that sometimes takes place in the absence of it, causing amanifest prostration consequent upon defective repair. It is true thatbecause of a certain mechanical law which cannot be here explained, asmall organism has an advantage over a large one in the ratio betweenthe sustaining and destroying forces--an advantage, indeed, to which thevery possibility of growth is owing. But this admission only makes itthe more obvious that though much adverse treatment may be borne withoutthis excess of vitality being quite out-balanced; yet any adversetreatment, by diminishing it, must diminish the size or structuralperfection reached. How peremptory is the demand of the unfoldingorganism for materials, is seen alike in that "schoolboy hunger, " whichafter-life rarely parallels in intensity, and in the comparatively quickreturn of appetite. And if there needs further evidence of this extranecessity for nutriment, we have it in the fact that, during the faminesfollowing shipwrecks and other disasters, the children are the first todie. 

This relatively greater need for nutriment being admitted, as it mustbe, the question that remains is--shall we meet it by giving anexcessive quantity of what may be called dilute food, or a more moderatequantity of concentrated food? The nutriment obtainable from a givenweight of meat is obtainable only from a larger weight of bread, or froma still larger weight of potatoes, and so on. To fulfil the requirement, the quantity must be increased as the nutritiveness is diminished. Shall, we, then, respond to the extra wants of the growing child bygiving an adequate quantity of food as good as that of adults? Or, regardless of the fact that its stomach has to dispose of a relativelylarger quantity even of this good food, shall we further tax it bygiving an inferior food in still greater quantity?

The answer is tolerably obvious. The more the labour of digestion iseconomised, the more energy is left for the purposes of growth andaction. The functions of the stomach and intestines cannot be performedwithout a large supply of blood and nervous power; and in thecomparative lassitude that follows a hearty meal, every adult has proofthat this supply of blood and nervous power is at the expense of thesystem at large. If the requisite nutriment is obtained from a greatquantity of innutritious food, more work is entailed on the viscera thanwhen it is obtained from a moderate quantity of nutritious food. Thisextra work is so much loss--a loss which in children shows itself eitherin diminished energy, or in smaller growth, or in both. The inferenceis, then, that they should have a diet which combines, as much aspossible, nutritiveness and digestibility. 

It is doubtless true that boys and girls may be reared upon anexclusively, or almost exclusively, vegetable diet. Among the upperclasses are to be found children to whom comparatively little meat isgiven; and who, nevertheless, grow and appear in good health. Animalfood is scarcely tasted by the offspring of labouring people; and yetthey reach a healthy maturity. But these seemingly adverse facts have byno means the weight commonly supposed. In the first place, it does notfollow that those who in early years flourish on bread and potatoes, will eventually reach a fine development; and a comparison between theagricultural labourers and the gentry, in England, or between the middleand lower classes in France is by no means in favour of vegetablefeeders. In the second place, the question is not simply a question of_bulk_, but also a question of _quality_. A soft, flabby flesh makes asgood a show as a firm one; but though to the careless eye, a child offull, flaccid tissue may appear the equal of one whose fibres are welltoned, a trial of strength will prove the difference. Obesity in adultsis often a sign of feebleness. Men lose weight in training. Hence theappearance of these low-fed children is far from conclusive. In thethird place, besides _size_, we have to consider _energy_. Betweenchildren of the meat-eating classes and those of thebread-and-potato-eating classes, there is a marked contrast in thisrespect. Both in mental and physical vivacity the peasant-boy is greatlyinferior to the son of a gentleman. 

If we compare different kinds of animals, or different races of men, orthe same animals or men when differently fed, we find still moredistinct proof that _the degree of energy essentially depends on thenutritiveness of the food_. 

In a cow, subsisting on so innutritive a food as grass, we see that theimmense quantity required necessitates an enormous digestive system;that the limbs, small in comparison with the body, are burdened by itsweight; that in carrying about this heavy body and digesting thisexcessive quantity of food, much force is expended; and that, having butlittle remaining, the creature is sluggish. Compare with the cow ahorse--an animal of nearly allied structure, but habituated to a moreconcentrated diet. Here the body, and more especially its abdominalregion, bears a smaller ratio to the limbs; the powers are not taxed bythe support of such massive viscera, nor the digestion of so bulky afood; and, as a consequence, there is greater locomotive energy andconsiderable vivacity. If, again, we contrast the stolid inactivity ofthe graminivorous sheep with the liveliness of the dog, subsisting onflesh or farinaceous matters, or a mixture of the two, we see adifference similar in kind, but still greater in degree. And afterwalking through the Zoological Gardens, and noting the restlessness withwhich the carnivorous animals pace up and down their cages, it needs butto remember that none of the herbivorous animals habitually display thissuperfluous energy, to see how clear is the relation betweenconcentration of food and degree of activity. 

That these differences are not directly consequent on differences ofconstitution, as some may argue; but are directly consequent ondifferences in the food which the creatures are constituted to subsiston; is proved by the fact, that they are observable between differentdivisions of the same species. The varieties of the horse furnish anillustration. Compare the big-bellied, inactive, spiritless cart-horsewith a racer or hunter, small in the flanks and full of energy; and thencall to mind how much less nutritive is the diet of the one than that ofthe other. Or take the case of mankind. Australians, Bushmen, and othersof the lowest savages who live on roots and berries, varied by larvae ofinsects and the like meagre fare, are comparatively puny in stature, have large abdomens, soft and undeveloped muscles, and are quite unableto cope with Europeans, either in a struggle or in prolonged exertion. Count up the wild races who are well grown, strong and active, as theKaffirs, North-American Indians, and Patagonians, and you find themlarge consumers of flesh. The ill-fed Hindoo goes down before theEnglishman fed on more nutritive food; to whom he is as inferior inmental as in physical energy. And generally, we think, the history ofthe world shows that the well-fed races have been the energetic anddominant races. 

Still stronger, however, becomes the argument, when we find that thesame individual animal is capable of more or less exertion according asits food is more or less nutritious. This has been demonstrated in thecase of the horse. Though flesh may be gained by a grazing horse, strength is lost; as putting him to hard work proves. "The consequenceof turning horses out to grass is relaxation of the muscular system. ""Grass is a very good preparation for a bullock for Smithfield market, but a very bad one for a hunter. " It was well known of old that, afterpassing the summer in the fields, hunters required some months ofstable-feeding before becoming able to follow the hounds; and that theydid not get into good condition till the beginning of the next spring. And the modern practice is that insisted on by Mr. Apperley--"Never togive a hunter what is called 'a summer's run at grass, ' and, exceptunder particular and very favourable circumstances, never to turn himout at all. " That is to say, never give him poor food: great energy andendurance are to be obtained only by the continued use of nutritivefood. So true is this that, as proved by Mr. Apperley, prolongedhigh-feeding enables a middling horse to equal, in his performances, afirst-rate horse fed in the ordinary way. To which various evidences addthe familiar fact that, when a horse is required to do double duty, itis the practice to give him beans--a food containing a larger proportionof nitrogenous, or flesh-making material, than his habitual oats. 

Once more, in the case of individual men the truth has been illustratedwith equal, or still greater, clearness. We do not refer to men intraining for feats of strength, whose regimen, however, thoroughlyconforms to the doctrine. We refer to the experience ofrailway-contractors and their labourers. It has been for years awell-established fact that an English navvy, eating largely of flesh, isfar more efficient than a Continental navvy living on farinaceous food:so much more efficient, that English contractors for Continentalrailways found it pay to take their labourers with them. That differenceof diet and not difference of race caused this superiority, has been oflate distinctly shown. For it has turned out, that when the Continentalnavvies live in the same style as their English competitors, theypresently rise, more or less nearly, to a par with them in efficiency. And to this fact let us here add the converse one, to which we can givepersonal testimony based upon six months' experience of vegetarianism, that abstinence from meat entails diminished energy of both body andmind. 

Do not these various evidences endorse our argument respecting thefeeding of children? Do they not imply that, even supposing the samestature and bulk to be attained on an innutritive as on a nutritivediet, the quality of tissue is greatly inferior? Do they not establishthe position that, where energy as well as growth has to be maintained, it can only be done by high feeding? Do they not confirm the _à priori_conclusion that, though a child of whom little is expected in the way ofbodily or mental activity, may thrive tolerably well on farinaceoussubstances, a child who is daily required, not only to form the dueamount of new tissue, but to supply the waste consequent on greatmuscular action, and the further waste consequent on hard exercise ofbrain, must live on substances containing a larger ratio of nutritivematter? And is it not an obvious corollary, that denial of this betterfood will be at the expense either of growth, or of bodily activity, orof mental activity; as constitution and circumstances determine? Webelieve no logical intellect will question it. To think otherwise is toentertain in a disguised form the old fallacy of the perpetual-motionschemers--that it is possible to get power out of nothing. 

Before leaving the question of food, a few words must be said on anotherrequisite--_variety_. In this respect the dietary of the young is veryfaulty. If not, like our soldiers, condemned to "twenty years of boiledbeef, " our children have mostly to bear a monotony which, though lessextreme and less lasting, is quite as clearly at variance with the lawsof health. At dinner, it is true, they usually have food that is more orless mixed, and that is changed day by day. But week after week, monthafter month, year after year, comes the same breakfast ofbread-and-milk, or, it may be, oatmeal-porridge. And with likepersistence the day is closed, perhaps with a second edition of thebread-and-milk, perhaps with tea and bread-and-butter. 

This practice is opposed to the dictates of physiology. The satietyproduced by an often-repeated dish, and the gratification caused by onelong a stranger to the palate, are _not_ meaningless, as peoplecarelessly assume; but they are the incentives to a wholesome diversityof diet. It is a fact, established by numerous experiments, that thereis scarcely any one food, however good, which supplies in dueproportions or right forms all the elements required for carrying on thevital processes in a normal manner: whence it follows that frequentchange of food is desirable to balance the supplies of all the elements. It is a further fact, known to physiologists, that the enjoyment givenby a much-liked food is a nervous stimulus, which, by increasing theaction of the heart and so propelling the blood with increased vigour, aids in the subsequent digestion. And these truths are in harmony withthe maxims of modern cattle-feeding, which dictate a rotation of diet. 

Not only, however, is periodic change of food very desirable; but, forthe same reasons, it is very desirable that a mixture of food should betaken at each meal. The better balance of ingredients, and the greaternervous stimulation, are advantages which hold here as before. If factsare asked for, we may name as one, the comparative ease with which thestomach disposes of a French dinner, enormous in quantity but extremelyvaried in materials. Few will contend that an equal weight of one kindof food, however well cooked, could be digested with as much facility. If any desire further facts, they may find them in every modern book onthe management of animals. Animals thrive best when each meal is made upof several things. The experiments of Goss and Stark "afford the mostdecisive proof of the advantage, or rather the necessity, of a mixtureof substances, in order to produce the compound which is the bestadapted for the action of the stomach. "[3]

Should any object, as probably many will, that a rotating dietary forchildren, and one which also requires a mixture of food at each meal, would entail too much trouble; we reply, that no trouble is thought toogreat which conduces to the mental development of children, and that fortheir future welfare, good bodily development is of still higherimportance. Moreover, it seems alike sad and strange that a troublewhich is cheerfully taken in the fattening of pigs, should be thoughttoo great in the rearing of children. 

One more paragraph, with the view of warning those who may propose toadopt the regimen indicated. The change must not be made suddenly; forcontinued low-feeding so enfeebles the system, as to disable it from atonce dealing with a high diet. Deficient nutrition is itself a cause ofdyspepsia. This is true even of animals. "When calves are fed withskimmed milk, or whey, or other poor food, they are liable toindigestion. "[4] Hence, therefore, where the energies are low, thetransition to a generous diet must be gradual: each increment ofstrength gained, justifying a fresh addition of nutriment. Further, itshould be borne in mind that the concentration of nutriment may becarried too far. A bulk sufficient to fill the stomach is one requisiteof a proper meal; and this requisite negatives a diet deficient in thosematters which give adequate mass. Though the size of the digestiveorgans is less in the well-fed civilised races than in the ill-fedsavage ones, and though their size may eventually diminish stillfurther, yet, for the time being, the bulk of the ingesta must bedetermined by the existing capacity. But, paying due regard to these twoqualifications, our conclusions are--that the food of children should behighly nutritive; that it should be varied at each meal and atsuccessive meals; and that it should be abundant. 

 * * * * *

With clothing as with food, the usual tendency is towards an improperscantiness. Here, too, asceticism peeps out. There is a current theory, vaguely entertained if not put into a definite formula, that thesensations are to be disregarded. They do not exist for our guidance, but to mislead us, seems to be the prevalent belief reduced to its nakedform. It is a grave error: we are much more beneficently constituted. Itis not obedience to the sensations, but disobedience to them, which isthe habitual cause of bodily evils. It is not the eating when hungry, but the eating in the absence of hunger, which is bad. It is notdrinking when thirsty, but continuing to drink when thirst has ceased, that is the vice. Harm does not result from breathing that fresh airwhich every healthy person enjoys; but from breathing foul air, spite ofthe protest of the lungs. Harm does not result from taking that activeexercise which, as every child shows us, Nature strongly prompts; butfrom a persistent disregard of Nature's promptings. Not that mentalactivity which is spontaneous and enjoyable does the mischief; but thatwhich is persevered in after a hot or aching head commands desistance. Not that bodily exertion which is pleasant or indifferent, does injury;but that which is continued when exhaustion forbids. It is true that, inthose who have long led unhealthy lives, the sensations are nottrustworthy guides. People who have for years been almost constantlyin-doors, who have exercised their brains very much and their bodiesscarcely at all, who in eating have obeyed their clocks withoutconsulting their stomachs, may very likely be misled by their vitiatedfeelings. But their abnormal state is itself the result of transgressingtheir feelings. Had they from childhood never disobeyed what we may termthe physical conscience, it would not have been seared, but would haveremained a faithful monitor. 

Among the sensations serving for our guidance are those of heat andcold; and a clothing for children which does not carefully consult thesesensations, is to be condemned. The common notion about "hardening" is agrievous delusion. Not a few children are "hardened" out of the world;and those who survive, permanently suffer either in growth orconstitution. "Their delicate appearance furnishes ample indication ofthe mischief thus produced, and their frequent attacks of illness mightprove a warning even to unreflecting parents, " says Dr. Combe. Thereasoning on which this hardening-theory rests is extremely superficial. Wealthy parents, seeing little peasant boys and girls playing about inthe open air only half-clothed, and joining with this fact the generalhealthiness of labouring people, draw the unwarrantable conclusion thatthe healthiness is the result of the exposure, and resolve to keep theirown offspring scantily covered! It is forgotten that these urchins whogambol upon village-greens are in many respects favourablycircumstanced--that their lives are spent in almost perpetual play; thatthey are all day breathing fresh air; and that their systems are notdisturbed by over-taxed brains. For aught that appears to the contrary, their good health may be maintained, not in consequence of, but in spiteof, their deficient clothing. This alternative conclusion we believe tobe the true one; and that an inevitable detriment results from the lossof animal heat to which they are subject. 

For when, the constitution being sound enough to bear it, exposure doesproduce hardness, it does so at the expense of growth. This truth isdisplayed alike in animals and in man. Shetland ponies bear greaterinclemencies than the horses of the south, but are dwarfed. Highlandsheep and cattle, living in a colder climate, are stunted in comparisonwith English breeds. In both the arctic and antarctic regions the humanrace falls much below its ordinary height: the Laplander and Esquimauxare very short; and the Terra del Fuegians, who go naked in a wintryland, are described by Darwin as so stunted and hideous, that "one canhardly make one's-self believe they are fellow-creatures. "

Science explains this dwarfishness produced by great abstraction ofheat; showing that, food and other things being equal, it unavoidablyresults. For, as before pointed out, to make up for that cooling byradiation which the body is ever undergoing, there must be a constantoxidation of certain matters forming part of the food. And in proportionas the thermal loss is great, must the quantity of these mattersrequired for oxidation be great. But the power of the digestive organsis limited. Consequently, when they have to prepare a large quantity ofthis material needful for maintaining the temperature, they can preparebut a small quantity of the material which goes to build up the frame. Excessive expenditure for fuel entails diminished means for otherpurposes. Wherefore there necessarily results a body small in size, orinferior in texture, or both. 

Hence the great importance of clothing. As Liebig says:--"Our clothingis, in reference to the temperature of the body, merely an equivalentfor a certain amount of food. " By diminishing the loss of heat, itdiminishes the amount of fuel needful for maintaining the heat; and whenthe stomach has less to do in preparing fuel, it can do more inpreparing other materials. This deduction is confirmed by the experienceof those who manage animals. Cold can be borne by animals only at anexpense of fat, or muscle, or growth, as the case may be. "If fatteningcattle are exposed to a low temperature, either their progress must beretarded, or a great additional expenditure of food incurred. "[5] Mr. Apperley insists strongly that, to bring hunters into good condition, itis necessary that the stable should be kept warm. And among those whorear racers, it is an established doctrine that exposure is to beavoided. 

The scientific truth thus illustrated by ethnology, and recognised byagriculturists and sportsmen, applies with double force to children. Inproportion to their smallness and the rapidity of their growth is theinjury from cold great. In France, new-born infants often die in winterfrom being carried to the office of the _maire_ for registration. "M. Quetelet has pointed out, that in Belgium two infants die in January forone that dies in July. " And in Russia the infant mortality is somethingenormous. Even when near maturity, the undeveloped frame iscomparatively unable to bear exposure: as witness the quickness withwhich young soldiers succumb in a trying campaign. The _rationale_ isobvious. We have already adverted to the fact that, in consequence ofthe varying relation between surface and bulk, a child loses arelatively larger amount of heat than an adult; and here we must pointout that the disadvantage under which the child thus labours is verygreat. Lehmann says:--"If the carbonic acid excreted by children oryoung animals is calculated for an equal bodily weight, it results thatchildren produce nearly twice as much acid as adults. " Now the quantityof carbonic acid given off varies with tolerable accuracy as thequantity of heat produced. And thus we see that in children the system, even when not placed at a disadvantage, is called upon to provide nearlydouble the proportion of material for generating heat. 

See, then, the extreme folly of clothing the young scantily. Whatfather, full-grown though he is, losing heat less rapidly as he does, and having no physiological necessity but to supply the waste of eachday--what father, we ask, would think it salutary to go about with barelegs, bare arms, and bare neck? Yet this tax on the system, from whichhe would shrink, he inflicts on his little ones, who are so much lessable to bear it! or, if he does not inflict it, sees it inflictedwithout protest. Let him remember that every ounce of nutrimentneedlessly expended for the maintenance of temperature, is so muchdeducted from the nutriment going to build up the frame; and that evenwhen colds, congestions, or other consequent disorders are escaped, diminished growth or less perfect structure is inevitable. 

"The rule is, therefore, not to dress in an invariable way in all cases, but to put on clothing in kind and quantity _sufficient in theindividual case to protect the body effectually from an abidingsensation of cold, however slight_. " This rule, the importance of whichDr. Combe indicates by the italics, is one in which men of science andpractitioners agree. We have met with none competent to form a judgmenton the matter, who do not strongly condemn the exposure of children'slimbs. If there is one point above others in which "pestilent custom"should be ignored, it is this. 

Lamentable, indeed, is it to see mothers seriously damaging theconstitutions of their children out of compliance with an irrationalfashion. It is bad enough that they should themselves conform to everyfolly which our Gallic neighbours please to initiate; but that theyshould clothe their children in any mountebank dress which _Le petitCourrier des Dames_ indicates, regardless of its insufficiency andunfitness, is monstrous. Discomfort, more or less great, is inflicted;frequent disorders are entailed; growth is checked or staminaundermined; premature death not uncommonly caused; and all because it isthought needful to make frocks of a size and material dictated by Frenchcaprice. Not only is it that for the sake of conformity, mothers thuspunish and injure their little ones by scantiness of covering; but it isthat from an allied motive they impose a style of dress which forbidshealthful activity. To please the eye, colours and fabrics are chosentotally unfit to bear that rough usage which unrestrained play involves;and then to prevent damage the unrestrained play is interdicted. "Get upthis moment: you will soil your clean frock, " is the mandate issued tosome urchin creeping about on the floor. "Come back: you will dirty yourstockings, " calls out the governess to one of her charges, who has leftthe footpath to scramble up a bank. Thus is the evil doubled. That theymay come up to their mamma's standard of prettiness, and be admired byher visitors, children must have habiliments deficient in quantity andunfit in texture; and that these easily-damaged habiliments may be keptclean and uninjured, the restless activity so natural and needful forthe young is restrained. The exercise which becomes doubly requisitewhen the clothing is insufficient, is cut short, lest it should defacethe clothing. Would that the terrible cruelty of this system could beseen by those who maintain it! We do not hesitate to say that, throughenfeebled health, defective energies, and consequent non-success inlife, thousands are annually doomed to unhappiness by this unscrupulousregard for appearances: even when they are not, by early death, literally sacrificed to the Moloch of maternal vanity. We are reluctantto counsel strong measures, but really the evils are so great as tojustify, or even to demand, a peremptory interference on the part offathers. 

Our conclusions are, then--that, while the clothing of children shouldnever be in such excess as to create oppressive warmth, it should alwaysbe sufficient to prevent any general feeling of cold;[6] that, insteadof the flimsy cotton, linen, or mixed fabrics commonly used, it shouldbe made of some good non-conductor, such as coarse woollen cloth; thatit should be so strong as to receive little damage from the hard wearand tear which childish sports will give it; and that its colours shouldbe such as will not soon suffer from use and exposure. 

 * * * * *

To the importance of bodily exercise most people are in some degreeawake. Perhaps less needs saying on this requisite of physical educationthan on most others: at any rate, in so far as boys are concerned. Public schools and private schools alike furnish tolerably adequateplay-grounds; and there is usually a fair share of time for out-doorgames, and a recognition of them as needful. In this, if in no otherdirection, it seems admitted that the promptings of boyish instinct mayadvantageously be followed; and, indeed, in the modern practice ofbreaking the prolonged morning's and afternoon's lessons by a fewminutes' open-air recreation, we see an increasing tendency to conformschool-regulations to the bodily sensations of the pupils. Here, then, little needs be said in the way of expostulation or suggestion. 

But we have been obliged to qualify this admission by inserting theclause "in so far as boys are concerned. " Unfortunately the fact isquite otherwise with girls. It chances, somewhat strangely, that we havedaily opportunity of drawing a comparison. We have both a boys' schooland a girls' school within view; and the contrast between them isremarkable. In the one case, nearly the whole of a large garden isturned into an open, gravelled space, affording ample scope for games, and supplied with poles and horizontal bars for gymnastic exercises. Every day before breakfast, again towards eleven o'clock, again atmid-day, again in the afternoon, and once more after school is over, theneighbourhood is awakened by a chorus of shouts and laughter as the boysrush out to play; and for as long as they remain, both eyes and earsgive proof that they are absorbed in that enjoyable activity which makesthe pulse bound and ensures the healthful activity of every organ. Howunlike is the picture offered by the "Establishment for Young Ladies!"Until the fact was pointed out, we actually did not know that we had agirl's school as close to us as the school for boys. The garden, equallylarge with the other, affords no sign whatever of any provision forjuvenile recreation; but is entirely laid out with prim grass-plots, gravel-walks, shrubs, and flowers, after the usual suburban style. During five months we have not once had our attention drawn to thepremises by a shout or a laugh. Occasionally girls may be observedsauntering along the paths with lesson-books in their hands, or elsewalking arm-in-arm. Once indeed, we saw one chase another round thegarden; but, with this exception, nothing like vigorous exertion hasbeen visible. 

Why this astounding difference? Is it that the constitution of a girldiffers so entirely from that of a boy as not to need these activeexercises? Is it that a girl has none of the promptings to vociferousplay by which boys are impelled? Or is it that, while in boys thesepromptings are to be regarded as stimuli to a bodily activity withoutwhich there cannot be adequate development, to their sisters, Nature hasgiven them for no purpose whatever--unless it be for the vexation ofschool-mistresses? Perhaps, however, we mistake the aim of those whotrain the gentler sex. We have a vague suspicion that to produce arobust _physique_ is thought undesirable; that rude health and abundantvigour are considered somewhat plebeian; that a certain delicacy, astrength not competent to more than a mile or two's walk, an appetitefastidious and easily satisfied, joined with that timidity whichcommonly accompanies feebleness, are held more lady-like. We do notexpect that any would distinctly avow this; but we fancy thegoverness-mind is haunted by an ideal young lady bearing not a littleresemblance to this type. If so, it must be admitted that theestablished system is admirably calculated to realise this ideal. But tosuppose that such is the ideal of the opposite sex is a profoundmistake. That men are not commonly drawn towards masculine women, isdoubtless true. That such relative weakness as asks the protection ofsuperior strength, is an element of attraction, we quite admit. But thedifference thus responded to by the feelings of men, is the natural, pre-established difference, which will assert itself without artificialappliances. And when, by artificial appliances, the degree of thisdifference is increased, it becomes an element of repulsion rather thanof attraction. 

"Then girls should be allowed to run wild--to become as rude as boys, and grow up into romps and hoydens!" exclaims some defender of theproprieties. This, we presume, is the ever-present dread ofschool-mistresses. It appears, on inquiry, that at "Establishments forYoung Ladies" noisy play like that daily indulged in by boys, is apunishable offence; and we infer that it is forbidden, lest unlady-likehabits should be formed. The fear is quite groundless, however. For ifthe sportive activity allowed to boys does not prevent them from growingup into gentlemen; why should a like sportive activity prevent girlsfrom growing up into ladies? Rough as may have been their play-groundfrolics, youths who have left school do not indulge in leap-frog in thestreet, or marbles in the drawing-room. Abandoning their jackets, theyabandon at the same time boyish games; and display an anxiety--often aludicrous anxiety--to avoid whatever is not manly. If now, on arrivingat the due age, this feeling of masculine dignity puts so efficient arestraint on the sports of boyhood, will not the feeling of femininemodesty, gradually strengthening as maturity is approached, put anefficient restraint on the like sports of girlhood? Have not women evena greater regard for appearances than men? and will there notconsequently arise in them even a stronger check to whatever is rough orboisterous? How absurd is the supposition that the womanly instinctswould not assert themselves but for the rigorous discipline ofschool-mistresses!

In this, as in other cases, to remedy the evils of one artificiality, another artificiality has been introduced. The natural, spontaneousexercise having been forbidden, and the bad consequences of no exercisehaving become conspicuous, there has been adopted a system of factitiousexercise--gymnastics. That this is better than nothing we admit; butthat it is an adequate substitute for play we deny. The defects are bothpositive and negative. In the first place, these formal, muscularmotions, necessarily less varied than those accompanying juvenilesports, do not secure so equable a distribution of action to all partsof the body; whence it results that the exertion, falling on specialparts, produces fatigue sooner than it would else have done: to which, in passing, let us add, that, if constantly repeated, this exertion ofspecial parts leads to a disproportionate development. Again, thequantity of exercise thus taken will be deficient, not only inconsequence of uneven distribution; but there will be a furtherdeficiency in consequence of lack of interest. Even when not maderepulsive, as they sometimes are by assuming the shape of appointedlessons, these monotonous movements are sure to become wearisome fromthe absence of amusement. Competition, it is true, serves as a stimulus;but it is not a lasting stimulus, like that enjoyment which accompaniesvaried play. The weightiest objection, however, still remains. Besidesbeing inferior in respect of the _quantity_ of muscular exertion whichthey secure, gymnastics are still more inferior in respect of the_quality_. This comparative want of enjoyment which we have named as acause of early desistance from artificial exercises, is also a cause ofinferiority in the effects they produce on the system. The commonassumption that, so long as the amount of bodily action is the same, itmatters not whether it be pleasurable or otherwise, is a grave mistake. An agreeable mental excitement has a highly invigorating influence. Seethe effect produced upon an invalid by good news, or by the visit of anold friend. Mark how careful medical men are to recommend lively societyto debilitated patients. Remember how beneficial to health is thegratification produced by change of scene. The truth is that happinessis the most powerful of tonics. By accelerating the circulation of theblood, it facilitates the performance of every function; and so tendsalike to increase health when it exists, and to restore it when it hasbeen lost. Hence the intrinsic superiority of play to gymnastics. Theextreme interest felt by children in their games, and the riotous gleewith which they carry on their rougher frolics, are of as muchimportance as the accompanying exertion. And as not supplying thesemental stimuli, gymnastics must be radically defective. 

Granting then, as we do, that formal exercises of the limbs are betterthan nothing--granting, further, that they may be used with advantage assupplementary aids; we yet contend that they can never serve in place ofthe exercises prompted by Nature. For girls, as well as boys, thesportive activities to which the instincts impel, are essential tobodily welfare. Whoever forbids them, forbids the divinely-appointedmeans to physical development. 

 * * * * *

A topic still remains--one perhaps more urgently demanding considerationthan any of the foregoing. It is asserted by not a few, that among theeducated classes the younger adults and those who are verging onmaturity, are neither so well grown nor so strong as their seniors. Onfirst hearing this assertion, we were inclined to class it as one ofthe many manifestations of the old tendency to exalt the past at theexpense of the present. Calling to mind the facts that, as measured byancient armour, modern men are proved to be larger than ancient men; andthat the tables of mortality show no diminution, but rather an increase, in the duration of life, we paid little attention to what seemed agroundless belief. Detailed observation, however, has shaken ouropinion. Omitting from the comparison the labouring classes, we havenoticed a majority of cases in which the children do not reach thestature of their parents; and, in massiveness, making due allowance fordifference of age, there seems a like inferiority. Medical men say thatnow-a-days people cannot bear nearly so much depletion as in times goneby. Premature baldness is far more common than it used to be. And anearly decay of teeth occurs in the rising generation with startlingfrequency. In general vigour the contrast appears equally striking. Menof past generations, living riotously as they did, could bear more thanmen of the present generation, who live soberly, can bear. Though theydrank hard, kept irregular hours, were regardless of fresh air, andthought little of cleanliness, our recent ancestors were capable ofprolonged application without injury, even to a ripe old age: witnessthe annals of the bench and the bar. Yet we who think much about ourbodily welfare; who eat with moderation, and do not drink to excess; whoattend to ventilation, and use frequent ablutions; who make annualexcursions, and have the benefit of greater medical knowledge;--we arecontinually breaking down under our work. Paying considerable attentionto the laws of health, we seem to be weaker than our grandfathers who, in many respects, defied the laws of health. And, judging from theappearance and frequent ailments of the rising generation, they arelikely to be even less robust than ourselves. 

What is the meaning of this? Is it that past over-feeding, alike ofadults and children, was less injurious than the under-feeding to whichwe have adverted as now so general? Is it that the deficient clothingwhich this delusive hardening-theory has encouraged, is to blame? Is itthat the greater or less discouragement of juvenile sports, in deferenceto a false refinement is the cause? From our reasonings it may beinferred that each of these has probably had a share in producing theevil. [7] But there has been yet another detrimental influence at work, perhaps more potent than any of the others: we mean--excess of mentalapplication. 

On old and young, the pressure of modern life puts a still-increasingstrain. In all businesses and professions, intenser competition taxesthe energies and abilities of every adult; and, to fit the young to holdtheir places under this intenser competition, they are subject toseverer discipline than heretofore. The damage is thus doubled. Fathers, who find themselves run hard by their multiplying competitors, and, while labouring under this disadvantage, have to maintain a moreexpensive style of living, are all the year round obliged to work earlyand late, taking little exercise and getting but short holidays. Theconstitutions shaken by this continued over-application, they bequeathto their children. And then these comparatively feeble children, predisposed to break down even under ordinary strains on their energies, are required to go through a _curriculum_ much more extended than thatprescribed for the unenfeebled children of past generations. 

The disastrous consequences that might be anticipated, are everywherevisible. Go where you will, and before long there come under your noticecases of children or youths, of either sex, more or less injured byundue study. Here, to recover from a state of debility thus produced, ayear's rustication has been found necessary. There you find a chroniccongestion of the brain, that has already lasted many months, andthreatens to last much longer. Now you hear of a fever that resultedfrom the over-excitement in some way brought on at school. And again, the instance is that of a youth who has already had once to desist fromhis studies, and who, since his return to them, is frequently taken outof his class in a fainting fit. We state facts--facts not sought for, but which have been thrust on our observation during the last two years;and that, too, within a very limited range. Nor have we by any meansexhausted the list. Quite recently we had the opportunity of marking howthe evil becomes hereditary: the case being that of a lady of robustparentage, whose system was so injured by the _régime_ of a Scotchboarding-school, where she was under-fed and over-worked, that sheinvariably suffers from vertigo on rising in the morning; and whosechildren, inheriting this enfeebled brain, are several of them unable tobear even a moderate amount of study without headache or giddiness. Atthe present time we have daily under our eyes, a young lady whose systemhas been damaged for life by the college-course through which she haspassed. Taxed as she was to such an extent that she had no energy leftfor exercise, she is, now that she has finished her education, aconstant complainant. Appetite small and very capricious, mostlyrefusing meat; extremities perpetually cold, even when the weather iswarm; a feebleness which forbids anything but the slowest walking, andthat only for a short time; palpitation on going upstairs; greatlyimpaired vision--these, joined with checked growth and lax tissue, areamong the results entailed. And to her case we may add that of herfriend and fellow-student; who is similarly weak; who is liable to fainteven under the excitement of a quiet party of friends; and who has atlength been obliged by her medical attendant to desist from studyentirely. 

If injuries so conspicuous are thus frequent, how very general must bethe smaller, and inconspicuous injuries! To one case where positiveillness is traceable to over-application, there are probably at leasthalf-a-dozen cases where the evil is unobtrusive and slowlyaccumulating--cases where there is frequent derangement of thefunctions, attributed to this or that special cause, or toconstitutional delicacy; cases where there is retardation and prematurearrest of bodily growth; cases where a latent tendency to consumption isbrought out and established; cases where a predisposition is given tothat now common cerebral disorder brought on by the labour of adultlife. How commonly health is thus undermined, will be clear to all who, after noting the frequent ailments of hard-worked professional andmercantile men, will reflect on the much worse effects which undueapplication must produce on the undeveloped systems of children. Theyoung can bear neither so much hardship, nor so much physical exertion, nor so much mental exertion, as the full grown. Judge, then, if the fullgrown manifestly suffer from the excessive mental exertion required ofthem, how great must be the damage which a mental exertion, oftenequally excessive, inflicts on the young!

Indeed, when we examine the merciless school drill frequently enforced, the wonder is, not that it does extreme injury, but that it can beborne at all. Take the instance given by Sir John Forbes, from personalknowledge; and which he asserts, after much inquiry, to be an averagesample of the middle-class girls'-school system throughout England. Omitting detailed divisions of time, we quote the summary of thetwenty-four hours. 

In bed 9 hours (the younger 10)In school, at their studies and tasks 9 "In school, or in the house, the elder at optional studies or work, the younger at play 3½ " (the younger 2½)At meals 1½ "Exercise in the open air, in the shape of a formal walk, often with lesson-books in hand, and even this only when the weather is fine at the appointed time. 1 " ---- 24

And what are the results of this "astounding regimen, " as Sir JohnForbes terms it? Of course feebleness, pallor, want of spirits, generalill-health. But he describes something more. This utter disregard ofphysical welfare, out of extreme anxiety to cultivate the mind--thisprolonged exercise of brain and deficient exercise of limbs, --he foundto be habitually followed, not only by disordered functions but bymalformation. He says:--"We lately visited, in a large town, aboarding-school containing forty girls; and we learnt, on close andaccurate inquiry, that there was _not one_ of the girl who had been atthe school two years (and the majority had been as long) that was notmore or less _crooked_!"[8]

It may be that since 1833, when this was written, some improvement hastaken place. We hope it has. But that the system is still common--nay, that it is in some cases carried to a greater extreme than ever; we canpersonally testify. We recently went over a training-college for youngmen: one of those instituted of late years for the purpose of supplyingschools with well-disciplined teachers. Here, under officialsupervision, where something better than the judgment of privateschool-mistresses might have been looked for, we found the daily routineto be as follows:--

At 6 o'clock the students are called, " 7 to 8 studies, " 8 to 9 scripture-reading, prayers, and breakfast, " 9 to 12 studies, " 12 to 1¼ leisure, nominally devoted to walking or other exercise, but often spent in study, " 1¼ to 2 dinner, the meal commonly occupying twenty minutes, " 2 to 5 studies, " 5 to 6 tea and relaxation, " 6 to 8½ studies, " 8½ to 9½ private studies in preparing lessons for the next day, " 10 to bed. 

Thus, out of the twenty-four hours, eight are devoted to sleep; four anda quarter are occupied in dressing, prayers, meals, and the briefperiods of rest accompanying them; ten and a half are given to study;and one and a quarter to exercise, which is optional and often avoided. Not only, however, are the ten-and-a-half hours of recognised studyfrequently increased to eleven-and-a-half by devoting to books the timeset apart for exercise; but some of the students get up at four o'clockin the morning to prepare their lessons; and are actually encouraged bytheir teachers to do this! The course to be passed through in a giventime is so extensive, and the teachers, whose credit is at stake ingetting their pupils well through the examinations, are so urgent, thatpupils are not uncommonly induced to spend twelve and thirteen hours aday in mental labour!

It needs no prophet to see that the bodily injury inflicted must begreat. As we were told by one of the inmates, those who arrive withfresh complexions quickly become blanched. Illness is frequent: thereare always some on the sick-list. Failure of appetite and indigestionare very common. Diarrhoea is a prevalent disorder: not uncommonly athird of the whole number of students suffering under it at the sametime. Headache is generally complained of; and by some is borne almostdaily for months. While a certain percentage break down entirely and goaway. 

That this should be the regimen of what is in some sort a modelinstitution, established and superintended by the embodied enlightenmentof the age, is a startling fact. That the severe examinations, joinedwith the short period assigned for preparation, should compel recourseto a system which inevitably undermines the health of all who passthrough it, is proof, if not of cruelty, then of woeful ignorance. 

The case is no doubt in a great degree exceptional--perhaps to beparalleled only in other institutions of the same class. But that casesso extreme should exist at all, goes far to show that the minds of therising generation are greatly over-tasked. Expressing as they do theideas of the educated community, the requirements of these trainingcolleges, even in the absence of other evidence, would imply aprevailing tendency to an unduly urgent system of culture. 

It seems strange that there should be so little consciousness of thedangers of over-education during youth, when there is so general aconsciousness of the dangers of over-education during childhood. Mostparents are partially aware of the evil consequences that followinfant-precocity. In every society may be heard reprobation of those whotoo early stimulate the minds of their little ones. And the dread ofthis early stimulation is great in proportion as there is adequateknowledge of the effects: witness the implied opinion of one of our mostdistinguished professors of physiology, who told us that he did notintend his little boy to learn any lessons until he was eight years old. But while to all it is a familiar truth that a forced development ofintelligence in childhood, entails either physical feebleness, orultimate stupidity, or early death; it appears not to be perceived thatthroughout youth the same truth holds. Yet it unquestionably does so. There is a given order in which, and a given rate at which, thefaculties unfold. If the course of education conforms itself to thatorder and rate, well. If not--if the higher faculties are early taxed bypresenting an order of knowledge more complex and abstract than can bereadily assimilated; or if, by excess of culture, the intellect ingeneral is developed to a degree beyond that which is natural to itsage; the abnormal advantage gained will inevitably be accompanied bysome equivalent, or more than equivalent, evil. 

For Nature is a strict accountant; and if you demand of her in onedirection more than she is prepared to lay out, she balances the accountby making a deduction elsewhere. If you will let her follow her owncourse, taking care to supply, in right quantities and kinds, the rawmaterials of bodily and mental growth required at each age, she willeventually produce an individual more or less evenly developed. If, however, you insist on premature or undue growth of any one part, shewill, with more or less protest, concede the point; but that she may doyour extra work, she must leave some of her more important work undone. Let it never be forgotten that the amount of vital energy which the bodyat any moment possesses, is limited; and that, being limited, it isimpossible to get from it more than a fixed quantity of results. In achild or youth the demands upon this vital energy are various andurgent. As before pointed out, the waste consequent on the day's bodilyexercise has to be met; the wear of brain entailed by the day's studyhas to be made good; a certain additional growth of body has to beprovided for; and also a certain additional growth of brain: to whichmust be added the amount of energy absorbed in digesting the largequantity of food required for meeting these many demands. Now, that todivert an excess of energy into any one of these channels is to abstractit from the others, is both manifest _à priori_, and proved _àposteriori_, by the experience of every one. Every one knows, forinstance, that the digestion of a heavy meal makes such a demand on thesystem as to produce lassitude of mind and body, frequently ending insleep. Every one knows, too, that excess of bodily exercise diminishesthe power of thought--that the temporary prostration following anysudden exertion, or the fatigue produced by a thirty miles' walk, isaccompanied by a disinclination to mental effort; that, after a month'spedestrian tour, the mental inertia is such that some days are requiredto overcome it; and that in peasants who spend their lives in muscularlabour the activity of mind is very small. Again, it is a familiar truththat during those fits of rapid growth which sometimes occur inchildhood, the great abstraction of energy is shown in an attendantprostration, bodily and mental. Once more, the facts that violentmuscular exertion after eating, will stop digestion; and that childrenwho are early put to hard labour become stunted; similarly exhibit theantagonism--similarly imply that excess of activity in one directioninvolves deficiency of it in other directions. Now, the law which isthus manifest in extreme cases, holds in all cases. These injuriousabstractions of energy as certainly take place when the undue demandsare slight and constant, as when they are great and sudden. Hence, ifduring youth the expenditure in mental labour exceeds that which Naturehas provided for; the expenditure for other purposes falls below what itshould have been; and evils of one kind or other are inevitablyentailed. Let us briefly consider these evils. 

Supposing the over-activity of brain to exceed the normal activity onlyin a moderate degree, there will be nothing more than some slightreaction on the development of the body: the stature falling a littlebelow that which it would else have reached; or the bulk being less thanit would have been; or the quality of tissue not being so good. One ormore of these effects must necessarily occur. The extra quantity ofblood supplied to the brain during mental exertion, and during thesubsequent period in which the waste of cerebral substance is being madegood, is blood that would else have been circulating through the limbsand viscera; and the growth or repair for which that blood would havesupplied materials, is lost. The physical reaction being certain, thequestion is, whether the gain resulting from the extra culture isequivalent to the loss?--whether defect of bodily growth, or the want ofthat structural perfection which gives vigour and endurance, iscompensated by the additional knowledge acquired?

When the excess of mental exertion is greater, there follow results farmore serious; telling not only against bodily perfection, but againstthe perfection of the brain itself. It is a physiological law, firstpointed out by M. Isidore St. Hilaire, and to which attention has beendrawn by Mr. Lewes in his essay on "Dwarfs and Giants, " that there is anantagonism between _growth_ and _development_. By growth, as used inthis antithetical sense, is to be understood _increase of size_; bydevelopment, _increase of structure_. And the law is, that greatactivity in either of these processes involves retardation or arrest ofthe other. A familiar example is furnished by the cases of thecaterpillar and the chrysalis. In the caterpillar there is extremelyrapid augmentation of bulk; but the structure is scarcely at all morecomplex when the caterpillar is full-grown than when it is small. In thechrysalis the bulk does not increase; on the contrary, weight is lostduring this stage of the creature's life; but the elaboration of a morecomplex structure goes on with great activity. The antagonism, here soclear, is less traceable in higher creatures, because the two processesare carried on together. But we see it pretty well illustrated amongourselves when we contrast the sexes. A girl develops in body and mindrapidly, and ceases to grow comparatively early. A boy's bodily andmental development is slower, and his growth greater. At the age whenthe one is mature, finished, and having all faculties in full play, theother, whose vital energies have been more directed towards increase ofsize, is relatively incomplete in structure; and shows it in acomparative awkwardness, bodily and mental. Now this law is true of eachseparate part of the organism, as well as of the whole. The abnormallyrapid advance of any organ in respect of structure, involves prematurearrest of its growth; and this happens with the organ of the mind ascertainly as with any other organ. The brain, which during early yearsis relatively large in mass but imperfect in structure, will, ifrequired to perform its functions with undue activity, undergo astructural advance greater than is appropriate to its age; but theultimate effect will be a falling short of the size and power that wouldelse have been attained. And this is a part-cause--probably the chiefcause--why precocious children, and youths who up to a certain time werecarrying all before them, so often stop short and disappoint the highhopes of their parents. 

But these results of over-education, disastrous as they are, are perhapsless disastrous than the effects produced on the health--the underminedconstitution, the enfeebled energies, the morbid feelings. Recentdiscoveries in physiology have shown how immense is the influence of thebrain over the functions of the body. Digestion, circulation, andthrough these all other organic processes, are profoundly affected bycerebral excitement. Whoever has seen repeated, as we have, theexperiment first performed by Weber, showing the consequence ofirritating the _vagus_ nerve, which connects the brain with theviscera--whoever has seen the action of the heart suddenly arrested byirritating this nerve; slowly recommencing when the irritation issuspended; and again arrested the moment it is renewed; will have avivid conception of the depressing influence which an over-wrought brainexercises on the body. The effects thus physiologically explained, areindeed exemplified in ordinary experience. There is no one but has feltthe palpitation accompanying hope, fear, anger, joy--no one but hasobserved how laboured becomes the action of the heart when thesefeelings are violent. And though there are many who have never sufferedthat extreme emotional excitement which is followed by arrest of theheart's action and fainting; yet every one knows these to be cause andeffect. It is a familiar fact, too, that disturbance of the stomachresults from mental excitement exceeding a certain intensity. Loss ofappetite is a common consequence alike of very pleasurable and verypainful states of mind. When the event producing a pleasurable orpainful state of mind occurs shortly after a meal, it not unfrequentlyhappens either that the stomach rejects what has been eaten, or digestsit with great difficulty and under protest. And as every one who taxeshis brain much can testify, even purely intellectual action will, whenexcessive, produce analogous effects. Now the relation between brain andbody which is so manifest in these extreme cases, holds equally inordinary, less-marked cases. Just as these violent but temporarycerebral excitements produce violent but temporary disturbances of theviscera; so do the less violent but chronic cerebral excitements produceless violent but chronic visceral disturbances. This is not simply aninference:--it is a truth to which every medical man can bear witness;and it is one to which a long and sad experience enables us to givepersonal testimony. Various degrees and forms of bodily derangement, often taking years of enforced idleness to set partially right, resultfrom this prolonged over-exertion of mind. Sometimes the heart ischiefly affected: habitual palpitations; a pulse much enfeebled; andvery generally a diminution in the number of beats from seventy-two tosixty, or even fewer. Sometimes the conspicuous disorder is of thestomach: a dyspepsia which makes life a burden, and is amenable to noremedy but time. In many cases both heart and stomach are implicated. Mostly the sleep is short and broken. And very generally there is moreor less mental depression. 

Consider, then, how great must be the damage inflicted by undue mentalexcitement on children and youths. More or less of this constitutionaldisturbance will inevitably follow an exertion of brain beyond thenormal amount; and when not so excessive as to produce absolute illness, is sure to entail a slowly accumulating degeneracy of _physique_. With asmall and fastidious appetite, an imperfect digestion, and an enfeebledcirculation, how can the developing body flourish? The due performanceof every vital process depends on an adequate supply of good blood. Without enough good blood, no gland can secrete properly, no viscus canfully discharge its office. Without enough good blood, no nerve, muscle, membrane, or other tissue can be efficiently repaired. Without enoughgood blood, growth will neither be sound nor sufficient. Judge, then, how bad must be the consequences when to a growing body the weakenedstomach supplies blood that is deficient in quantity and poor inquality; while the debilitated heart propels this poor and scanty bloodwith unnatural slowness. 

And if, as all who investigate the matter must admit, physicaldegeneracy is a consequence of excessive study, how grave is thecondemnation to be passed on this cramming-system above exemplified. Itis a terrible mistake, from whatever point of view regarded. It is amistake in so far as the mere acquirement of knowledge is concerned. Forthe mind, like the body, cannot assimilate beyond a certain rate; and ifyou ply it with facts faster than it can assimilate them, they are soonrejected again: instead of being built into the intellectual fabric, they fall out of recollection after the passing of the examination forwhich they were got up. It is a mistake, too, because it tends to makestudy distasteful. Either through the painful associations produced byceaseless mental toil, or through the abnormal state of brain it leavesbehind, it often generates an aversion to books; and, instead of thatsubsequent self-culture induced by rational education, there comescontinued retrogression. It is a mistake, also, inasmuch as it assumesthat the acquisition of knowledge is everything; and forgets that a muchmore important thing is the organisation of knowledge, for which timeand spontaneous thinking are requisite. As Humboldt remarks respectingthe progress of intelligence in general, that "the interpretation ofNature is obscured when the description languishes under too great anaccumulation of insulated facts;" so, it may be remarked respecting theprogress of individual intelligence, that the mind is over-burdened andhampered by an excess of ill-digested information. It is not theknowledge stored up as intellectual fat which is of value; but thatwhich is turned into intellectual muscle. The mistake goes still deeperhowever. Even were the system good as producing intellectual efficiency, which it is not, it would still be bad, because, as we have shown, it isfatal to that vigour of _physique_ needful to make intellectual trainingavailable in the struggle of life. Those who, in eagerness to cultivatetheir pupils' minds, are reckless of their bodies, do not remember thatsuccess in the world depends more on energy than on information; andthat a policy which in cramming with information undermines energy, isself-defeating. The strong will and untiring activity due to abundantanimal vigour, go far to compensate even great defects of education; andwhen joined with that quite adequate education which may be obtainedwithout sacrificing health, they ensure an easy victory over competitorsenfeebled by excessive study: prodigies of learning though they may be. A comparatively small and ill-made engine, worked at high pressure, willdo more than a large and well-finished one worked at low-pressure. Whatfolly is it, then, while finishing the engine, so to damage the boilerthat it will not generate steam! Once more, the system is a mistake, asinvolving a false estimate of welfare in life. Even supposing it were ameans to worldly success, instead of a means to worldly failure, yet, inthe entailed ill-health, it would inflict a more than equivalent curse. What boots it to have attained wealth, if the wealth is accompanied byceaseless ailments? What is the worth of distinction, if it has broughthypochondria with it? Surely no one needs telling that a good digestion, a bounding pulse, and high spirits, are elements of happiness which noexternal advantages can out-balance. Chronic bodily disorder casts agloom over the brightest prospects; while the vivacity of strong healthgilds even misfortune. We contend, then, that this over-education isvicious in every way--vicious, as giving knowledge that will soon beforgotten; vicious, as producing a disgust for knowledge; vicious, asneglecting that organisation of knowledge which is more important thanits acquisition; vicious, as weakening or destroying that energy withoutwhich a trained intellect is useless; vicious, as entailing thatill-health for which even success would not compensate, and which makesfailure doubly bitter. On women the effects of this forcing system are, if possible, even more injurious than on men. Being in great measuredebarred from those vigorous and enjoyable exercises of body by whichboys mitigate the evils of excessive study, girls feel these evils intheir full intensity. Hence, the much smaller proportion of them whogrow up well-made and healthy. In the pale, angular, flat-chested youngladies, so abundant in London drawing-rooms, we see the effect ofmerciless application, unrelieved by youthful sports; and this physicaldegeneracy hinders their welfare far more than their manyaccomplishments aid it. Mammas anxious to make their daughtersattractive, could scarcely choose a course more fatal than this, whichsacrifices the body to the mind. Either they disregard the tastes of theopposite sex, or else their conception of those tastes is erroneous. Mencare little for erudition in women; but very much for physical beauty, good nature, and sound sense. How many conquests does the blue-stockingmake through her extensive knowledge of history? What man ever fell inlove with a woman because she understood Italian? Where is the Edwin whowas brought to Angelina's feet by her German? But rosy cheeks andlaughing eyes are great attractions. A finely rounded figure drawsadmiring glances. The liveliness and good humour that overflowing healthproduces, go a great way towards establishing attachments. Every oneknows cases where bodily perfections, in the absence of all otherrecommendations, have incited a passion that carried all before it; butscarcely any one can point to a case where intellectual acquirements, apart from moral or physical attributes, have aroused such a feeling. The truth is that, out of the many elements uniting in variousproportions to produce in a man's breast the complex emotion we calllove, the strongest are those produced by physical attractions; the nextin order of strength are those produced by moral attractions; theweakest are those produced by intellectual attractions; and even theseare dependent less on acquired knowledge than on naturalfaculty--quickness, wit, insight. If any think the assertion aderogatory one, and inveigh against the masculine character for beingthus swayed; we reply that they little know what they say when they thuscall in question the Divine ordinations. Even were there no obviousmeaning in the arrangement, we might be sure that some important end wassubserved. But the meaning is quite obvious to those who examine. Whenwe remember that one of Nature's ends, or rather her supreme end, is thewelfare of posterity; further that, in so far as posterity areconcerned, a cultivated intelligence based on a bad _physique_ is oflittle worth, since its descendants will die out in a generation or two;and conversely that a good _physique_, however poor the accompanyingmental endowments, is worth preserving, because, throughout futuregenerations, the mental endowments may be indefinitely developed; weperceive how important is the balance of instincts above described. But, advantage apart, the instincts being thus balanced, it is folly topersist in a system which undermines a girl's constitution that it mayoverload her memory. Educate as highly as possible--the higher thebetter--providing no bodily injury is entailed (and we may remark, inpassing, that a sufficiently high standard might be reached were theparrot-faculty cultivated less, and the human faculty more, and were thediscipline extended over that now wasted period between leaving schooland being married). But to educate in such manner, or to such extent, asto produce physical degeneracy, is to defeat the chief end for which thetoil and cost and anxiety are submitted to. By subjecting theirdaughters to this high-pressure system, parents frequently ruin theirprospects in life. Besides inflicting on them enfeebled health, with allits pains and disabilities and gloom; they not unfrequently doom them tocelibacy. 

 * * * * *

The physical education of children is thus, in various ways, seriouslyfaulty. It errs in deficient feeding; in deficient clothing; indeficient exercise (among girls at least); and in excessive mentalapplication. Considering the regime as a whole, its tendency is tooexacting: it asks too much and gives too little. In the extent to whichit taxes the vital energies, it makes the juvenile life far more likethe adult life than it should be. It overlooks the truth that, as in thefoetus the entire vitality is expended in growth--as in the infant, the expenditure of vitality in growth is so great as to leave extremelylittle for either physical or mental action; so throughout childhood andyouth, growth is the dominant requirement to which all others must besubordinated: a requirement which dictates the giving of much and thetaking away of little--a requirement which, therefore, restricts theexertion of body and mind in proportion to the rapidity of growth--arequirement which permits the mental and physical activities to increaseonly as fast as the rate of growth diminishes. 

The _rationale_ of this high-pressure education is that it results fromour passing phase of civilisation. In primitive times, when aggressionand defence were the leading social activities, bodily vigour with itsaccompanying courage were the desiderata; and then education was almostwholly physical: mental cultivation was little cared for, and indeed, asin feudal ages, was often treated with contempt. But now that our stateis relatively peaceful--now that muscular power is of use for littleelse than manual labour, while social success of nearly every kinddepends very much on mental power; our education has become almostexclusively mental. Instead of respecting the body and ignoring themind, we now respect the mind and ignore the body. Both these attitudesare wrong. We do not yet realise the truth that as, in this life ofours, the physical underlies the mental, the mental must not bedeveloped at the expense of the physical. The ancient and modernconceptions must be combined. 

Perhaps nothing will so much hasten the time when body and mind willboth be adequately cared for, as a diffusion of the belief that thepreservation of health is a _duty_. Few seem conscious that there issuch a thing as physical morality. Men's habitual words and acts implythe idea that they are at liberty to treat their bodies as they please. Disorders entailed by disobedience to Nature's dictates, they regardsimply as grievances: not as the effects of a conduct more or lessflagitious. Though the evil consequences inflicted on their dependents, and on future generations, are often as great as those caused by crime;yet they do not think themselves in any degree criminal. It is truethat, in the case of drunkenness, the viciousness of a bodilytransgression is recognised; but none appear to infer that, if thisbodily transgression is vicious, so too is every bodily transgression. The fact is, that all breaches of the laws of health are _physicalsins_. When this is generally seen, then, and perhaps not till then, will the physical training of the young receive the attention itdeserves. 

[1] _Cyclopædia of Practical Medicine. _

[2] _Cyclopædia of Practical Medicine. _

[3] _Cyclopædia of Anatomy and Physiology. _

[4] Morton's _Cyclopædia of Agriculture_. 

[5] Morton's _Cyclopædia of Agriculture_. 

[6] It is needful to remark that children whose legs and arms have beenfrom the beginning habitually without covering, cease to be consciousthat the exposed surfaces are cold; just as by use we have all ceased tobe conscious that our faces are cold, even when out of doors. But thoughin such children the sensations no longer protest, it does not followthat the system escapes injury, any more than it follows that theFuegian is undamaged by exposure, because he bears with indifference themelting of the falling snow on his naked body. 

[7] We are not certain that the propagation of subdued forms ofconstitutional disease through the agency of vaccination is not a partcause. Sundry facts in pathology suggest the inference, that when thesystem of a vaccinated child is excreting the vaccine virus by means ofpustules, it will tend also to excrete through such pustules othermorbific matters; especially if these morbific matters are of a kindordinarily got rid of by the skin, as are some of the worst of them. Hence it is very possible--probable even--that a child with aconstitutional taint, too slight to show itself in visible disease, may, through the medium of vitiated vaccine lymph taken from it, convey alike constitutional taint to other children, and these to others. 

[8] _Cyclopædia of Practical Medicine_, vol. I. Pp. 697, 698. 

PART II

PROGRESS: ITS LAW AND CAUSE[1]

The current conception of Progress is somewhat shifting and indefinite. Sometimes it comprehends little more than simple growth--as of a nationin the number of its members and the extent of territory over which ithas spread. Sometimes it has reference to quantity of materialproducts--as when the advance of agriculture and manufactures is thetopic. Sometimes the superior quality of these products is contemplated:and sometimes the new or improved appliances by which they are produced. When, again, we speak of moral or intellectual progress, we refer to thestate of the individual or people exhibiting it; while, when theprogress of Knowledge, of Science, of Art, is commented upon, we have inview certain abstract results of human thought and action. Not only, however, is the current conception of Progress more or less vague, butit is in great measure erroneous. It takes in not so much the reality ofProgress as its accompaniments--not so much the substance as the shadow. That progress in intelligence seen during the growth of the child intothe man, or the savage into the philosopher, is commonly regarded asconsisting in the greater number of facts known and laws understood:whereas the actual progress consists in those internal modifications ofwhich this increased knowledge is the expression. Social progress issupposed to consist in the produce of a greater quantity and variety ofthe articles required for satisfying men's wants; in the increasingsecurity of person and property; in widening freedom of action: whereas, rightly understood, social progress consists in those changes ofstructure in the social organism which have entailed these consequences. The current conception is a teleological one. The phenomena arecontemplated solely as bearing on human happiness. Only those changesare held to constitute progress which directly or indirectly tend toheighten human happiness. And they are thought to constitute progresssimply _because_ they tend to heighten human happiness. But rightly tounderstand progress, we must inquire what is the nature of thesechanges, considered apart from our interests. Ceasing, for example, toregard the successive geological modifications that have taken place inthe Earth, as modifications that have gradually fitted it for thehabitation of Man, and as _therefore_ a geological progress, we mustseek to determine the character common to the modifications--the law towhich they all conform. And similarly in every other case. Leaving outof sight concomitants and beneficial consequences, let us ask whatProgress is in itself. 

In respect to that progress which individual organisms display in thecourse of their evolution, this question has been answered by theGermans. The investigations of Wolff, Goethe, and Von Baer, haveestablished the truth that the series of changes gone through during thedevelopment of a seed into a tree, or an ovum into an animal, constitutean advance from homogeneity of structure to heterogeneity of structure. In its primary stage, every germ consists of a substance that is uniformthroughout, both in texture and chemical composition. The first step isthe appearance of a difference between two parts of this substance; or, as the phenomenon is called in physiological language, adifferentiation. Each of these differentiated divisions presently beginsitself to exhibit some contrast of parts; and by and by these secondarydifferentiations become as definite as the original one. This process iscontinuously repeated--is simultaneously going on in all parts of thegrowing embryo; and by endless such differentiations there is finallyproduced that complex combination of tissues and organs constituting theadult animal or plant. This is the history of all organisms whatever. Itis settled beyond dispute that organic progress consists in a changefrom the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. 

Now, we propose in the first place to show, that this law of organicprogress is the law of all progress. Whether it be in the development ofthe Earth, in the development of Life upon its surface, in thedevelopment of Society, of Government, of Manufactures, of Commerce, ofLanguage, Literature, Science, Art, this same evolution of the simpleinto the complex, through successive differentiations, holds throughout. From the earliest traceable cosmical changes down to the latest resultsof civilisation, we shall find that the transformation of thehomogeneous into the heterogeneous, is that in which Progressessentially consists. 

With the view of showing that _if_ the Nebular Hypothesis be true, thegenesis of the solar system supplies one illustration of this law, letus assume that the matter of which the sun and planets consist was oncein a diffused form; and that from the gravitation of its atoms thereresulted a gradual concentration. By the hypothesis, the solar system inits nascent state existed as an indefinitely extended and nearlyhomogeneous medium--a medium almost homogeneous in density, intemperature, and in other physical attributes. The first advance towardsconsolidation resulted in a differentiation between the occupied spacewhich the nebulous mass still filled, and the unoccupied space which itpreviously filled. There simultaneously resulted a contrast in densityand a contrast in temperature, between the interior and the exterior ofthis mass. And at the same time there arose throughout it rotatorymovements, whose velocities varied according to their distances from itscentre. These differentiations increased in number and degree untilthere was the organised group of sun, planets, and satellites, which wenow know--a group which represents numerous contrasts of structure andaction among its members. There are the immense contrasts between thesun and planets, in bulk and in weight; as well as the subordinatecontrasts between one planet and another, and between the planets andtheir satellites. There is the similarly marked contrast between the sunas almost stationary, and the planets as moving round him with greatvelocity; while there are the secondary contrasts between the velocitiesand periods of the several planets, and between their simple revolutionsand the double ones of their satellites, which have to move round theirprimaries while moving round the sun. There is the yet further strongcontrast between the sun and the planets in respect of temperature; andthere is reason to suppose that the planets and satellites differ fromeach other in their proper heat, as well as in the heat they receivefrom the sun. 

When we bear in mind that, in addition to these various contrasts, theplanets and satellites also differ in respect to their distances fromeach other and their primary; in respect to the inclinations of theirorbits, the inclinations of their axes, their times of rotation on theiraxes, their specific gravities, and their physical constitutions; we seewhat a high degree of heterogeneity the solar system exhibits, whencompared with the almost complete homogeneity of the nebulous mass outof which it is supposed to have originated. 

Passing from this hypothetical illustration, which must be taken forwhat it is worth, without prejudice to the general argument, let usdescend to a more certain order of evidence. It is now generally agreedamong geologists that the Earth was at first a mass of molten matter;and that it is still fluid and incandescent at the distance of a fewmiles beneath its surface. Originally, then, it was homogeneous inconsistence, and, in virtue of the circulation that takes place inheated fluids, must have been comparatively homogeneous in temperature;and it must have been surrounded by an atmosphere consisting partly ofthe elements of air and water, and partly of those various otherelements which assume a gaseous form at high temperatures. That slowcooling by radiation which is still going on at an inappreciable rate, and which, though originally far more rapid than now, necessarilyrequired an immense time to produce any decided change, must ultimatelyhave resulted in the solidification of the portion most able to partwith its heat--namely, the surface. In the thin crust thus formed wehave the first marked differentiation. A still further cooling, aconsequent thickening of this crust, and an accompanying deposition ofall solidifiable elements contained in the atmosphere, must finally havebeen followed by the condensation of the water previously existing asvapour. A second marked differentiation must thus have arisen: and asthe condensation must have taken place on the coolest parts of thesurface--namely, about the poles--there must thus have resulted thefirst geographical distinction of parts. To these illustrations ofgrowing heterogeneity, which, though deduced from the known laws ofmatter, may be regarded as more or less hypothetical, Geology adds anextensive series that have been inductively established. Itsinvestigations show that the Earth has been continually becoming moreheterogeneous in virtue of the multiplication of the strata which formits crust; further, that it has been becoming more heterogeneous inrespect of the composition of these strata, the latter of which, beingmade from the detritus of the older ones, are many of them renderedhighly complex by the mixture of materials they contain; and that thisheterogeneity has been vastly increased by the action of the Earth'sstill molten nucleus upon its envelope, whence have resulted not only agreat variety of igneous rocks, but the tilting up of sedimentary strataat all angles, the formation of faults and metallic veins, theproduction of endless dislocations and irregularities. Yet again, geologists teach us that the Earth's surface has been growing morevaried in elevation--that the most ancient mountain systems are thesmallest, and the Andes and Himalayas the most modern; while in allprobability there have been corresponding changes in the bed of theocean. As a consequence of these ceaseless differentiations, we now findthat no considerable portion of the Earth's exposed surface is like anyother portion, either in contour, in geologic structure, or in chemicalcomposition; and that in most parts it changes from mile to mile in allthese characteristics. 

Moreover, it must not be forgotten that there has been simultaneouslygoing on a gradual differentiation of climates. As fast as the Earthcooled and its crust solidified, there arose appreciable differences intemperature between those parts of its surface most exposed to the sunand those less exposed. Gradually, as the cooling progressed, thesedifferences became more pronounced; until there finally resulted thosemarked contrasts between regions of perpetual ice and snow, regionswhere winter and summer alternately reign for periods varying accordingto the latitude, and regions where summer follows summer with scarcelyan appreciable variation. At the same time the successive elevations andsubsidences of different portions of the Earth's crust, tending as theyhave done to the present irregular distribution of land and sea, haveentailed various modifications of climate beyond those dependent onlatitude; while a yet further series of such modifications have beenproduced by increasing differences of elevation in the land, which havein sundry places brought arctic, temperate, and tropical climates towithin a few miles of each other. And the general result of thesechanges is, that not only has every extensive region its ownmeteorologic conditions, but that every locality in each region differsmore or less from others in those conditions, as in its structure, itscontour, its soil. Thus, between our existing Earth, the phenomena ofwhose varied crust neither geographers, geologists, mineralogists, normeteorologists have yet enumerated, and the molten globe out of which itwas evolved, the contrast in heterogeneity is sufficiently striking. 

When from the Earth itself we turn to the plants and animals that havelived, or still live, upon its surface, we find ourselves in somedifficulty from lack of facts. That every existing organism has beendeveloped out of the simple into the complex, is indeed the firstestablished truth of all; and that every organism that has existed wassimilarly developed, is an inference which no physiologist will hesitateto draw. But when we pass from individual forms of life to Life ingeneral, and inquire whether the same law is seen in the _ensemble_ ofits manifestations, --whether modern plants and animals are of moreheterogeneous structure than ancient ones, and whether the earth'spresent Flora and Fauna are more heterogeneous than the Flora and Faunaof the past, --we find the evidence so fragmentary, that every conclusionis open to dispute. Two-thirds of the Earth's surface being covered bywater; a great part of the exposed land being inaccessible to, oruntravelled by, the geologist; the greater part of the remainder havingbeen scarcely more than glanced at; and even the most familiar portions, as England, having been so imperfectly explored that a new series ofstrata has been added within these four years, --it is manifestlyimpossible for us to say with any certainty what creatures have, andwhat have not, existed at any particular period. Considering theperishable nature of many of the lower organic forms, the metamorphosisof many sedimentary strata, and the gaps that occur among the rest, weshall see further reason for distrusting our deductions. On the onehand, the repeated discovery of vertebrate remains in strata previouslysupposed to contain none, --of reptiles where only fish were thought toexist, --of mammals where it was believed there were no creatures higherthan reptiles, --renders it daily more manifest how small is the value ofnegative evidence. 

On the other hand, the worthlessness of the assumption that we havediscovered the earliest, or anything like the earliest, organic remains, is becoming equally clear. That the oldest known sedimentary rocks havebeen greatly changed by igneous action, and that still older ones havebeen totally transformed by it, is becoming undeniable. And the factthat sedimentary strata earlier than any we know, have been melted up, being admitted, it must also be admitted that we cannot say how far backin time this destruction of sedimentary strata has been going on. Thusit is manifest that the title, _Palæozoic_, as applied to the earliestknown fossiliferous strata, involves a _petitio principii_; and that, for aught we know to the contrary, only the last few chapters of theEarth's biological history may have come down to us. On neither side, therefore, is the evidence conclusive. Nevertheless we cannot but thinkthat, scanty as they are, the facts, taken altogether, tend to show boththat the more heterogeneous organisms have been evolved in the latergeologic periods, and that Life in general has been more heterogeneouslymanifested as time has advanced. Let us cite, in illustration, the onecase of the _vertebrata_. The earliest known vertebrate remains arethose of Fishes; and Fishes are the most homogeneous of the vertebrata. Later and more heterogeneous are Reptiles. Later still, and moreheterogeneous still, are Mammals and Birds. If it be said, as it mayfairly be said, that the Palæozoic deposits, not being estuary deposits, are not likely to contain the remains of terrestrial vertebrata, whichmay nevertheless have existed at that era, we reply that we are merelypointing to the leading facts, _such as they are_. 

But to avoid any such criticism, let us take the mammalian subdivisiononly. The earliest known remains of mammals are those of smallmarsupials, which are the lowest of the mammalian type; while, conversely, the highest of the mammalian type--Man--is the most recent. The evidence that the vertebrate fauna, as a whole, has become moreheterogeneous, is considerably stronger. To the argument that thevertebrate fauna of the Palæozoic period, consisting, so far as we know, entirely of Fishes, was less heterogeneous than the modern vertebratefauna, which includes Reptiles, Birds, and Mammals, of multitudinousgenera, it may be replied, as before, that estuary deposits of thePalæozoic period, could we find them, might contain other orders ofvertebrata. But no such reply can be made to the argument that whereasthe marine vertebrata of the Palæozoic period consisted entirely ofcartilaginous fishes, the marine vertebrata of later periods includenumerous genera of osseous fishes; and that, therefore, the later marinevertebrate faunas are more heterogeneous than the oldest known one. Nor, again, can any such reply be made to the fact that there are far morenumerous orders and genera of mammalian remains in the tertiaryformations than in the secondary formations. Did we wish merely to makeout the best case, we might dwell upon the opinion of Dr. Carpenter, whosays that "the general facts of Palæontology appear to sanction thebelief, that _the same plan_ may be traced out in what may be called_the general life of the globe_, as in _the individual life_ of everyone of the forms of organised being which now people it. " Or we mightquote, as decisive, the judgment of Professor Owen, who holds that theearlier examples of each group of creatures severally departed lesswidely from archetypal generality than the later ones--were severallyless unlike the fundamental form common to the group as a whole; that isto say--constituted a less heterogeneous group of creatures; and whofurther upholds the doctrine of a biological progression. But indeference to an authority for whom we have the highest respect, whoconsiders that the evidence at present obtained does not justify averdict either way, we are content to leave the question open. 

Whether an advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous is or isnot displayed in the biological history of the globe, it is clearlyenough displayed in the progress of the latest and most heterogeneouscreature--Man. It is alike true that, during the period in which theEarth has been peopled, the human organism has grown more heterogeneousamong the civilised divisions of the species; and that the species, as awhole, has been growing more heterogeneous in virtue of themultiplication of races and the differentiation of these races from eachother. 

In proof of the first of these positions, we may cite the fact that, inthe relative development of the limbs, the civilised man departs morewidely from the general type of the placental mammalia than do the lowerhuman races. While often possessing well-developed body and arms, thePapuan has extremely small legs: thus reminding us of the quadrumana, inwhich there is no great contrast in size between the hind and forelimbs. But in the European, the greater length and massiveness of thelegs has become very marked--the fore and hind limbs are relatively moreheterogeneous. Again, the greater ratio which the cranial bones bear tothe facial bones illustrates the same truth. Among the vertebrata ingeneral, progress is marked by an increasing heterogeneity in thevertebral column, and more especially in the vertebræ constituting theskull: the higher forms being distinguished by the relatively largersize of the bones which cover the brain, and the relatively smaller sizeof those which form the jaw, etc. Now, this characteristic, which isstronger in Man than in any other creature, is stronger in the Europeanthan in the savage. Moreover, judging from the greater extent andvariety of faculty he exhibits, we may infer that the civilised man hasalso a more complex or heterogeneous nervous system than the uncivilisedman: and indeed the fact is in part visible in the increased ratio whichhis cerebrum bears to the subjacent ganglia. 

If further elucidation be needed, we may find it in every nursery. Theinfant European has sundry marked points of resemblance to the lowerhuman races; as in the flatness of the alæ of the nose, the depressionof its bridge, the divergence and forward opening of the nostrils, theform of the lips, the absence of a frontal sinus, the width between theeyes, the smallness of the legs. Now, as the development process bywhich these traits are turned into those of the adult European, is acontinuation of that change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneousdisplayed during the previous evolution of the embryo, which everyphysiologist will admit; it follows that the parallel developmentalprocess by which the like traits of the barbarous races have been turnedinto those of the civilised races, has also been a continuation of thechange from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. The truth of thesecond position--that Mankind, as a whole, have become moreheterogeneous--is so obvious as scarcely to need illustration. Everywork on Ethnology, by its divisions and subdivisions of races, bearstestimony to it. Even were we to admit the hypothesis that Mankindoriginated from several separate stocks, it would still remain true, that as, from each of these stocks, there have sprung many now widelydifferent tribes, which are proved by philological evidence to have hada common origin, the race as a whole is far less homogeneous than itonce was. Add to which, that we have, in the Anglo-Americans, an exampleof a new variety arising within these few generations; and that, if wemay trust to the description of observers, we are likely soon to haveanother such example in Australia. 

On passing from Humanity under its individual form, to Humanity associally embodied, we find the general law still more variouslyexemplified. The change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous isdisplayed equally in the progress of civilisation as a whole, and in theprogress of every tribe or nation; and is still going on with increasingrapidity. As we see in existing barbarous tribes, society in its firstand lowest form is a homogeneous aggregation of individuals having likepowers and like functions: the only marked difference of function beingthat which accompanies difference of sex. Every man is warrior, hunter, fisherman, tool-maker, builder; every woman performs the samedrudgeries; every family is self-sufficing, and save for purposes ofaggression and defence, might as well live apart from the rest. Veryearly, however, in the process of social evolution, we find an incipientdifferentiation between the governing and the governed. Some kind ofchieftainship seems coeval with the first advance from the state ofseparate wandering families to that of a nomadic tribe. The authority ofthe strongest makes itself felt among a body of savages as in a herd ofanimals, or a posse of schoolboys. At first, however, it is indefinite, uncertain; is shared by others of scarcely inferior power; and isunaccompanied by any difference in occupation or style of living: thefirst ruler kills his own game, makes his own weapons, builds his ownhut, and economically considered, does not differ from others of histribe. Gradually, as the tribe progresses, the contrast between thegoverning and the governed grows more decided. Supreme power becomeshereditary in one family; the head of that family, ceasing to providefor his own wants, is served by others; and he begins to assume the soleoffice of ruling. 

At the same time there has been arising a co-ordinate species ofgovernment--that of Religion. As all ancient records and traditionsprove, the earliest rulers are regarded as divine personages. The maximsand commands they uttered during their lives are held sacred after theirdeaths, and are enforced by their divinely-descended successors; who intheir turns are promoted to the pantheon of the race, there to beworshipped and propitiated along with their predecessors: the mostancient of whom is the supreme god, and the rest subordinate gods. For along time these connate forms of government--civil andreligious--continue closely associated. For many generations the kingcontinues to be the chief priest, and the priesthood to be members ofthe royal race. For many ages religious law continues to contain more orless of civil regulation, and civil law to possess more or less ofreligious sanction; and even among the most advanced nations these twocontrolling agencies are by no means completely differentiated from eachother. 

Having a common root with these, and gradually diverging from them, wefind yet another controlling agency--that of Manners or ceremonialusages. All titles of honour are originally the names of the god-king;afterwards of God and the king; still later of persons of high rank; andfinally come, some of them, to be used between man and man. All forms ofcomplimentary address were at first the expressions of submission fromprisoners to their conqueror, or from subjects to their ruler, eitherhuman or divine--expressions that were afterwards used to propitiatesubordinate authorities, and slowly descended into ordinary intercourse. All modes of salutation were once obeisances made before the monarch andused in worship of him after his death. Presently others of thegod-descended race were similarly saluted; and by degrees some of thesalutations have become the due of all. [2] Thus, no sooner does theoriginally homogeneous social mass differentiate into the governed andthe governing parts, than this last exhibits an incipientdifferentiation into religious and secular--Church and State; while atthe same time there begins to be differentiated from both, that lessdefinite species of government which rules our daily intercourse--aspecies of government which, as we may see in heralds' colleges, inbooks of the peerage, in masters of ceremonies, is not without a certainembodiment of its own. Each of these is itself subject to successivedifferentiations. In the course of ages, there arises, as amongourselves, a highly complex political organisation of monarch, ministers, lords and commons, with their subordinate administrativedepartments, courts of justice, revenue offices, etc. , supplemented inthe provinces by municipal governments, county governments, parish orunion governments--all of them more or less elaborated. By its sidethere grows up a highly complex religious organisation, with its variousgrades of officials, from archbishops down to sextons, its colleges, convocations, ecclesiastical courts, etc. ; to all which must be addedthe ever multiplying independent sects, each with its general and localauthorities. And at the same time there is developed a highly complexaggregation of customs, manners, and temporary fashions, enforced bysociety at large, and serving to control those minor transactionsbetween man and man which are not regulated by civil and religious law. Moreover it is to be observed that this ever increasing heterogeneity inthe governmental appliances of each nation, has been accompanied by anincreasing heterogeneity in the governmental appliances of differentnations; all of which are more or less unlike in their political systemsand legislation, in their creeds and religious institutions, in theircustoms and ceremonial usages. 

Simultaneously there has been going on a second differentiation of amore familiar kind; that, namely, by which the mass of the community hasbeen segregated into distinct classes and orders of workers. While thegoverning part has undergone the complex development above detailed, thegoverned part has undergone an equally complex development, which hasresulted in that minute division of labour characterising advancednations. It is needless to trace out this progress from its firststages, up through the caste divisions of the East and the incorporatedguilds of Europe, to the elaborate producing and distributingorganisation existing among ourselves. Political economists have longsince described the evolution which, beginning with a tribe whosemembers severally perform the same actions each for himself, ends with acivilised community whose members severally perform different actionsfor each other; and they have further pointed out the changes throughwhich the solitary producer of any one commodity is transformed into acombination of producers who, united under a master, take separate partsin the manufacture of such commodity. But there are yet other and higherphases of this advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous in theindustrial organisation of society. 

Long after considerable progress has been made in the division of labouramong different classes of workers, there is still little or no divisionof labour among the widely separated parts of the community; the nationcontinues comparatively homogeneous in the respect that in each districtthe same occupations are pursued. But when roads and other means oftransit become numerous and good, the different districts begin toassume different functions, and to become mutually dependent. The calicomanufacture locates itself in this county, the woollen-cloth manufacturein that; silks are produced here, lace there; stockings in one place, shoes in another; pottery, hardware, cutlery, come to have their specialtowns; and ultimately every locality becomes more or less distinguishedfrom the rest by the leading occupation carried on in it. Nay, more, this subdivision of functions shows itself not only among the differentparts of the same nation, but among different nations. That exchange ofcommodities which free-trade promises so greatly to increase, willultimately have the effect of specialising, in a greater or less degree, the industry of each people. So that beginning with a barbarous tribe, almost if not quite homogeneous in the functions of its members, theprogress has been, and still is, towards an economic aggregation of thewhole human race; growing ever more heterogeneous in respect of theseparate functions assumed by separate nations, the separate functionsassumed by the local sections of each nation, the separate functionsassumed by the many kinds of makers and traders in each town, and theseparate functions assumed by the workers united in producing eachcommodity. 

Not only is the law thus clearly exemplified in the evolution of thesocial organism, but it is exemplified with equal clearness in theevolution of all products of human thought and action, whether concreteor abstract, real or ideal. Let us take Language as our firstillustration. 

The lowest form of language is the exclamation, by which an entire ideais vaguely conveyed through a single sound; as among the lower animals. That human language ever consisted solely of exclamations, and so wasstrictly homogeneous in respect of its parts of speech, we have noevidence. But that language can be traced down to a form in which nounsand verbs are its only elements, is an established fact. In the gradualmultiplication of parts of speech out of these primary ones--in thedifferentiation of verbs into active and passive, of nouns into abstractand concrete--in the rise of distinctions of mood, tense, person, ofnumber and case--in the formation of auxiliary verbs, of adjectives, adverbs, pronouns, prepositions, articles--in the divergence of thoseorders, genera, species, and varieties of parts of speech by whichcivilised races express minute modifications of meaning--we see a changefrom the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. And it may be remarked, inpassing, that it is more especially in virtue of having carried thissubdivision of function to a greater extent and completeness, that theEnglish language is superior to all others. 

Another aspect under which we may trace the development of language isthe differentiation of words of allied meanings. Philology earlydisclosed the truth that in all languages words may be grouped intofamilies having a common ancestry. An aboriginal name appliedindiscriminately to each of an extensive and ill-defined class of thingsor actions, presently undergoes modifications by which the chiefdivisions of the class are expressed. These several names springing fromthe primitive root, themselves become the parents of other names stillfurther modified. And by the aid of those systematic modes whichpresently arise, of making derivations and forming compound termsexpressing still smaller distinctions, there is finally developed atribe of words so heterogeneous in sound and meaning, that to theuninitiated it seems incredible that they should have had a commonorigin. Meanwhile from other roots there are being evolved other suchtribes, until there results a language of some sixty thousand or moreunlike words, signifying as many unlike objects, qualities, acts. 

Yet another way in which language in general advances from thehomogeneous to the heterogeneous, is in the multiplication of languages. Whether as Max Müller and Bunsen think, all languages have grown fromone stock, or whether, as some philologists say, they have grown fromtwo or more stocks, it is clear that since large families of languages, as the Indo-European, are of one parentage, they have become distinctthrough a process of continuous divergence. The same diffusion over theEarth's surface which has led to the differentiation of the race, hassimultaneously led to a differentiation of their speech: a truth whichwe see further illustrated in each nation by the peculiarities ofdialect found in several districts. Thus the progress of Languageconforms to the general law, alike in the evolution of languages, in theevolution of families of words, and in the evolution of parts of speech. 

On passing from spoken to written language, we come upon several classesof facts, all having similar implications. Written language is connatewith Painting and Sculpture; and at first all three are appendages ofArchitecture, and have a direct connection with the primary form of allGovernment--the theocratic. Merely noting by the way the fact thatsundry wild races, as for example the Australians and the tribes ofSouth Africa, are given to depicting personages and events upon thewalls of caves, which are probably regarded as sacred places, let uspass to the case of the Egyptians. Among them, as also among theAssyrians, we find mural paintings used to decorate the temple of thegod and the palace of the king (which were, indeed, originallyidentical); and as such they were governmental appliances in the samesense that state-pageants and religious feasts were. Further, they weregovernmental appliances in virtue of representing the worship of thegod, the triumphs of the god-king, the submission of his subjects, andthe punishment of the rebellious. And yet again they were governmental, as being the products of an art reverenced by the people as a sacredmystery. From the habitual use of this pictorial representations therenaturally grew up the but slightly-modified practice ofpicture-writing--a practice which was found still extant among theMexicans at the time they were discovered. By abbreviations analogous tothose still going on in our own written and spoken language, the mostfamiliar of these pictured figures were successively simplified; andultimately there grew up a system of symbols, most of which had but adistant resemblance to the things for which they stood. The inferencethat the hieroglyphics of the Egyptians were thus produced, is confirmedby the fact that the picture-writing of the Mexicans was found to havegiven birth to a like family of ideographic forms; and among them, asamong the Egyptians, these had been partially differentiated into the_kuriological_ or imitative, and the _tropical_ or symbolic: which were, however, used together in the same record. In Egypt, written languageunderwent a further differentiation: whence resulted the _hieratic_ andthe _epistolographic_ or _enchorial_: both of which are derived from theoriginal hieroglyphic. At the same time we find that for the expressionof proper names which could not be otherwise conveyed, phonetic symbolswere employed; and though it is alleged that the Egyptians neveractually achieved complete alphabetic writing, yet it can scarcely bedoubted that these phonetic symbols occasionally used in aid of theirideographic ones, were the germs out of which alphabetic writing grew. Once having become separate from hieroglyphics, alphabetic writingitself underwent numerous differentiations--multiplied alphabets wereproduced; between most of which, however, more or less connection canstill be traced. And in each civilised nation there has now grown up, for the representation of one set of sounds, several sets of writtensigns used for distinct purposes. Finally, through a yet more importantdifferentiation came printing; which, uniform in kind as it was atfirst, has since become multiform. 

While written language was passing through its earlier stages ofdevelopment, the mural decoration which formed its root was beingdifferentiated into Painting and Sculpture. The gods, kings, men, andanimals represented, were originally marked by indented outlines andcoloured. In most cases these outlines were of such depth, and theobject they circumscribed so far rounded and marked out in its leadingparts, as to form a species of work intermediate between intaglio andbas-relief. In other cases we see an advance upon this: the raisedspaces between the figures being chiselled off, and the figuresthemselves appropriately tinted, a painted bas-relief was produced. Therestored Assyrian architecture at Sydenham exhibits this style of artcarried to greater perfection--the persons and things represented, though still barbarously coloured, are carved out with more truth and ingreater detail: and in the winged lions and bulls used for the angles ofgateways, we may see a considerable advance towards a completelysculptured figure; which, nevertheless, is still coloured, and stillforms part of the building. But while in Assyria the production of astatue proper seems to have been little, if at all, attempted, we maytrace in Egyptian art the gradual separation of the sculptured figurefrom the wall. A walk through the collection in the British Museum willclearly show this; while it will at the same time afford an opportunityof observing the evident traces which the independent statues bear oftheir derivation from bas-relief: seeing that nearly all of them notonly display that union of the limbs with the body which is thecharacteristic of bas-relief, but have the back of the statue unitedfrom head to foot with a block which stands in place of the originalwall. Greece repeated the leading stages of this progress. As in Egyptand Assyria, these twin arts were at first united with each other andwith their parent, Architecture, and were the aids of Religion andGovernment. On the friezes of Greek temples, we see coloured bas-reliefsrepresenting sacrifices, battles, processions, games--all in some sortreligious. On the pediments we see painted sculptures more or lessunited with the tympanum, and having for subjects the triumphs of godsor heroes. Even when we come to statues that are definitely separatedfrom the buildings to which they pertain, we still find them coloured;and only in the later periods of Greek civilisation does thedifferentiation of sculpture from painting appear to have becomecomplete. 

In Christian art we may clearly trace a parallel re-genesis. All earlypaintings and sculptures throughout Europe were religious insubject--represented Christs, crucifixions, virgins, holy families, apostles, saints. They formed integral parts of church architecture, andwere among the means of exciting worship; as in Roman Catholic countriesthey still are. Moreover, the early sculptures of Christ on the cross, of virgins, of saints, were coloured: and it needs but to call to mindthe painted madonnas and crucifixes still abundant in continentalchurches and highways, to perceive the significant fact that paintingand sculpture continue in closest connection with each other where theycontinue in closest connection with their parent. Even when Christiansculpture was pretty clearly differentiated from painting, it was stillreligious and governmental in its subjects--was used for tombs inchurches and statues of kings: while, at the same time, painting, wherenot purely ecclesiastical, was applied to the decoration of palaces, andbesides representing royal personages, was almost wholly devoted tosacred legends. Only in quite recent times have painting and sculpturebecome entirely secular arts. Only within these few centuries haspainting been divided into historical, landscape, marine, architectural, genre, animal, still-life, etc. , and sculpture grown heterogeneous inrespect of the variety of real and ideal subjects with which it occupiesitself. 

Strange as it seems then, we find it no less true, that all forms ofwritten language, of painting, and of sculpture, have a common root inthe politico-religious decorations of ancient temples and palaces. Little resemblance as they now have, the bust that stands on theconsole, the landscape that hangs against the wall, and the copy of the_Times_ lying upon the table, are remotely akin; not only in nature, butby extraction. The brazen face of the knocker which the postman has justlifted, is related not only to the woodcuts of the _Illustrated LondonNews_ which he is delivering, but to the characters of the _billet-doux_which accompanies it. Between the painted window, the prayer-book onwhich its light falls, and the adjacent monument, there isconsanguinity. The effigies on our coins, the signs over shops, thefigures that fill every ledger, the coats of arms outside the carriagepanel, and the placards inside the omnibus, are, in common with dolls, blue-books, paper-hangings, lineally descended from the rudesculpture-paintings in which the Egyptians represented the triumphs andworship of their god-kings. Perhaps no example can be given which morevividly illustrates the multiplicity and heterogeneity of the productsthat in course of time may arise by successive differentiations from acommon stock. 

Before passing to other classes of facts, it should be observed that theevolution of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous is displayed notonly in the separation of Painting and Sculpture from Architecture andfrom each other, and in the greater variety of subjects they embody, butit is further shown in the structure of each work. A modern picture orstatue is of far more heterogeneous nature than an ancient one. AnEgyptian sculpture-fresco represents all its figures as on oneplane--that is, at the same distance from the eye; and so is lessheterogeneous than a painting that represents them as at variousdistances from the eye. It exhibits all objects as exposed to the samedegree of light; and so is less heterogeneous than a painting whichexhibits different objects and different parts of each object as indifferent degrees of light. It uses scarcely any but the primarycolours, and these in their full intensity; and so is less heterogeneousthan a painting which, introducing the primary colours but sparingly, employs an endless variety of intermediate tints, each of heterogeneouscomposition, and differing from the rest not only in quality but inintensity. Moreover, we see in these earliest works a great uniformityof conception. The same arrangement of figures is perpetuallyreproduced--the same actions, attitudes, faces, dresses. In Egypt themodes of representation were so fixed that it was sacrilege to introducea novelty; and indeed it could have been only in consequence of a fixedmode of representation that a system of hieroglyphics became possible. The Assyrian bas-reliefs display parallel characters. Deities, kings, attendants, winged figures and animals, are severally depicted in likepositions, holding like implements, doing like things, and with likeexpression or non-expression of face. If a palm-grove is introduced, allthe trees are of the same height, have the same number of leaves, andare equidistant. When water is imitated, each wave is a counterpart ofthe rest; and the fish, almost always of one kind, are evenlydistributed over the surface. The beards of the kings, the gods, and thewinged figures, are every where similar: as are the names of the lions, and equally so those of the horses. Hair is represented throughout byone form of curl. The king's beard is quite architecturally built up ofcompound tiers of uniform curls, alternating with twisted tiers placedin a transverse direction, and arranged with perfect regularity; and theterminal tufts of the bulls' tails are represented in exactly the samemanner. Without tracing out analogous facts in early Christian art, inwhich, though less striking, they are still visible, the advance inheterogeneity will be sufficiently manifest on remembering that in thepictures of our own day the composition is endlessly varied; theattitudes, faces, expressions, unlike; the subordinate objects differentin size, form, position, texture; and more or less of contrast even inthe smallest details. Or, if we compare an Egyptian statue, seated boltupright on a block with hands on knees, fingers outspread and parallel, eyes looking straight forward, and the two sides perfectly symmetricalin every particular, with a statue of the advanced Greek or the modernschool, which is asymmetrical in respect of the position of the head, the body, the limbs, the arrangement of the hair, dress, appendages, andin its relations to neighbouring objects, we shall see the change fromthe homogeneous to the heterogeneous clearly manifested. 

In the co-ordinate origin and gradual differentiation of Poetry, Musicand Dancing, we have another series of illustrations. Rhythm in speech, rhythm in sound, and rhythm in motion, were in the beginning parts ofthe same thing, and have only in process of time become separate things. Among various existing barbarous tribes we find them still united. Thedances of savages are accompanied by some kind of monotonous chant, theclapping of hands, the striking of rude instruments: there are measuredmovements, measured words, and measured tones; and the whole ceremony, usually having reference to war or sacrifice, is of governmentalcharacter. In the early records of the historic races we similarly findthese three forms of metrical action united in religious festivals. Inthe Hebrew writings we read that the triumphal ode composed by Moses onthe defeat of the Egyptians, was sung to an accompaniment of dancing andtimbrels. The Israelites danced and sung "at the inauguration of thegolden calf. And as it is generally agreed that this representation ofthe Deity was borrowed from the mysteries of Apis, it is probable thatthe dancing was copied from that of the Egyptians on those occasions. "There was an annual dance in Shiloh on the sacred festival; and Daviddanced before the ark. Again, in Greece the like relation is everywhereseen; the original type being there, as probably in other cases, asimultaneous chanting and mimetic representation of the life andadventures of the god. The Spartan dances were accompanied by hymns andsongs; and in general the Greeks had "no festivals or religiousassemblies but what were accompanied with songs and dances"--both ofthem being forms of worship used before altars. Among the Romans, too, there were sacred dances: the Salian and Lupercalian being named as ofthat kind. And even in Christian countries, as at Limoges, incomparatively recent times, the people have danced in the choir inhonour of a saint. The incipient separation of these once united artsfrom each other and from religion, was early visible in Greece. Probablydiverging from dances partly religious, partly warlike, as theCorybantian, came the war dances proper, of which there were variouskinds; and from these resulted secular dances. Meanwhile Music andPoetry, though still united, came to have an existence separate fromdancing. The aboriginal Greek poems, religious in subject, were notrecited, but chanted; and though at first the chant of the poet wasaccompanied by the dance of the chorus, it ultimately grew intoindependence. Later still, when the poem had been differentiated intoepic and lyric--when it became the custom to sing the lyric and recitethe epic--poetry proper was born. As during the same period musicalinstruments were being multiplied, we may presume that music came tohave an existence apart from words. And both of them were beginning toassume other forms besides the religious. Facts having like implicationsmight be cited from the histories of later times and people: as thepractices of our own early minstrels, who sang to the harp heroicnarratives versified by themselves to music of their own composition:thus uniting the now separate offices of poet, composer, vocalist, andinstrumentalist. But, without further illustration, the common originand gradual differentiation of Dancing, Poetry, and Music will besufficiently manifest. 

The advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous is displayed notonly in the separation of these arts from each other and from religion, but also in the multiplied differentiations which each of themafterwards undergoes. Not to dwell upon the numberless kinds of dancingthat have, in course of time, come into use; and not to occupy space indetaining the progress of poetry, as seen in the development of thevarious forms of metre, of rhyme, and of general organisation; let usconfine our attention to music as a type of the group. As argued by Dr. Burney, and as implied by the customs of still extant barbarous races, the first musical instruments were, without doubt, percussive--sticks, calabashes, tom-toms--and were used simply to mark the time of thedance; and in this constant repetition of the same sound, we see musicin its most homogeneous form. 

The Egyptians had a lyre with three strings. The early lyre of theGreeks had four, constituting their tetrachord. In course of somecenturies lyres of seven and eight strings were employed. And, by theexpiration of a thousand years, they had advanced to their "greatsystem" of the double octave. Through all which changes there of coursearose a greater heterogeneity of melody. Simultaneously there came intouse the different modes--Dorian, Ionian, Phrygian, Æolian, andLydian--answering to our keys; and of these there were ultimatelyfifteen. As yet, however, there was but little heterogeneity in the timeof their music. 

Instrumental music during this period being merely the accompaniment ofvocal music, and vocal music being completely subordinated to words, thesinger being also the poet, chanting his own compositions and making thelengths of his notes agree with the feet of his verses, --thereunavoidably arose a tiresome uniformity of measure, which, as Dr. Burneysays, "no resources of melody could disguise. " Lacking the complexrhythm obtained by our equal bars and unequal notes the only rhythm wasthat produced by the quantity of the syllables and was of necessitycomparatively monotonous. And further, it may be observed that the chantthus resulting, being like recitative, was much less clearlydifferentiated from ordinary speech than is our modern song. 

Nevertheless, in virtue of the extended range of notes in use, thevariety of modes, the occasional variations of time consequent onchanges of metre, and the multiplication of instruments, music had, towards the close of Greek civilisation, attained to considerableheterogeneity--not indeed as compared with our music, but as comparedwith that which preceded it. As yet, however, there existed nothing butmelody: harmony was unknown. It was not until Christian church-music hadreached some development, that music in parts was evolved; and then itcame into existence through a very unobtrusive differentiation. Difficult as it may be to conceive _à priori_ how the advance frommelody to harmony could take place without a sudden leap, it is none theless true that it did so. The circumstance which prepared the way for itwas the employment of two choirs singing alternately the same air. Afterwards it became the practice--very possibly first suggested by amistake--for the second choir to commence before the first had ceased;thus producing a fugue. 

With the simple airs then in use, a partially harmonious fugue might notimprobably thus result: and a very partially harmonious fugue satisfiedthe ears of that age, as we know from still preserved examples. The ideahaving once been given, the composing of airs productive of fugalharmony would naturally grow up; as in some way it _did_ grow up out ofthis alternate choir-singing. And from the fugue to concerted music oftwo, three, four, and more parts, the transition was easy. Withoutpointing out in detail the increasing complexity that resulted fromintroducing notes of various lengths, from the multiplication of keys, from the use of accidentals, from varieties of time, and so forth, itneeds but to contrast music as it is, with music as it was, to see howimmense is the increase of heterogeneity. We see this if, looking atmusic in its _ensemble_, we enumerate its many different genera andspecies--if we consider the divisions into vocal, instrumental, andmixed; and their subdivisions into music for different voices anddifferent instruments--if we observe the many forms of sacred music, from the simple hymn, the chant, the canon, motet, anthem, etc. , up tothe oratorio; and the still more numerous forms of secular music, fromthe ballad up to the serenata, from the instrumental solo up to thesymphony. 

Again, the same truth is seen on comparing any one sample of aboriginalmusic with a sample of modern music--even an ordinary song for thepiano; which we find to be relatively highly heterogeneous, not only inrespect of the varieties in the pitch and in the length of the notes, the number of different notes sounding at the same instant in companywith the voice, and the variations of strength with which they aresounded and sung, but in respect of the changes of key, the changes oftime, the changes of _timbre_ of the voice, and the many othermodifications of expression. While between the old monotonousdance-chant and a grand opera of our own day, with its endlessorchestral complexities and vocal combinations, the contrast inheterogeneity is so extreme that it seems scarcely credible that the oneshould have been the ancestor of the other. 

Were they needed, many further illustrations might be cited. Going backto the early time when the deeds of the god-king, chanted andmimetically represented in dances round his altar, were further narratedin picture-writings on the walls of temples and palaces, and soconstituted a rude literature, we might trace the development ofLiterature through phases in which, as in the Hebrew Scriptures, itpresents in one work theology, cosmogony, history, biography, civil law, ethics, poetry; through other phases in which, as in the Iliad, thereligious, martial, historical, the epic, dramatic, and lyric elementsare similarly commingled; down to its present heterogeneous development, in which its divisions and subdivisions are so numerous and varied as todefy complete classification. Or we might trace out the evolution ofScience; beginning with the era in which it was not yet differentiatedfrom Art, and was, in union with Art, the handmaid of Religion; passingthrough the era in which the sciences were so few and rudimentary, as tobe simultaneously cultivated by the same philosophers; and ending withthe era in which the genera and species are so numerous that few canenumerate them, and no one can adequately grasp even one genus. Or wemight do the like with Architecture, with the Drama, with Dress. 

But doubtless the reader is already weary of illustrations; and ourpromise has been amply fulfilled. We believe we have shown beyondquestion, that that which the German physiologists have found to be thelaw of organic development, is the law of all development. The advancefrom the simple to the complex, through a process of successivedifferentiations, is seen alike in the earliest changes of the Universeto which we can reason our way back; and in the earliest changes whichwe can inductively establish; it is seen in the geologic and climaticevolution of the Earth, and of every single organism on its surface; itis seen in the evolution of Humanity, whether contemplated in thecivilised individual, or in the aggregation of races; it is seen in theevolution of Society in respect alike of its political, its religious, and its economical organisation; and it is seen in the evolution of allthose endless concrete and abstract products of human activity whichconstitute the environment of our daily life. From the remotest pastwhich Science can fathom, up to the novelties of yesterday, that inwhich Progress essentially consists, is the transformation of thehomogeneous into the heterogeneous. 

 * * * * *

And now, from this uniformity of procedure, may we not infer somefundamental necessity whence it results? May we not rationally seek forsome all-pervading principle which determines this all-pervading processof things? Does not the universality of the _law_ imply a universal_cause_?

That we can fathom such cause, noumenally considered, is not to besupposed. To do this would be to solve that ultimate mystery which mustever transcend human intelligence. But it still may be possible for usto reduce the law of all Progress, above established, from the conditionof an empirical generalisation, to the condition of a rationalgeneralisation. Just as it was possible to interpret Kepler's laws asnecessary consequences of the law of gravitation; so it may be possibleto interpret this law of Progress, in its multiform manifestations, asthe necessary consequence of some similarly universal principle. Asgravitation was assignable as the _cause_ of each of the groups ofphenomena which Kepler formulated; so may some equally simple attributeof things be assignable as the cause of each of the groups of phenomenaformulated in the foregoing pages. We may be able to affiliate all thesevaried and complex evolutions of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous, upon certain simple facts of immediate experience, which, in virtue ofendless repetition, we regard as necessary. 

The probability of a common cause, and the possibility of formulatingit, being granted, it will be well, before going further, to considerwhat must be the general characteristics of such cause, and in whatdirection we ought to look for it. We can with certainty predict that ithas a high degree of generality; seeing that it is common to suchinfinitely varied phenomena: just in proportion to the universality ofits application must be the abstractness of its character. We need notexpect to see in it an obvious solution of this or that form ofProgress; because it equally refers to forms of Progress bearing littleapparent resemblance to them: its association with multiform orders offacts, involves its dissociation from any particular order of facts. Being that which determines Progress of every kind--astronomic, geologic, organic, ethnologic, social, economic, artistic, etc. --it mustbe concerned with some fundamental attribute possessed in common bythese; and must be expressible in terms of this fundamental attribute. The only obvious respect in which all kinds of Progress are alike, is, that they are modes of _change_; and hence, in some characteristic ofchanges in general, the desired solution will probably be found. We maysuspect _à priori_ that in some law of change lies the explanation ofthis universal transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous. 

Thus much premised, we pass at once to the statement of the law, whichis this:--_Every active force produces more than one change_--_everycause produces more than one effect_. 

Before this law can be duly comprehended, a few examples must be lookedat. When one body is struck against another, that which we usuallyregard as the effect, is a change of position or motion in one or bothbodies. But a moment's thought shows us that this is a careless and veryincomplete view of the matter. Besides the visible mechanical result, sound is produced; or, to speak accurately, a vibration in one or bothbodies, and in the surrounding air: and under some circumstances we callthis the effect. Moreover, the air has not only been made to vibrate, but has had sundry currents caused in it by the transit of the bodies. Further, there is a disarrangement of the particles of the two bodies inthe neighbourhood of their point of collision; amounting in some casesto a visible condensation. Yet more, this condensation is accompanied bythe disengagement of heat. In some cases a spark--that is, light--results, from the incandescence of a portion struck off; andsometimes this incandescence is associated with chemical combination. 

Thus, by the original mechanical force expended in the collision, atleast five, and often more, different kinds of changes have beenproduced. Take, again, the lighting of a candle. Primarily this is achemical change consequent on a rise of temperature. The process ofcombination having once been set going by extraneous heat, there is acontinued formation of carbonic acid, water, etc. --in itself a resultmore complex than the extraneous heat that first caused it. Butaccompanying this process of combination there is a production of heat;there is a production of light; there is an ascending column of hotgases generated; there are currents established in the surrounding air. Moreover the decomposition of one force into many forces does not endhere: each of the several changes produced becomes the parent of furtherchanges. The carbonic acid given off will by and by combine with somebase; or under the influence of sunshine give up its carbon to the leafof a plant. The water will modify the hygrometric state of the airaround; or, if the current of hot gases containing it come against acold body, will be condensed: altering the temperature, and perhaps thechemical state, of the surface it covers. The heat given out melts thesubjacent tallow, and expands whatever it warms. The light, falling onvarious substances, calls forth from them reactions by which it ismodified; and so divers colours are produced. Similarly even with thesesecondary actions, which may be traced out into ever-multiplyingramifications, until they become too minute to be appreciated. And thusit is with all changes whatever. No case can be named in which an activeforce does not evolve forces of several kinds, and each of these, othergroups of forces. Universally the effect is more complex than the cause. 

Doubtless the reader already foresees the course of our argument. Thismultiplication of results, which is displayed in every event of to-day, has been going on from the beginning; and is true of the grandestphenomena of the universe as of the most insignificant. From the lawthat every active force produces more than one change, it is aninevitable corollary that through all time there has been anever-growing complication of things. Starting with the ultimate factthat every cause produces more than one effect, we may readily see thatthroughout creation there must have gone on, and must still go on, anever-ceasing transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous. But let us trace out this truth in detail. 

Without committing ourselves to it as more than a speculation, though ahighly probable one, let us again commence with the evolution of thesolar system out of a nebulous medium. [3] From the mutual attraction ofthe atoms of a diffused mass whose form is unsymmetrical, there resultsnot only condensation but rotation: gravitation simultaneously generatesboth the centripetal and the centrifugal forces. While the condensationand the rate of rotation are progressively increasing, the approach ofthe atoms necessarily generates a progressively increasing temperature. As this temperature rises, light begins to be evolved; and ultimatelythere results a revolving sphere of fluid matter radiating intense heatand light--a sun. 

There are good reasons for believing that, in consequence of the hightangential velocity, and consequent centrifugal force, acquired by theouter parts of the condensing nebulous mass, there must be a periodicaldetachment of rotating rings; and that, from the breaking up of thesenebulous rings, there must arise masses which in the course of theircondensation repeat the actions of the parent mass, and so produceplanets and their satellites--an inference strongly supported by thestill extant rings of Saturn. 

Should it hereafter be satisfactorily shown that planets and satelliteswere thus generated, a striking illustration will be afforded of thehighly heterogeneous effects produced by the primary homogeneous cause;but it will serve our present purpose to point to the fact that from themutual attraction of the particles of an irregular nebulous mass thereresult condensation, rotation, heat, and light. 

It follows as a corollary from the Nebular Hypothesis, that the Earthmust at first have been incandescent; and whether the Nebular Hypothesisbe true or not, this original incandescence of the Earth is nowinductively established--or, if not established, at least rendered sohighly probable that it is a generally admitted geological doctrine. Letus look first at the astronomical attributes of this once molten globe. From its rotation there result the oblateness of its form, thealternations of day and night, and (under the influence of the moon) thetides, aqueous and atmospheric. From the inclination of its axis, thereresult the precession of the equinoxes and the many differences of theseasons, both simultaneous and successive, that pervade its surface. Thus the multiplication of effects is obvious. Several of thedifferentiations due to the gradual cooling of the Earth have beenalready noticed--as the formation of a crust, the solidification ofsublimed elements, the precipitation of water, etc. , --and we here againrefer to them merely to point out that they are simultaneous effects ofthe one cause, diminishing heat. 

Let us now, however, observe the multiplied changes afterwards arisingfrom the continuance of this one cause. The cooling of the Earthinvolves its contraction. Hence the solid crust first formed ispresently too large for the shrinking nucleus; and as it cannot supportitself, inevitably follows the nucleus. But a spheroidal envelope cannotsink down into contact with a smaller internal spheroid, withoutdisruption; it must run into wrinkles as the rind of an apple does whenthe bulk of its interior decreases from evaporation. As the coolingprogresses and the envelope thickens, the ridges consequent on thesecontractions must become greater, rising ultimately into hills andmountains; and the later systems of mountains thus produced must notonly be higher, as we find them to be, but they must be longer, as wealso find them to be. Thus, leaving out of view other modifying forces, we see what immense heterogeneity of surface has arisen from the onecause, loss of heat--a heterogeneity which the telescope shows us to beparalleled on the face of the moon, where aqueous and atmosphericagencies have been absent. 

But we have yet to notice another kind of heterogeneity of surfacesimilarly and simultaneously caused. While the Earth's crust was stillthin, the ridges produced by its contraction must not only have beensmall, but the spaces between these ridges must have rested with greatevenness upon the subjacent liquid spheroid; and the water in thosearctic and antarctic regions in which it first condensed, must have beenevenly distributed. But as fast as the crust grew thicker and gainedcorresponding strength, the lines of fracture from time to time causedin it, must have occurred at greater distances apart; the intermediatesurfaces must have followed the contracting nucleus with lessuniformity; and there must have resulted larger areas of land and water. If any one, after wrapping up an orange in wet tissue paper, andobserving not only how small are the wrinkles, but how evenly theintervening spaces lie upon the surface of the orange, will then wrap itup in thick cartridge-paper, and note both the greater height of theridges and the much larger spaces throughout which the paper does nottouch the orange, he will realise the fact, that as the Earth's solidenvelope grew thicker, the areas of elevation and depression must havebecome greater. In place of islands more or less homogeneously scatteredover an all-embracing sea, there must have gradually arisenheterogeneous arrangements of continent and ocean, such as we now know. 

Once more, this double change in the extent and in the elevation of thelands, involved yet another species of heterogeneity, that ofcoast-line. A tolerably even surface raised out of the ocean, must havea simple, regular sea-margin; but a surface varied by table-lands andintersected by mountain-chains must, when raised out of the ocean, havean outline extremely irregular both in its leading features and in itsdetails. Thus endless is the accumulation of geological and geographicalresults slowly brought about by this one cause--the contraction of theEarth. 

When we pass from the agency which geologists term igneous, to aqueousand atmospheric agencies, we see the like ever growing complications ofeffects. The denuding actions of air and water have, from the beginning, been modifying every exposed surface; everywhere causing many differentchanges. Oxidation, heat, wind, frost, rain, glaciers, rivers, tides, waves, have been unceasingly producing disintegration; varying in kindand amount according to local circumstances. Acting upon a tract ofgranite, they here work scarcely an appreciable effect; there causeexfoliations of the surface, and a resulting heap of _débris_ andboulders; and elsewhere, after decomposing the feldspar into a whiteclay, carry away this and the accompanying quartz and mica, and depositthem in separate beds, fluviatile and marine. When the exposed landconsists of several unlike formations, sedimentary and igneous, thedenudation produces changes proportionably more heterogeneous. Theformations being disintegrable in different degrees, there follows anincreased irregularity of surface. The areas drained by different riversbeing differently constituted, these rivers carry down to the seadifferent combinations of ingredients; and so sundry new strata ofdistinct composition are formed. 

And here indeed we may see very simply illustrated, the truth, which weshall presently have to trace out in more involved cases, that inproportion to the heterogeneity of the object or objects on which anyforce expends itself, is the heterogeneity of the results. A continentof complex structure, exposing many strata irregularly distributed, raised to various levels, tilted up at all angles, must, under the samedenuding agencies, give origin to immensely multiplied results; eachdistrict must be differently modified; each river must carry down adifferent kind of detritus; each deposit must be differently distributedby the entangled currents, tidal and other, which wash the contortedshores; and this multiplication of results must manifestly be greatestwhere the complexity of the surface is greatest. 

It is out of the question here to trace in detail the genesis of thoseendless complications described by Geology and Physical Geography: elsewe might show how the general truth, that every active force producesmore than one change, is exemplified in the highly involved flow of thetides, in the ocean currents, in the winds, in the distribution of rain, in the distribution of heat, and so forth. But not to dwell upon these, let us, for the fuller elucidation of this truth in relation to theinorganic world, consider what would be the consequences of someextensive cosmical revolution--say the subsidence of Central America. 

The immediate results of the disturbance would themselves besufficiently complex. Besides the numberless dislocations of strata, theejections of igneous matter, the propagation of earthquake vibrationsthousands of miles around, the loud explosions, and the escape of gases;there would be the rush of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans to supply thevacant space, the subsequent recoil of enormous waves, which wouldtraverse both these oceans and produce myriads of changes along theirshores, the corresponding atmospheric waves complicated by the currentssurrounding each volcanic vent, and the electrical discharges with whichsuch disturbances are accompanied. But these temporary effects would beinsignificant compared with the permanent ones. The complex currents ofthe Atlantic and Pacific would be altered in direction and amount. Thedistribution of heat achieved by these ocean currents would be differentfrom what it is. The arrangement of the isothermal lines, not even onthe neighbouring continents, but even throughout Europe, would bechanged. The tides would flow differently from what they do now. Therewould be more or less modification of the winds in their periods, strengths, directions, qualities. Rain would fall scarcely anywhere atthe same times and in the same quantities as at present. In short, themeteorological conditions thousands of miles off, on all sides, would bemore or less revolutionised. 

Thus, without taking into account the infinitude of modifications whichthese changes of climate would produce upon the flora and fauna, both ofland and sea, the reader will see the immense heterogeneity of theresults wrought out by one force, when that force expends itself upon apreviously complicated area; and he will readily draw the corollary thatfrom the beginning the complication has advanced at an increasing rate. 

Before going on to show how organic progress also depends upon theuniversal law that every force produces more than one change, we haveto notice the manifestation of this law in yet another species ofinorganic progress--namely, chemical. The same general causes that havewrought out the heterogeneity of the Earth, physically considered, havesimultaneously wrought out its chemical heterogeneity. Without dwellingupon the general fact that the forces which have been increasing thevariety and complexity of geological formations, have, at the same time, been bringing into contact elements not previously exposed to each otherunder conditions favourable to union, and so have been adding to thenumber of chemical compounds, let us pass to the more importantcomplications that have resulted from the cooling of the Earth. 

There is every reason to believe that at an extreme heat the elementscannot combine. Even under such heat as can be artificially produced, some very strong affinities yield, as for instance, that of oxygen forhydrogen; and the great majority of chemical compounds are decomposed atmuch lower temperatures. But without insisting upon the highly probableinference, that when the Earth was in its first state of incandescencethere were no chemical combinations at all, it will suffice our purposeto point to the unquestionable fact that the compounds that can exist atthe highest temperatures, and which must, therefore, have been the firstthat were formed as the Earth cooled, are those of the simplestconstitutions. The protoxides--including under that head the alkalies, earths, etc. --are, as a class, the most stable compounds we know: mostof them resisting decomposition by any heat we can generate. These, consisting severally of one atom of each component element, arecombinations of the simplest order--are but one degree less homogeneousthan the elements themselves. More heterogeneous than these, lessstable, and therefore later in the Earth's history, are the deutoxides, tritoxides, peroxides, etc. ; in which two, three, four, or more atoms ofoxygen are united with one atom of metal or other element. Higher thanthese in heterogeneity are the hydrates; in which an oxide of hydrogen, united with an oxide of some other element, forms a substance whoseatoms severally contain at least four ultimate atoms of three differentkinds. Yet more heterogeneous and less stable still are the salts; whichpresent us with compound atoms each made up of five, six, seven, eight, ten, twelve, or more atoms, of three, if not more, kinds. Then there arethe hydrated salts, of a yet greater heterogeneity, which undergopartial decomposition at much lower temperatures. After them come thefurther-complicated supersalts and double salts, having a stabilityagain decreased; and so throughout. Without entering into qualificationsfor which we lack space, we believe no chemist will deny it to be ageneral law of these inorganic combinations that, _other things equal_, the stability decreases as the complexity increases. 

And then when we pass to the compounds of organic chemistry, we findthis general law still further exemplified: we find much greatercomplexity and much less stability. An atom of albumen, for instance, consists of 482 ultimate atoms of five different kinds. Fibrine, stillmore intricate in constitution, contains in each atom, 298 atoms ofcarbon, 40 of nitrogen, 2 of sulphur, 228 of hydrogen, and 92 ofoxygen--in all, 660 atoms; or, more strictly speaking--equivalents. Andthese two substances are so unstable as to decompose at quite ordinarytemperatures; as that to which the outside of a joint of roast meat isexposed. Thus it is manifest that the present chemical heterogeneity ofthe Earth's surface has arisen by degrees, as the decrease of heat haspermitted; and that it has shown itself in three forms--first, in themultiplication of chemical compounds; second, in the greater number ofdifferent elements contained in the more modern of these compounds: andthird, in the higher and more varied multiples in which these morenumerous elements combine. 

To say that this advance in chemical heterogeneity is due to the onecause, diminution of the Earth's temperature, would be to say too much;for it is clear that aqueous and atmospheric agencies have beenconcerned; and, further, that the affinities of the elements themselvesare implied. The cause has all along been a composite one: the coolingof the Earth having been simply the most general of the concurrentcauses, or assemblage of conditions. And here, indeed, it may beremarked that in the several classes of facts already dealt with(excepting, perhaps, the first), and still more in those with which weshall presently deal, the causes are more or less compound; as indeedare nearly all causes with which we are acquainted. Scarcely any changecan with logical accuracy be wholly ascribed to one agency, to theneglect of the permanent or temporary conditions under which only thisagency produces the change. But as it does not materially affect ourargument, we prefer, for simplicity's sake, to use throughout thepopular mode of expression. 

Perhaps it will be further objected, that to assign loss of heat as thecause of any changes, is to attribute these changes not to a force, butto the absence of a force. And this is true. Strictly speaking, thechanges should be attributed to those forces which come into action whenthe antagonist force is withdrawn. But though there is an inaccuracy insaying that the freezing of water is due to the loss of its heat, nopractical error arises from it; nor will a parallel laxity of expressionvitiate our statements respecting the multiplication of effects. Indeed, the objection serves but to draw attention to the fact, that not onlydoes the exertion of a force produce more than one change, but thewithdrawal of a force produces more than one change. And this suggeststhat perhaps the most correct statement of our general principle wouldbe its most abstract statement--every change is followed by more thanone other change. 

Returning to the thread of our exposition, we have next to trace out, inorganic progress, this same all-pervading principle. And here, where theevolution of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous was first observed, the production of many changes by one cause is least easy todemonstrate. The development of a seed into a plant, or an ovum into ananimal, is so gradual, while the forces which determine it are soinvolved, and at the same time so unobtrusive, that it is difficult todetect the multiplication of effects which is elsewhere so obvious. Nevertheless, guided by indirect evidence, we may pretty safely reachthe conclusion that here too the law holds. 

Observe, first, how numerous are the effects which any marked changeworks upon an adult organism--a human being, for instance. An alarmingsound or sigh, besides the impressions on the organs of sense and thenerves, may produce a start, a scream, a distortion of the face, atrembling consequent upon a general muscular relaxation, a burst ofperspiration, an excited action of the heart, a rush of blood to thebrain, followed possibly by arrest of the heart's action and by syncope:and if the system be feeble, an indisposition with its long train ofcomplicated symptoms may set in. Similarly in cases of disease. A minuteportion of the small-pox virus introduced into the system, will, in asevere case, cause, during the first stage, rigors, heat of skin, accelerated pulse, furred tongue, loss of appetite, thirst, epigastricuneasiness, vomiting, headache, pains in the back and limbs, muscularweakness, convulsions, delirium, etc. ; in the second stage, cutaneouseruption, itching, tingling, sore throat, swelled fauces, salivation, cough, hoarseness, dyspnoea, etc. ; and in the third stage, oedematous inflammations, pneumonia, pleurisy, diarrhoea, inflammation of the brain, ophthalmia, erysipelas, etc. ; each of whichenumerated symptoms is itself more or less complex. Medicines, specialfoods, better air, might in like manner be instanced as producingmultiplied results. 

Now it needs only to consider that the many changes thus wrought by oneforce upon an adult organism, will be in part paralleled in an embryoorganism, to understand how here also, the evolution of the homogeneousinto the heterogeneous may be due to the production of many effects byone cause. The external heat and other agencies which determine thefirst complications of the germ, may, by acting upon these, superinducefurther complications; upon these still higher and more numerous ones;and so on continually: each organ as it is developed serving, by itsactions and reactions upon the rest, to initiate new complexities. Thefirst pulsations of the foetal heart must simultaneously aid theunfolding of every part. The growth of each tissue, by taking from theblood special proportions of elements, must modify the constitution ofthe blood; and so must modify the nutrition of all the other tissues. The heart's action, implying as it does a certain waste, necessitates anaddition to the blood of effete matters, which must influence the restof the system, and perhaps, as some think, cause the formation ofexcretory organs. The nervous connections established among the visceramust further multiply their mutual influences: and so continually. 

Still stronger becomes the probability of this view when we call to mindthe fact, that the same germ may be evolved into different formsaccording to circumstances. Thus, during its earlier stages, everyembryo is sexless--becomes either male or female as the balance offorces acting upon it determines. Again, it is a well-established factthat the larva of a working-bee will develop into a queen-bee, if, before it is too late, its food be changed to that on which the larvæ ofqueen-bees are fed. Even more remarkable is the case of certain entozoa. The ovum of a tape-worm, getting into its natural habitat, theintestine, unfolds into the well-known form of its parent; but ifcarried, as it frequently is, into other parts of the system, it becomesa sac-like creature, called by naturalists the _Echinococcus_--acreature so extremely different from the tape-worm in aspect andstructure, that only after careful investigations has it been proved tohave the same origin. All which instances imply that each advance inembryonic complication results from the action of incident forces uponthe complication previously existing. 

Indeed, we may find _à priori_ reason to think that the evolutionproceeds after this manner. For since it is now known that no germ, animal or vegetable, contains the slightest rudiment, trace, orindication of the future organism--now that the microscope has shown usthat the first process set up in every fertilised germ, is a process ofrepeated spontaneous fissions ending in the production of a mass ofcells, not one of which exhibits any special character: there seems noalternative but to suppose that the partial organisation at any momentsubsisting in a growing embryo, is transformed by the agencies actingupon it into the succeeding phase of organisation, and this into thenext, until, through ever-increasing complexities, the ultimate form isreached. Thus, though the subtilty of the forces and the slowness of theresults, prevent us from _directly_ showing that the stages ofincreasing heterogeneity through which every embryo passes, severallyarise from the production of many changes by one force, yet, _indirectly_, we have strong evidence that they do so. 

We have marked how multitudinous are the effects which one cause maygenerate in an adult organism; that a like multiplication of effectsmust happen in the unfolding organism, we have observed in sundryillustrative cases; further, it has been pointed out that the abilitywhich like germs have to originate unlike forms, implies that thesuccessive transformations result from the new changes superinduced onprevious changes; and we have seen that structureless as every germoriginally is, the development of an organism out of it is otherwiseincomprehensible. Not indeed that we can thus really explain theproduction of any plant or animal. We are still in the dark respectingthose mysterious properties in virtue of which the germ, when subject tofit influences, undergoes the special changes that begin the series oftransformations. All we aim to show, is, that given a germ possessingthese mysterious properties, the evolution of an organism from it, probably depends upon that multiplication of effects which we have seento be the cause of progress in general, so far as we have yet traced it. 

When, leaving the development of single plants and animals, we pass tothat of the Earth's flora and fauna, the course of our argument againbecomes clear and simple. Though, as was admitted in the first part ofthis article, the fragmentary facts Palæontology has accumulated, do notclearly warrant us in saying that, in the lapse of geologic time, therehave been evolved more heterogeneous organisms, and more heterogeneousassemblages of organisms, yet we shall now see that there _must_ everhave been a tendency towards these results. We shall find that theproduction of many effects by one cause, which, as already shown, hasbeen all along increasing the physical heterogeneity of the Earth, hasfurther involved an increasing heterogeneity in its flora and fauna, individually and collectively. An illustration will make this clear. 

Suppose that by a series of upheavals, occurring, as they are now knownto do, at long intervals, the East Indian Archipelago were to be, stepby step, raised into a continent, and a chain of mountains formed alongthe axis of elevation. By the first of these upheavals, the plants andanimals inhabiting Borneo, Sumatra, New Guinea, and the rest, would besubjected to slightly modified sets of conditions. The climate ingeneral would be altered in temperature, in humidity, and in itsperiodical variations; while the local differences would be multiplied. These modifications would affect, perhaps inappreciably, the entireflora and fauna of the region. The change of level would produceadditional modifications: varying in different species, and also indifferent members of the same species, according to their distance fromthe axis of elevation. Plants, growing only on the sea-shore in speciallocalities, might become extinct. Others, living only in swamps of acertain humidity, would, if they survived at all, probably undergovisible changes of appearance. While still greater alterations wouldoccur in the plants gradually spreading over the lands newly raisedabove the sea. The animals and insects living on these modified plants, would themselves be in some degree modified by change of food, as wellas by change of climate; and the modification would be more markedwhere, from the dwindling or disappearance of one kind of plant, anallied kind was eaten. In the lapse of the many generations arisingbefore the next upheaval, the sensible or insensible alterations thusproduced in each species would become organised--there would be a moreor less complete adaptation to the new conditions. The next upheavalwould superinduce further organic changes, implying wider divergencesfrom the primary forms; and so repeatedly. 

But now let it be observed that the revolution thus resulting would notbe a substitution of a thousand more or less modified species for thethousand original species; but in place of the thousand original speciesthere would arise several thousand species, or varieties, or changedforms. Each species being distributed over an area of some extent, andtending continually to colonise the new area exposed, its differentmembers would be subject to different sets of changes. Plants andanimals spreading towards the equator would not be affected in the sameway with others spreading from it. Those spreading towards the newshores would undergo changes unlike the changes undergone by thosespreading into the mountains. Thus, each original race of organisms, would become the root from which diverged several races differing moreor less from it and from each other; and while some of these mightsubsequently disappear, probably more than one would survive in the nextgeologic period: the very dispersion itself increasing the chances ofsurvival. Not only would there be certain modifications thus caused bychange of physical conditions and food, but also in some cases othermodifications caused by change of habit. The fauna of each island, peopling, step by step, the newly-raised tracts, would eventually comein contact with the faunas of other islands; and some members of theseother faunas would be unlike any creatures before seen. Herbivoresmeeting with new beasts of prey, would, in some cases, be led into modesof defence or escape differing from those previously used; andsimultaneously the beasts of prey would modify their modes of pursuitand attack. We know that when circumstances demand it, such changes ofhabit _do_ take place in animals; and we know that if the new habitsbecome the dominant ones, they must eventually in some degree alter theorganisation. 

Observe, now, however, a further consequence. There must arise notsimply a tendency towards the differentiation of each race of organismsinto several races; but also a tendency to the occasional production ofa somewhat higher organism. Taken in the mass, these divergent varietieswhich have been caused by fresh physical conditions and habits of life, will exhibit changes quite indefinite in kind and degree; and changesthat do not necessarily constitute an advance. Probably in most casesthe modified type will be neither more nor less heterogeneous than theoriginal one. In some cases the habits of life adopted being simplerthan before, a less heterogeneous structure will result: there will be aretrogradation. But it _must_ now and then occur, that some division ofa species, falling into circumstances which give it rather more complexexperiences, and demand actions somewhat more involved, will havecertain of its organs further differentiated in proportionately smalldegrees, --will become slightly more heterogeneous. 

Thus, in the natural course of things, there will from time to timearise an increased heterogeneity both of the Earth's flora and fauna, and of individual races included in them. Omitting detailedexplanations, and allowing for the qualifications which cannot here bespecified, we think it is clear that geological mutations have all alongtended to complicate the forms of life, whether regarded separately orcollectively. The same causes which have led to the evolution of theEarth's crust from the simple into the complex, have simultaneously ledto a parallel evolution of the Life upon its surface. In this case, asin previous ones, we see that the transformation of the homogeneous intothe heterogeneous is consequent upon the universal principle, that everyactive force produces more than one change. 

The deduction here drawn from the established truths of geology and thegeneral laws of life, gains immensely in weight on finding it to be inharmony with an induction drawn from direct experience. Just thatdivergence of many races from one race, which we inferred must have beencontinually occurring during geologic time, we know to have occurredduring the pre-historic and historic periods, in man and domesticanimals. And just that multiplication of effects which we concluded musthave produced the first, we see has produced the last. Single causes, asfamine, pressure of population, war, have periodically led to furtherdispersions of mankind and of dependent creatures: each such dispersioninitiating new modifications, new varieties of type. Whether all thehuman races be or be not derived from one stock, philology makes itclear that whole groups of races now easily distinguishable from eachother, were originally one race, --that the diffusion of one race intodifferent climates and conditions of existence, has produced manymodified forms of it. 

Similarly with domestic animals. Though in some cases--as that ofdogs--community of origin will perhaps be disputed, yet in othercases--as that of the sheep or the cattle of our own country--it willnot be questioned that local differences of climate, food, andtreatment, have transformed one original breed into numerous breeds nowbecome so far distinct as to produce unstable hybrids. Moreover, throughthe complications of effects flowing from single causes, we here find, what we before inferred, not only an increase of general heterogeneity, but also of special heterogeneity. While of the divergent divisions andsubdivisions of the human race, many have undergone changes notconstituting an advance; while in some the type may have degraded; inothers it has become decidedly more heterogeneous. The civilisedEuropean departs more widely from the vertebrate archetype than does thesavage. Thus, both the law and the cause of progress, which, from lackof evidence, can be but hypothetically substantiated in respect of theearlier forms of life on our globe, can be actually substantiated inrespect of the latest forms. 

If the advance of Man towards greater heterogeneity is traceable to theproduction of many effects by one cause, still more clearly may theadvance of Society towards greater heterogeneity be so explained. Consider the growth of an industrial organisation. When, as mustoccasionally happen, some individual of a tribe displays unusualaptitude for making an article of general use--a weapon, forinstance--which was before made by each man for himself, there arises atendency towards the differentiation of that individual into a maker ofsuch weapon. His companions--warriors and hunters all ofthem, --severally feel the importance of having the best weapons that canbe made; and are therefore certain to offer strong inducements to thisskilled individual to make weapons for them. He, on the other hand, having not only an unusual faculty, but an unusual liking, for makingsuch weapons (the talent and the desire for any occupation beingcommonly associated), is predisposed to fulfil these commissions on theoffer of an adequate reward: especially as his love of distinction isalso gratified. This first specialisation of function, once commenced, tends ever to become more decided. On the side of the weapon-makercontinued practice gives increased skill--increased superiority to hisproducts: on the side of his clients, cessation of practice entailsdecreased skill. Thus the influences that determine this division oflabour grow stronger in both ways; and the incipient heterogeneity is, on the average of cases, likely to become permanent for that generation, if no longer. 

Observe now, however, that this process not only differentiates thesocial mass into two parts, the one monopolising, or almostmonopolising, the performance of a certain function, and the otherhaving lost the habit, and in some measure the power, of performing thatfunction; but it tends to imitate other differentiations. The advance wehave described implies the introduction of barter, --the maker of weaponshas, on each occasion, to be paid in such other articles as he agrees totake in exchange. But he will not habitually take in exchange one kindof article, but many kinds. He does not want mats only, or skins, orfishing gear, but he wants all these; and on each occasion will bargainfor the particular things he most needs. What follows? If among themembers of the tribe there exist any slight differences of skill in themanufacture of these various things, as there are almost sure to do, theweapon-maker will take from each one the thing which that one excels inmaking: he will exchange for mats with him whose mats are superior, andwill bargain for the fishing gear of whoever has the best. But he whohas bartered away his mats or his fishing gear, must make other mats orfishing gear for himself; and in so doing must, in some degree, furtherdevelop his aptitude. Thus it results that the small specialities offaculty possessed by various members of the tribe, will tend to growmore decided. If such transactions are from time to time repeated, thesespecialisations may become appreciable. And whether or not there ensuedistinct differentiations of other individuals into makers of particulararticles, it is clear that incipient differentiations take placethroughout the tribe: the one original cause produces not only the firstdual effect, but a number of secondary dual effects, like in kind, butminor in degree. This process, of which traces may be seen among groupsof schoolboys, cannot well produce any lasting effects in an unsettledtribe; but where there grows up a fixed and multiplying community, thesedifferentiations become permanent, and increase with each generation. Alarger population, involving a greater demand for every commodity, intensifies the functional activity of each specialised person or class;and this renders the specialisation more definite where it alreadyexists, and establishes it where it is nascent. By increasing thepressure on the means of subsistence, a larger population again augmentsthese results; seeing that each person is forced more and more toconfine himself to that which he can do best, and by which he can gainmost. This industrial progress, by aiding future production, opens theway for a further growth of population, which reacts as before: in allwhich the multiplication of effects is manifest. Presently, under thesesame stimuli, new occupations arise. Competing workers, ever aiming toproduce improved articles, occasionally discover better processes or rawmaterials. In weapons and cutting tools, the substitution of bronze forstone entails upon him who first makes it a great increase of demand--sogreat an increase that he presently finds all his time occupied inmaking the bronze for the articles he sells, and is obliged to deputethe fashioning of these to others: and, eventually, the making ofbronze, thus gradually differentiated from a pre-existing occupation, becomes an occupation by itself. 

But now mark the ramified changes which follow this change. Bronze soonreplaces stone, not only in the articles it was first used for, but inmany others--in arms, tools, and utensils of various kinds; and soaffects the manufacture of these things. Further, it affects theprocesses which these utensils subserve, and the resultingproducts--modifies buildings, carvings, dress, personal decorations. Yetagain, it sets going sundry manufactures which were before impossible, from lack of a material fit for the requisite tools. And all thesechanges react on the people--increase their manipulative skill, theirintelligence, their comfort, --refine their habits and tastes. Thus theevolution of a homogeneous society into a heterogeneous one, is clearlyconsequent on the general principle, that many effects are produced byone cause. 

Our limits will not allow us to follow out this process in its highercomplications: else might we show how the localisation of specialindustries in special parts of a kingdom, as well as the minutesubdivision of labour in the making of each commodity, are similarlydetermined. Or, turning to a somewhat different order of illustrations, we might dwell on the multitudinous changes--material, intellectual, moral--caused by printing; or the further extensive series of changeswrought by gunpowder. But leaving the intermediate phases of socialdevelopment, let us take a few illustrations from its most recent andits passing phases. To trace the effects of steam-power, in its manifoldapplications to mining, navigation, and manufactures of all kinds, wouldcarry us into unmanageable detail. Let us confine ourselves to thelatest embodiment of steam-power--the locomotive engine. 

This, as the proximate cause of our railway system, has changed the faceof the country, the course of trade, and the habits of the people. Consider, first, the complicated sets of changes that precede the makingof every railway--the provisional arrangements, the meetings, theregistration, the trial section, the parliamentary survey, thelithographed plans, the books of reference, the local deposits andnotices, the application to Parliament, the passing Standing-OrdersCommittee, the first, second, and third readings: each of which briefheads indicates a multiplicity of transactions, and the development ofsundry occupations--as those of engineers, surveyors, lithographers, parliamentary agents, share-brokers; and the creation of sundryothers--as those of traffic-takers, reference-takers. Consider, next, the yet more marked changes implied in railway construction--thecuttings, embankings, tunnellings, diversions of roads; the building ofbridges, and stations; the laying down of ballast, sleepers, and rails;the making of engines, tenders, carriages, and waggons: which processes, acting upon numerous trades, increase the importation of timber, thequarrying of stone, the manufacture of iron, the mining of coal, theburning of bricks: institute a variety of special manufactures weeklyadvertised in the _Railway Times_; and, finally, open the way to sundrynew occupations, as those of drivers, stokers, cleaners, plate-layers, etc. , etc. And then consider the changes, more numerous and involvedstill, which railways in action produce on the community at large. Theorganisation of every business is more or less modified: ease ofcommunication makes it better to do directly what was before done byproxy; agencies are established where previously they would not havepaid; goods are obtained from remote wholesale houses instead of nearretail ones; and commodities are used which distance once renderedinaccessible. Again, the rapidity and small cost of carriage tend tospecialise more than ever the industries of different districts--toconfine each manufacture to the parts in which, from local advantages, it can be best carried on. Further, the diminished cost of carriage, facilitating distribution, equalises prices, and also, on the average, lowers prices: thus bringing divers articles within the means of thosebefore unable to buy them, and so increasing their comforts andimproving their habits. At the same time the practice of travelling isimmensely extended. Classes who never before thought of it, take annualtrips to the sea; visit their distant relations; make tours; and so weare benefited in body, feelings, and intellect. Moreover, the moreprompt transmission of letters and of news produces furtherchanges--makes the pulse of the nation faster. Yet more, there arises awide dissemination of cheap literature through railway book-stalls, andof advertisements in railway carriages: both of them aiding ulteriorprogress. 

And all the innumerable changes here briefly indicated are consequent onthe invention of the locomotive engine. The social organism has beenrendered more heterogeneous in virtue of the many new occupationsintroduced, and the many old ones further specialised; prices in everyplace have been altered; each trader has, more or less, modified his wayof doing business; and almost every person has been affected in hisactions, thoughts, emotions. 

Illustrations to the same effect might be indefinitely accumulated. Thatevery influence brought to bear upon society works multiplied effects;and that increase of heterogeneity is due to this multiplication ofeffects; may be seen in the history of every trade, every custom, everybelief. But it is needless to give additional evidence of this. The onlyfurther fact demanding notice, is, that we here see still more clearlythan ever, the truth before pointed out, that in proportion as the areaon which any force expends itself becomes heterogeneous, the results arein a yet higher degree multiplied in number and kind. While among theprimitive tribes to whom it was first known, caoutchouc caused but a fewchanges, among ourselves the changes have been so many and varied thatthe history of them occupies a volume. [4] Upon the small, homogeneouscommunity inhabiting one of the Hebrides, the electric telegraph wouldproduce, were it used, scarcely any results; but in England the resultsit produces are multitudinous. The comparatively simple organisationunder which our ancestors lived five centuries ago, could have undergonebut few modifications from an event like the recent one at Canton; butnow the legislative decision respecting it sets up many hundreds ofcomplex modifications, each of which will be the parent of numerousfuture ones. 

Space permitting, we could willingly have pursued the argument inrelation to all the subtler results of civilisation. As before, weshowed that the law of Progress to which the organic and inorganicworlds conform, is also conformed to by Language, Sculpture, Music, etc. ; so might we here show that the cause which we have hitherto foundto determine Progress holds in these cases also. We might demonstrate indetail how, in Science, an advance of one division presently advancesother divisions--how Astronomy has been immensely forwarded bydiscoveries in Optics, while other optical discoveries have initiatedMicroscopic Anatomy, and greatly aided the growth of Physiology--howChemistry has indirectly increased our knowledge of Electricity, Magnetism, Biology, Geology--how Electricity has reacted on Chemistryand Magnetism, developed our views of Light and Heat, and disclosedsundry laws of nervous action. 

In Literature the same truth might be exhibited in the manifold effectsof the primitive mystery-play, not only as originating the modern drama, but as affecting through it other kinds of poetry and fiction; or in thestill multiplying forms of periodical literature that have descendedfrom the first newspaper, and which have severally acted and reacted onother forms of literature and on each other. The influence which a newschool of Painting--as that of the pre-Raffaelites--exercises upon otherschools; the hints which all kinds of pictorial art are deriving fromPhotography; the complex results of new critical doctrines, as those ofMr. Ruskin, might severally be dwelt upon as displaying the likemultiplication of effects. But it would needlessly tax the reader'spatience to pursue, in their many ramifications, these various changes:here become so involved and subtle as to be followed with somedifficulty. 

Without further evidence, we venture to think our case is made out. Theimperfections of statement which brevity has necessitated, do not, webelieve, militate against the propositions laid down. The qualificationshere and there demanded would not, if made, affect the inferences. Though in one instance, where sufficient evidence is not attainable, wehave been unable to show that the law of Progress applies; yet there ishigh probability that the same generalisation holds which holdsthroughout the rest of creation. Though, in tracing the genesis ofProgress, we have frequently spoken of complex causes as if they weresimple ones; it still remains true that such causes are far less complexthan their results. Detailed criticisms cannot affect our main position. Endless facts go to show that every kind of progress is from thehomogeneous to the heterogeneous; and that it is so because each changeis followed by many changes. And it is significant that where the factsare most accessible and abundant, there are these truths most manifest. 

However, to avoid committing ourselves to more than is yet proved, wemust be content with saying that such are the law and the cause of allprogress that is known to us. Should the Nebular Hypothesis ever beestablished, then it will become manifest that the Universe at large, like every organism, was once homogeneous; that as a whole, and in everydetail, it has unceasingly advanced towards greater heterogeneity; andthat its heterogeneity is still increasing. It will be seen that as ineach event of to-day, so from the beginning, the decomposition of everyexpended force into several forces has been perpetually producing ahigher complication; that the increase of heterogeneity so brought aboutis still going on, and must continue to go on; and that thus Progress isnot an accident, not a thing within human control, but a beneficentnecessity. 

A few words must be added on the ontological bearings of our argument. Probably not a few will conclude that here is an attempted solution ofthe great questions with which Philosophy in all ages has perplexeditself. Let none thus deceive themselves. Only such as know not thescope and the limits of Science can fall into so grave an error. Theforegoing generalisations apply, not to the genesis of things inthemselves, but to their genesis as manifested to the humanconsciousness. After all that has been said, the ultimate mysteryremains just as it was. The explanation of that which is explicable, does but bring out into greater clearness the inexplicableness of thatwhich remains behind. However we may succeed in reducing the equation toits lowest terms, we are not thereby enabled to determine the unknownquantity: on the contrary, it only becomes more manifest that theunknown quantity can never be found. 

Little as it seems to do so, fearless inquiry tends continually to givea firmer basis to all true Religion. The timid sectarian, alarmed at theprogress of knowledge, obliged to abandon one by one the superstitionsof his ancestors, and daily finding his cherished beliefs more and moreshaken, secretly fears that all things may some day be explained; andhas a corresponding dread of Science: thus evincing the profoundest ofall infidelity--the fear lest the truth be bad. On the other hand, thesincere man of science, content to follow wherever the evidence leadshim, becomes by each new inquiry more profoundly convinced that theUniverse is an insoluble problem. Alike in the external and the internalworlds, he sees himself in the midst of perpetual changes, of which hecan discover neither the beginning nor the end. If, tracing back theevolution of things, he allows himself to entertain the hypothesis thatall matter once existed in a diffused form, he finds it utterlyimpossible to conceive how this came to be so; and equally, if hespeculates on the future, he can assign no limit to the grand successionof phenomena ever unfolding themselves before him. On the other hand, ifhe looks inward, he perceives that both terminations of the thread ofconsciousness are beyond his grasp: he cannot remember when or howconsciousness commenced, and he cannot examine the consciousness that atany moment exists; for only a state of consciousness that is alreadypast can become the object of thought, and never one which is passing. 

When, again, he turns from the succession of phenomena, external orinternal, to their essential nature, he is equally at fault. Though hemay succeed in resolving all properties of objects into manifestationsof force, he is not thereby enabled to realise what force is; but finds, on the contrary, that the more he thinks about it, the more he isbaffled. Similarly, though analysis of mental actions may finally bringhim down to sensations as the original materials out of which allthought is woven, he is none the forwarder; for he cannot in the leastcomprehend sensation--cannot even conceive how sensation is possible. Inward and outward things he thus discovers to be alike inscrutable intheir ultimate genesis and nature. He sees that the Materialist andSpiritualist controversy is a mere war of words; the disputants beingequally absurd--each believing he understands that which it isimpossible for any man to understand. In all directions hisinvestigations eventually bring him face to face with the unknowable;and he ever more clearly perceives it to be the unknowable. He learns atonce the greatness and the littleness of human intellect--its power indealing with all that comes within the range of experience; itsimpotence in dealing with all that transcends experience. He feels, witha vividness which no others can, the utter incomprehensibleness of thesimplest fact, considered in itself. He alone truly _sees_ that absoluteknowledge is impossible. He alone _knows_ that under all things therelies an impenetrable mystery. 

[1] _Westminster Review_, April 1857. 

[2] For detailed proof of these assertions see essay on "Manners andFashion. "

[3] The idea that the Nebular Hypothesis has been disproved because whatwere thought to be existing nebulæ have been resolved into clusters ofstars is almost beneath notice. _A priori_ it was highly improbable, ifnot impossible, that nebulous masses should still remain uncondensed, while others have been condensed millions of years ago. 

[4] _Personal Narrative of the Origin of the Caoutchouc, or India-RubberManufacture in England. _ By Thomas Hancock. 

ON MANNERS AND FASHION[1]

Whoever has studied the physiognomy of political meetings, cannot failto have remarked a connection between democratic opinions andpeculiarities of costume. At a Chartist demonstration, a lecture onSocialism, or a _soirée_ of the Friends of Italy, there will be seenmany among the audience, and a still larger ratio among the speakers, who get themselves up in a style more or less unusual. One gentleman onthe platform divides his hair down the centre, instead of on one side;another brushes it back off the forehead, in the fashion known as"bringing out the intellect;" a third has so long forsworn the scissors, that his locks sweep his shoulders. A considerable sprinkling ofmoustaches may be observed; here and there an imperial; and occasionallysome courageous breaker of conventions exhibits a full-grown beard. [2]This nonconformity in hair is countenanced by various nonconformities indress, shown by others of the assemblage. Bare necks, shirt-collars _àla_ Byron, waistcoats cut Quaker fashion, wonderfully shaggy greatcoats, numerous oddities in form and colour, destroy the monotony usualin crowds. Even those exhibiting no conspicuous peculiarity, frequentlyindicate by something in the pattern or make-up of their clothes, thatthey pay small regard to what their tailors tell them about theprevailing taste. And when the gathering breaks up, the varieties ofhead-gear displayed--the number of caps, and the abundance of felthats--suffice to prove that were the world at large like-minded, theblack cylinders which tyrannise over us would soon be deposed. 

The foreign correspondence of our daily press shows that thisrelationship between political discontent and the disregard of customsexists on the Continent also. Red republicanism has always beendistinguished by its hirsuteness. The authorities of Prussia, Austria, and Italy, alike recognise certain forms of hat as indicative ofdisaffection, and fulminate against them accordingly. In some places thewearer of a blouse runs a risk of being classed among the _suspects_;and in others, he who would avoid the bureau of police, must beware howhe goes out in any but the ordinary colours. Thus, democracy abroad, asat home, tends towards personal singularity. 

Nor is this association of characteristics peculiar to modern times, orto reformers of the State. It has always existed; and it has beenmanifested as much in religious agitations as in political ones. Alongwith dissent from the chief established opinions and arrangements, therehas ever been some dissent from the customary social practices. ThePuritans, disapproving of the long curls of the Cavaliers, as of theirprinciples, cut their own hair short, and so gained the name of"Roundheads. " The marked religious nonconformity of the Quakers wasaccompanied by an equally-marked nonconformity of manners--in attire, inspeech, in salutation. The early Moravians not only believeddifferently, but at the same time dressed differently, and liveddifferently, from their fellow Christians. 

That the association between political independence and independence ofpersonal conduct, is not a phenomenon of to-day only, we may see alikein the appearance of Franklin at the French court in plain clothes, andin the white hats worn by the last generation of radicals. Originalityof nature is sure to show itself in more ways than one. The mention ofGeorge Fox's suit of leather, or Pestalozzi's school name, "HarryOddity, " will at once suggest the remembrance that men who have in greatthings diverged from the beaten track, have frequently done so in smallthings likewise. Minor illustrations of this truth may be gathered inalmost every circle. We believe that whoever will number up hisreforming and rationalist acquaintances, will find among them more thanthe usual proportion of those who in dress or behaviour exhibit somedegree of what the world calls eccentricity. 

If it be a fact that men of revolutionary aims in politics or religion, are commonly revolutionists in custom also, it is not less a fact thatthose whose office it is to uphold established arrangements in State andChurch, are also those who most adhere to the social forms andobservances bequeathed to us by past generations. Practices elsewhereextinct still linger about the headquarters of government. The monarchstill gives assent to Acts of Parliament in the old French of theNormans; and Norman French terms are still used in law. Wigs, such asthose we see depicted in old portraits, may yet be found on the heads ofjudges and barristers. The Beefeaters at the Tower wear the costume ofHenry VIIth's bodyguard. The University dress of the present year variesbut little from that worn soon after the Reformation. Theclaret-coloured coat, knee-breeches, lace shirt frills, ruffles, whitesilk stockings, and buckled shoes, which once formed the usual attire ofa gentleman, still survive as the court-dress. And it need scarcely besaid that at _levées_ and drawing-rooms, the ceremonies are prescribedwith an exactness, and enforced with a rigour, not elsewhere to befound. 

Can we consider these two series of coincidences as accidental andunmeaning? Must we not rather conclude that some necessary relationshipobtains between them? Are there not such things as a constitutionalconservatism, and a constitutional tendency to change? Is there not aclass which clings to the old in all things; and another class so inlove with progress as often to mistake novelty for improvement? Do wenot find some men ready to bow to established authority of whateverkind; while others demand of every such authority its reason, and rejectit if it fails to justify itself? And must not the minds thus contrastedtend to become respectively conformist and nonconformist, not only inpolitics and religion, but in other things? Submission, whether to agovernment, to the dogmas of ecclesiastics, or to that code of behaviourwhich society at large has set up, is essentially of the same nature;and the sentiment which induces resistance to the despotism of rulers, civil or spiritual, likewise induces resistance to the despotism of theworld's opinion. Look at them fundamentally, and all enactments, alikeof the legislature, the consistory, and the saloon--all regulations, formal or virtual, have a common character: they are all limitations ofmen's freedom. "Do this--Refrain from that, " are the blank formulas intowhich they may all be written: and in each case the understanding isthat obedience will bring approbation here and paradise hereafter; whiledisobedience will entail imprisonment, or sending to Coventry, oreternal torments, as the case may be. And if restraints, however named, and through whatever apparatus of means exercised, are one in theiraction upon men, it must happen that those who are patient under onekind of restraint, are likely to be patient under another; andconversely, that those impatient of restraint in general, will, on theaverage, tend to show their impatience in all directions. 

That Law, Religion, and Manners are thus related--that their respectivekinds of operation come under one generalisation--that they have incertain contrasted characteristics of men a common support and a commondanger--will, however, be most clearly seen on discovering that theyhave a common origin. Little as from present appearances we shouldsuppose it, we shall yet find that at first, the control of religion, the control of laws and the control of manners, were all one control. However incredible it may now seem, we believe it to be demonstrablethat the rules of etiquette, the provisions of the statute-book, and thecommands of the decalogue, have grown from the same root. If we go farenough back into the ages of primeval Fetishism, it becomes manifestthat originally Deity, Chief, and Master of the ceremonies wereidentical. To make good these positions, and to show their bearing onwhat is to follow, it will be necessary here to traverse ground that isin part somewhat beaten, and at first sight irrelevant to our topic. Wewill pass over it as quickly as consists with the exigencies of theargument. 

 * * * * *

That the earliest social aggregations were ruled solely by the will ofthe strong man, few dispute. That from the strong man proceeded not onlyMonarchy, but the conception of a God, few admit: much as Carlyle andothers have said in evidence of it. If, however, those who are unable tobelieve this, will lay aside the ideas of God and man in which they havebeen educated, and study the aboriginal ideas of them, they will atleast see some probability in the hypothesis. Let them remember thatbefore experience had yet taught men to distinguish between the possibleand the impossible; and while they were ready on the slightestsuggestion to ascribe unknown powers to any object and make a fetish ofit; their conceptions of humanity and its capacities were necessarilyvague, and without specific limits. The man who by unusual strength, orcunning, achieved something that others had failed to achieve, orsomething which they did not understand, was considered by them asdiffering from themselves; and, as we see in the belief of somePolynesians that only their chiefs have souls, or in that of the ancientPeruvians that their nobles were divine by birth, the ascribeddifference was apt to be not one of degree only, but one of kind. 

Let them remember next, how gross were the notions of God, or rather ofgods, prevalent during the same era and afterwards--how concretely godswere conceived as men of specific aspects dressed in specific ways--howtheir names were literally "the strong, " "the destroyer, " "the powerfulone, "--how, according to the Scandinavian mythology, the "sacred duty ofblood-revenge" was acted on by the gods themselves, --and how they werenot only human in their vindictiveness, their cruelty, and theirquarrels with each other, but were supposed to have amours on earth, andto consume the viands placed on their altars. Add to which, that invarious mythologies, Greek, Scandinavian, and others, the oldest beingsare giants; that according to a traditional genealogy the gods, demi-gods, and in some cases men, are descended from these after thehuman fashion; and that while in the East we hear of sons of God who sawthe daughters of men that they were fair, the Teutonic myths tell ofunions between the sons of men and the daughters of the gods. 

Let them remember, too, that at first the idea of death differed widelyfrom that which we have; that there are still tribes who, on the deceaseof one of their number, attempt to make the corpse stand, and put foodinto his mouth; that the Peruvians had feasts at which the mummies oftheir dead Incas presided, when, as Prescott says, they paid attention"to these insensible remains as if they were instinct with life;" thatamong the Fejees it is believed that every enemy has to be killed twice;that the Eastern Pagans give extension and figure to the soul, andattribute to it all the same substances, both solid and liquid, of whichour bodies are composed; and that it is the custom among most barbarousraces to bury food, weapons, and trinkets along with the dead body, under the manifest belief that it will presently need them. 

Lastly, let them remember that the other world, as originally conceived, is simply some distant part of this world--some Elysian fields, somehappy hunting-ground, accessible even to the living, and to which, afterdeath, men travel in anticipation of a life analogous in generalcharacter to that which they led before. Then, co-ordinating thesegeneral facts--the ascription of unknown powers to chiefs and medicinemen; the belief in deities having human forms, passions, and behaviour;the imperfect comprehension of death as distinguished from life; and theproximity of the future abode to the present, both in position andcharacter--let them reflect whether they do not almost unavoidablysuggest the conclusion that the aboriginal god is the dead chief; thechief not dead in our sense, but gone away carrying with him food andweapons to some rumoured region of plenty, some promised land, whitherhe had long intended to lead his followers, and whence he will presentlyreturn to fetch them. 

This hypothesis once entertained, is seen to harmonise with allprimitive ideas and practices. The sons of the deified chief reigningafter him, it necessarily happens that all early kings are helddescendants of the gods; and the fact that alike in Assyria, Egypt, among the Jews, Phoenicians, and ancient Britons, kings' names wereformed out of the names of the gods, is fully explained. The genesis ofPolytheism out of Fetishism, by the successive migrations of the race ofgod-kings to the other world--a genesis illustrated in the Greekmythology, alike by the precise genealogy of the deities, and by thespecifically asserted apotheosis of the later ones--tends further tobear it out. It explains the fact that in the old creeds, as in thestill extant creed of the Otaheitans, every family has its guardianspirit, who is supposed to be one of their departed relatives; and thatthey sacrifice to these as minor gods--a practice still pursued by theChinese and even by the Russians. It is perfectly congruous with theGrecian myths concerning the wars of the Gods with the Titans and theirfinal usurpation; and it similarly agrees with the fact that among theTeutonic gods proper was one Freir who came among them by adoption, "butwas born among the _Vanes_, a somewhat mysterious _other_ dynasty ofgods, who had been conquered and superseded by the stronger and morewarlike Odin dynasty. " It harmonises, too, with the belief that thereare different gods to different territories and nations, as there weredifferent chiefs; that these gods contend for supremacy as chiefs do;and it gives meaning to the boast of neighbouring tribes--"Our god isgreater than your god. " It is confirmed by the notion universallycurrent in early times, that the gods come from this other abode, inwhich they commonly live, and appear among men--speak to them, helpthem, punish them. And remembering this, it becomes manifest that theprayers put up by primitive peoples to their gods for aid in battle, aremeant literally--that their gods are expected to come back from theother kingdom they are reigning over, and once more fight the oldenemies they had before warred against so implacably; and it needs butto name the Iliad, to remind every one how thoroughly they believed theexpectation fulfilled. 

All government, then, being originally that of the strong man who hasbecome a fetish by some manifestation of superiority, there arises, athis death--his supposed departure on a long projected expedition, inwhich he is accompanied by his slaves and concubines sacrificed at histomb--their arises, then, the incipient division of religious frompolitical control, of civil rule from spiritual. His son becomes deputedchief during his absence; his authority is cited as that by which hisson acts; his vengeance is invoked on all who disobey his son; and hiscommands, as previously known or as asserted by his son, become the germof a moral code; a fact we shall the more clearly perceive if weremember, that early moral codes inculcate mainly the virtues of thewarrior, and the duty of exterminating some neighbouring tribe whoseexistence is an offence to the deity. 

From this point onwards, these two kinds of authority, at firstcomplicated together as those of principal and agent, become slowly moreand more distinct. As experience accumulates, and ideas of causationgrow more precise, kings lose their supernatural attributes; and, instead of God-king, become God-descended king, God-appointed king, theLord's anointed, the vicegerent of heaven, ruler reigning by Divineright. The old theory, however, long clings to men in feeling, after ithas disappeared in name; and "such divinity doth hedge a king, " thateven now, many, on first seeing one, feel a secret surprise at findinghim an ordinary sample of humanity. The sacredness attaching to royaltyattaches afterwards to its appended institutions--to legislatures, tolaws. Legal and illegal are synonymous with right and wrong; theauthority of Parliament is held unlimited; and a lingering faith ingovernmental power continually generates unfounded hopes from itsenactments. Political scepticism, however, having destroyed the divine_prestige_ of royalty, goes on ever increasing, and promises ultimatelyto reduce the State to a purely secular institution, whose regulationsare limited in their sphere, and have no other authority than thegeneral will. Meanwhile, the religious control has been little by littleseparating itself from the civil, both in its essence and in its forms. While from the God-king of the savage have arisen in one direction, secular rulers who, age by age, have been losing the sacred attributesmen ascribed to them; there has arisen in another direction, theconception of a deity, who, at first human in all things, has beengradually losing human materiality, human form, human passions, humanmodes of action: until now, anthropomorphism has become a reproach. 

Along with this wide divergence in men's ideas of the divine and civilruler has been taking place a corresponding divergence in the codes ofconduct respectively proceeding from them. While the king was adeputy-god--a governor such as the Jews looked for in the Messiah--agovernor considered, as the Czar still is, "our God upon Earth, "--it, ofcourse, followed that his commands were the supreme rules. But as menceased to believe in his supernatural origin and nature, his commandsceased to be the highest; and there arose a distinction between theregulations made by him, and the regulations handed down from the oldgod-kings, who were rendered ever more sacred by time and theaccumulation of myths. Hence came respectively, Law and Morality: theone growing ever more concrete, the other more abstract; the authorityof the one ever on the decrease, that of the other ever on the increase;originally the same, but now placed daily in more marked antagonism. 

Simultaneously there has been going on a separation of the institutionsadministering these two codes of conduct. While they were yet one, ofcourse Church and State were one: the king was arch-priest, notnominally, but really--alike the giver of new commands and the chiefinterpreter of the old commands; and the deputy-priests coming out ofhis family were thus simply expounders of the dictates of theirancestry: at first as recollected, and afterwards as ascertained byprofessed interviews with them. This union--which still existedpractically during the middle ages, when the authority of kings wasmixed up with the authority of the pope, when there were bishop-rulershaving all the powers of feudal lords, and when priests punished bypenances--has been, step by step, becoming less close. Though monarchsare still "defenders of the faith, " and ecclesiastical chiefs, they arebut nominally such. Though bishops still have civil power, it is notwhat they once had. Protestantism shook loose the bonds of union;Dissent has long been busy in organising a mechanism for the exercise ofreligious control, wholly independent of law; in America, a separateorganisation for that purpose already exists; and if anything is to behoped from the Anti-State-Church Association--or, as it has been newlynamed, "The Society for the Liberation of Religion from State Patronageand Control"--we shall presently have a separate organisation here also. 

Thus alike in authority, in essence, and in form, political andspiritual rule have been ever more widely diverging from the same root. That increasing division of labour which marks the progress of societyin other things, marks it also in this separation of government intocivil and religious; and if we observe how the morality which forms thesubstance of religions in general, is beginning to be purified from theassociated creeds, we may anticipate that this division will beultimately carried much further. 

Passing now to the third species of control--that of Manners--we shallfind that this, too, while it had a common genesis with the others, hasgradually come to have a distinct sphere and a special embodiment. Amongearly aggregations of men before yet social observances existed, thesole forms of courtesy known were the signs of submission to the strongman; as the sole law was his will, and the sole religion the awe of hissupposed supernaturalness. Originally, ceremonies were modes ofbehaviour to the god-king. Our commonest titles have been derived fromhis names. And all salutations were primarily worship paid to him. Letus trace out these truths in detail, beginning with titles. 

The fact already noticed, that the names of early kings among diversraces are formed by the addition of certain syllables to the names oftheir gods--which certain syllables, like our _Mac_ and _Fitz_, probablymean "son of, " or "descended from"--at once gives meaning to the term_Father_ as a divine title. And when we read, in Selden, that "thecomposition out of these names of Deities was not only proper to Kings:their Grandes and more honourable Subjects" (no doubt members of theroyal race) "had sometimes the like;" we see how the term _Father_, properly used by these also, and by their multiplying descendants, cameto be a title used by the people in general. And it is significant asbearing on this point, that among the most barbarous nation in Europe, where belief in the divine nature of the ruler still lingers, _Father_in this higher sense is still a regal distinction. When, again, weremember how the divinity at first ascribed to kings was not acomplimentary fiction but a supposed fact; and how, further, under theFetish philosophy the celestial bodies are believed to be personages whoonce lived among men; we see that the appellations of oriental rulers, "Brother to the Sun, " etc. , were probably once expressive of a genuinebelief; and have simply, like many other things, continued in use afterall meaning has gone out of them. We way infer, too, that the titles, God, Lord, Divinity, were given to primitive rulers literally--that the_nostra divinitas_ applied to the Roman emperors, and the various sacreddesignations that have been borne by monarchs, down to the still extantphrase, "Our Lord the King, " are the dead and dying forms of what wereonce living facts. From these names, God, Father, Lord, Divinity, originally belonging to the God-king, and afterwards to God and theking, the derivation of our commonest titles of respect is clearlytraceable. 

There is reason to think that these titles were originally proper names. Not only do we see among the Egyptians, where Pharaoh was synonymouswith king, and among the Romans, where to be Cæsar meant to be Emperor, that the proper names of the greatest men were transferred to theirsuccessors, and so became class names; but in the Scandinavian mythologywe may trace a human title of honour up to the proper name of a divinepersonage. In Anglo-Saxon _bealdor_, or _baldor_, means _Lord_; andBalder is the name of the favourite of Odin's sons--the gods who withhim constitute the Teutonic Pantheon. How these names of honour becamegeneral is easily understood. The relatives of the primitive kings--thegrandees described by Selden as having names formed on those of thegods, and shown by this to be members of the divine race--necessarilyshared in the epithets, such as _Lord_, descriptive of superhumanrelationships and nature. Their ever-multiplying offspring inheritingthese, gradually rendered them comparatively common. And then they cameto be applied to every man of power: partly from the fact that, in theseearly days when men conceived divinity simply as a stronger kind ofhumanity, great persons could be called by divine epithets with butlittle exaggeration; partly from the fact that the unusually potent wereapt to be considered as unrecognised or illegitimate descendants of "thestrong, the destroyer, the powerful one;" and partly, also, fromcompliment and the desire to propitiate. 

Progressively as superstition diminished, this last became the solecause. And if we remember that it is the nature of compliment, as wedaily hear it, to attribute more than is due--that in the constantlywidening application of "esquire, " in the perpetual repetition of "yourhonour" by the fawning Irishman, and in the use of the name "gentleman"to any coalheaver or dustman by the lower classes of London, we havecurrent examples of the depreciation of titles consequent oncompliment--and that in barbarous times, when the wish to propitiate wasstronger than now, this effect must have been greater; we shall see thatthere naturally arose an extensive misuse of all early distinctions. Hence the facts, that the Jews called Herod a god; that _Father_, in itshigher sense, was a term used among them by servants to masters; that_Lord_ was applicable to any person of worth and power. Hence, too, thefact that, in the later periods of the Roman Empire, every man salutedhis neighbour as _Dominus_ and _Rex_. 

But it is in the titles of the middle ages, and in the growth of ourmodern ones out of them, that the process is most clearly seen. _Herr_, _Don_, _Signior_, _Seigneur_, _Sennor_, were all originally names ofrulers--of feudal lords. By the complimentary use of these names to allwho could, on any pretence, be supposed to merit them, and by successivedegradations of them from each step in the descent to a still lower one, they have come to be common forms of address. At first the phrase inwhich a serf accosted his despotic chief, _mein herr_ is now familiarlyapplied in Germany to ordinary people. The Spanish title _Don_, onceproper to noblemen and gentlemen only, is now accorded to all classes. So, too, is it with _Signior_ in Italy. _Seigneur_ and _Monseigneur_, bycontraction in _Sieur_ and _Monsieur_, have produced the term of respectclaimed by every Frenchman. And whether _Sire_ be or be not a likecontraction of _Signior_, it is clear that, as it was borne by sundry ofthe ancient feudal lords of France, who, as Selden says, "affectedrather to bee stiled by the name of _Sire_ than Baron, as _Le Sire deMontmorencie_, _Le Sire de Beauieu_, and the like, " and as it has beencommonly used to monarchs, our word _Sir_, which is derived from it, originally meant lord or king. Thus, too, is it with feminine titles. _Lady_, which, according to Horne Tooke, means _exalted_, and was atfirst given only to the few, is now given to all women of education. _Dame_, once an honourable name to which, in old books, we find theepithets of "high-born" and "stately" affixed, has now, by repeatedwidenings of its application, become relatively a term of contempt. Andif we trace the compound of this, _ma Dame_, through itscontractions--_Madam_, _ma'am_, _mam_, _mum_, we find that the "Yes'm"of Sally to her mistress is originally equivalent to "Yes, my exalted, "or "Yes, your highness. " Throughout, therefore, the genesis of words ofhonour has been the same. Just as with the Jews and with the Romans, hasit been with the modern Europeans. Tracing these everyday names to theirprimitive significations of _lord_ and _king_, and remembering that inaboriginal societies these were applied only to the gods and theirdescendants, we arrive at the conclusion that our familiar _Sir_ and_Monsieur_ are, in their primary and expanded meanings, terms ofadoration. 

Further to illustrate this gradual depreciation of titles and to confirmthe inference drawn, it may be well to notice in passing, that theoldest of them have, as might be expected, been depreciated to thegreatest extent. Thus, _Master_--a word proved by its derivation and bythe similarity of the connate words in other languages (Fr. , _maître_for _master_; Russ. , _master_: Dan. , _meester_; Ger. , _meister_) to havebeen one of the earliest in use for expressing lordship--has now becomeapplicable to children only, and under the modification of "Mister, " topersons next above the labourer. Again, knighthood, the oldest kind ofdignity, is also the lowest; and Knight Bachelor, which is the lowestorder of knighthood, is more ancient than any other of the orders. Similarly, too, with the peerage, Baron is alike the earliest and leastelevated of its divisions. This continual degradation of all names ofhonour has, from time to time, made it requisite to introduce new oneshaving that distinguishing effect which the originals had lost bygenerality of use; just as our habit of misapplying superlatives has, bygradually destroying their force, entailed the need for fresh ones. Andif, within the last thousand years, this process has produced effectsthus marked, we may readily conceive how, during previous thousands, thetitles of gods and demi-gods came to be used to all persons exercisingpower; as they have since come to be used to persons of respectability. 

If from names of honour we turn to phrases of honour, we find similarfacts. The Oriental styles of address, applied to ordinary people--"I amyour slave, " "All I have is yours, " "I am your sacrifice"--attribute tothe individual spoken to the same greatness that _Monsieur_ and _MyLord_ do: they ascribe to him the character of an all-powerful ruler, soimmeasurably superior to the speaker as to be his owner. So, likewise, with the Polish expressions of respect--"I throw myself under yourfeet, " "I kiss your feet. " In our now meaningless subscription to aformal letter--"Your most obedient servant, "--the same thing is visible. Nay, even in the familiar signature "Yours faithfully, " the "yours, " ifinterpreted as originally meant, is the expression of a slave to hismaster. 

All these dead forms were once living embodiments of fact--wereprimarily the genuine indications of that submission to authority whichthey verbally assert; were afterwards naturally used by the weak andcowardly to propitiate those above them; gradually grew to be consideredthe due of such; and, by a continually wider misuse, have lost theirmeanings, as _Sir_ and _Master_ have done. That, like titles, they werein the beginning used only to the God-king, is indicated by the factthat, like titles, they were subsequently used in common to God and theking. Religious worship has ever largely consisted of professions ofobedience, of being God's servants, of belonging to him to do what hewill with. Like titles, therefore, these common phrases of honour had adevotional origin. 

Perhaps, however, it is in the use of the word _you_ as a singularpronoun that the popularising of what were once supreme distinctions ismost markedly illustrated. This speaking of a single individual in theplural was originally an honour given only to the highest--was thereciprocal of the imperial "we" assumed by such. Yet now, by beingapplied to successively lower and lower classes, it has become all butuniversal. Only by one sect of Christians, and in a few secludeddistricts, is the primitive _thou_ still used. And the _you_, inbecoming common to all ranks, has simultaneously lost every vestige ofthe honour once attaching to it. 

But the genesis of Manners out of forms of allegiance and worship isabove all shown in men's modes of salutation. Note first thesignificance of the word. Among the Romans, the _salutatio_ was a dailyhomage paid by clients and inferiors to superiors. This was alike thecase with civilians and in the army. The very derivation of our word, therefore, is suggestive of submission. Passing to particular forms ofobeisance (mark the word again), let us begin with the Eastern one ofbaring the feet. This was, primarily, a mark of reverence, alike to agod and a king. The act of Moses before the burning bush, and thepractice of Mahometans, who are sworn on the Koran with their shoes off, exemplify the one employment of it; the custom of the Persians, whoremove their shoes on entering the presence of their monarch, exemplifies the other. As usual, however, this homage, paid next toinferior rulers, has descended from grade to grade. In India, it is acommon mark of respect; a polite man in Turkey always leaves his shoesat the door, while the lower orders of Turks never enter the presence oftheir superiors but in their stockings; and in Japan, this baring of thefeet is an ordinary salutation of man to man. 

Take another case. Selden, describing the ceremonies of the Romans, says:--"For whereas it was usual either to kiss the Images of theirGods, or adoring them, to stand somewhat off before them, solemnlymoving the right hand to the lips, and then, casting it as if they hadcast kisses, to turne the body on the same hand (which was the rightforme of Adoration), it grew also by custom, first that the emperors, being next to Deities, and by some accounted as Deities, had the likedone to them in acknowledgment of their Greatness. " If, now, we call tomind the awkward salute of a village school-boy, made by putting hisopen hand up to his face and describing a semicircle with his forearm;and if we remember that the salute thus used as a form of reverence incountry districts, is most likely a remnant of the feudal times; weshall see reason for thinking that our common wave of the hand to afriend across the street, represents what was primarily a devotionalact. 

Similarly have originated all forms of respect depending uponinclinations of the body. Entire prostration is the aboriginal sign ofsubmission. The passage of Scripture, "Thou hast put all under hisfeet, " and that other one, so suggestive in its anthropomorphism, "TheLord said unto my Lord, sit thou at my right hand, until I make thineenemies thy footstool, " imply, what the Assyrian sculptures fully bearout, that it was the practice of the ancient god-kings of the East totrample upon the conquered. And when we bear in mind that there areexisting savages who signify submission by placing the neck under thefoot of the person submitted to, it becomes obvious that allprostration, especially when accompanied by kissing the foot, expresseda willingness to be trodden upon--was an attempt to mitigate wrath bysaying, in signs, "Tread on me if you will. " Remembering, further, thatkissing the foot, as of the Pope and of a saint's statue, stillcontinues in Europe to be a mark of extreme reverence; that prostrationto feudal lords was once general; and that its disappearance must havetaken place, not abruptly, but by gradual modification into somethingelse; we have ground for deriving from these deepest of humiliations allinclinations of respect; especially as the transition is traceable. Thereverence of a Russian serf, who bends his head to the ground, and thesalaam of the Hindoo, are abridged prostrations; a bow is a shortsalaam; a nod is a short bow. 

Should any hesitate to admit this conclusion, then perhaps, on beingreminded that the lowest of these obeisances are common where thesubmission is most abject; that among ourselves the profundity of thebow marks the amount of respect; and lastly, that the bow is even nowused devotionally in our churches--by Catholics to their altars, and byProtestants at the name of Christ--they will see sufficient evidence forthinking that this salutation also was originally worship. 

The same may be said, too, of the curtsy, or courtesy, as it isotherwise written. Its derivation from _courtoisie_, courteousness, thatis, behaviour like that at court, at once shows that it was primarilythe reverence paid to a monarch. And if we call to mind that fallingupon the knees, or upon one knee, has been a common obeisance ofsubjects to rulers; that in ancient manuscripts and tapestries, servantsare depicted as assuming this attitude while offering the dishes totheir masters at table; and that this same attitude is assumed towardsour own queen at every presentation; we may infer, what the character ofthe curtsy itself suggests, that it is an abridged act of kneeling. Asthe word has been contracted from _courtoisie_ into curtsy, so themotion has been contracted from a placing of the knee on the floor, to alowering of the knee towards the floor. Moreover, when we compare thecurtsy of a lady with the awkward one a peasant girl makes, which, ifcontinued, would bring her down on both knees, we may see in this last aremnant of that greater reverence required of serfs. And when, fromconsidering that simple kneeling of the West, still represented by thecurtsy, we pass Eastward, and note the attitude of the Mahometanworshipper, who not only kneels but bows his head to the ground, we mayinfer that the curtsy also is an evanescent form of the aboriginalprostration. 

In further evidence of this it may be remarked, that there has butrecently disappeared from the salutations of men, an action having thesame proximate derivation with the curtsy. That backward sweep of thefoot with which the conventional stage-sailor accompanies his bow--amovement which prevailed generally in past generations, when "a bow anda scrape" went together, and which, within the memory of living persons, was made by boys to their schoolmaster with the effect of wearing a holein the floor--is pretty clearly a preliminary to going on one knee. Amotion so ungainly could never have been intentionally introduced; evenif the artificial introduction of obeisances were possible. Hence wemust regard it as the remnant of something antecedent: and that thissomething antecedent was humiliating may be inferred from the phrase, "scraping an acquaintance;" which, being used to denote the gaining offavour by obsequiousness, implies that the scrape was considered a markof servility--that is, of _serf_-ility. 

Consider, again, the uncovering of the head. Almost everywhere this hasbeen a sign of reverence, alike in temples and before potentates; and ityet preserves among us some of its original meaning. Whether it rains, hails, or shines, you must keep your head bare while speaking to themonarch; and on no plea may you remain covered in a place of worship. Asusual, however, this ceremony, at first a submission to gods and kings, has become in process of time a common civility. Once an acknowledgmentof another's unlimited supremacy, the removal of the hat is now a saluteaccorded to very ordinary persons, and that uncovering, originallyreserved for entrance into "the house of God, " good manners nowdictates on entrance into the house of a common labourer. 

Standing, too, as a mark of respect, has undergone like extensions inits application. Shown, by the practice in our churches, to beintermediate between the humiliation signified by kneeling and theself-respect which sitting implies, and used at courts as a form ofhomage when more active demonstrations of it have been made, thisposture is now employed in daily life to show consideration; as seenalike in the attitude of a servant before a master, and in that risingwhich politeness prescribes on the entrance of a visitor. 

Many other threads of evidence might have been woven into our argument. As, for example, the significant fact, that if we trace back our stillexisting law of primogeniture--if we consider it as displayed byScottish clans, in which not only ownership but government devolved fromthe beginning on the eldest son of the eldest--if we look further back, and observe that the old titles of lordship, _Signor_, _Seigneur_, _Sennor_, _Sire_, _Sieur_, all originally mean, senior, or elder--if wego Eastward, and find that _Sheick_ has a like derivation, and that theOriental names for priests, as _Pir_, for instance, are literallyinterpreted _old man_--if we note in Hebrew records how primeval is theascribed superiority of the first-born, how great the authority ofelders, and how sacred the memory of patriarchs--and if, then, weremember that among divine titles are "Ancient of Days, " and "Father ofGods and men;"--we see how completely these facts harmonise with thehypothesis, that the aboriginal god is the first man sufficiently greatto become a tradition, the earliest whose power and deeds made himremembered; that hence antiquity unavoidably became associated withsuperiority, and age with nearness in blood to "the powerful one;" thatso there naturally arose that domination of the eldest whichcharacterises all history, and that theory of human degeneracy whicheven yet survives. 

We might further dwell on the facts, that _Lord_ signifies high-born, or, as the same root gives a word meaning heaven, possibly heaven-born;that, before it became common, _Sir_ or _Sire_, as well as _Father_, wasthe distinction of a priest; that _worship_, originally worth-ship--aterm of respect that has been used commonly, as well as tomagistrates--is also our term for the act of attributing greatness orworth to the Deity; so that to ascribe worth-ship to a man is to worshiphim. We might make much of the evidence that all early governments aremore or less distinctly theocratic; and that among ancient Easternnations even the commonest forms and customs appear to have beeninfluenced by religion. We might enforce our argument respecting thederivation of ceremonies, by tracing out the aboriginal obeisance madeby putting dust on the head, which probably symbolises putting the headin the dust: by affiliating the practice prevailing among certaintribes, of doing another honour by presenting him with a portion of hairtorn from the head--an act which seems tantamount to saying, "I am yourslave;" by investigating the Oriental custom of giving to a visitor anyobject he speaks of admiringly, which is pretty clearly a carrying outof the compliment, "All I have is yours. "

Without enlarging, however, on these and many minor facts, we venture tothink that the evidence already assigned is sufficient to justify ourposition. Had the proofs been few or of one kind, little faith couldhave been placed in the inference. But numerous as they are, alike inthe case of titles, in that of complimentary phrases, and in that ofsalutes--similar and simultaneous, too, as the process of depreciationhas been in all of these; the evidences become strong by mutualconfirmation. And when we recollect, also, that not only have theresults of this process been visible in various nations and in alltimes, but that they are occurring among ourselves at the presentmoment, and that the causes assigned for previous depreciations may beseen daily working out other ones--when we recollect this, it becomesscarcely possible to doubt that the process has been as alleged; andthat our ordinary words, acts, and phrases of civility were originallyacknowledgments of submission to another's omnipotence. 

Thus the general doctrine, that all kinds of government exercised overmen were at first one government--that the political, the religious, andthe ceremonial forms of control are divergent branches of a general andonce indivisible control--begins to look tenable. When, with the abovefacts fresh in mind, we read primitive records, and find that "therewere giants in those days"--when we remember that in Eastern traditionsNimrod, among others, figures in all the characters of giant king, anddivinity--when we turn to the sculptures exhumed by Mr. Layard, andcontemplating in them the effigies of kings driving over enemies, trampling on prisoners, and adored by prostrate slaves, then observe howtheir actions correspond to the primitive names for the divinity, "thestrong, " "the destroyer, " "the powerful one"--when we find that theearliest temples were also the residences of the kings--and when, lastly, we discover that among races of men still living there arecurrent superstitions analogous to those which old records and oldbuildings indicate; we begin to realise the probability of thehypothesis that has been set forth. 

Going back, in imagination, to the remote era when men's theories ofthings were yet unformed; and conceiving to ourselves the conqueringchief as dimly figured in ancient myths, and poems, and ruins; we maysee that all rules of conduct whatever spring from his will. Alikelegislator and judge, all quarrels among his subjects are decided byhim; and his words become the Law. Awe of him is the incipient Religion;and his maxims furnish its first precepts. Submission is made to him inthe forms he prescribes; and these give birth to Manners. From thefirst, time develops political allegiance and the administration ofjustice; from the second, the worship of a being whose personalitybecomes ever more vague, and the inculcation of precepts ever moreabstract; from the third, forms of honour and the rules of etiquette. 

In conformity with the law of evolution of all organised bodies, thatgeneral functions are gradually separated into the special functionsconstituting them, there have grown up in the social organism for thebetter performance of the governmental office, an apparatus oflaw-courts, judges, and barristers; a national church, with its bishopsand priests; and a system of caste, titles, and ceremonies, administeredby society at large. By the first, overt aggressions are cognised andpunished; by the second, the disposition to commit such aggressions isin some degree checked; by the third, those minor breaches of goodconduct, which the others do not notice, are denounced and chastised. Law and Religion control behaviour in its essentials: Manners control itin its details. For regulating those daily actions which are toonumerous and too unimportant to be officially directed, there comes intoplay this subtler set of restraints. And when we consider what theserestraints are--when we analyse the words, and phrases, and salutesemployed, we see that in origin as in effect, the system is a setting upof temporary governments between all men who come in contact, for thepurpose of better managing the intercourse between them. 

 * * * * *

From the proposition, that these several kinds of government areessentially one, both in genesis and function, may be deduced severalimportant corollaries, directly bearing on our special topic. 

Let us first notice, that there is not only a common origin and officefor all forms of rule, but a common necessity for them. The aboriginalman, coming fresh from the killing of bears and from lying in ambush forhis enemy, has, by the necessities of his condition, a nature requiringto be curbed in its every impulse. Alike in war and in the chase, hisdaily discipline has been that of sacrificing other creatures to his ownneeds and passions. His character, bequeathed to him by ancestors wholed similar lives, is moulded by this discipline--is fitted to thisexistence. The unlimited selfishness, the love of inflicting pain, theblood-thirstiness, thus kept active, he brings with him into the socialstate. These dispositions put him in constant danger of conflict withhis equally savage neighbour. In small things as in great, in words asin deeds, he is aggressive; and is hourly liable to the aggressions ofothers like natured. Only, therefore, by the most rigorous controlexercised over all actions, can the primitive unions of men bemaintained. There must be a ruler strong, remorseless, and ofindomitable will; there must be a creed terrible in its threats to thedisobedient; and there must be the most servile submission of allinferiors to superiors. The law must be cruel; the religion must bestern; the ceremonies must be strict. 

The co-ordinate necessity for these several kinds of restraint might belargely illustrated from history were there space. Suffice it to pointout, that where the civil power has been weak, the multiplication ofthieves, assassins, and banditti, has indicated the approach of socialdissolution; that when, from the corruptness of its ministry, religionhas lost its influence, as it did just before the Flagellants appeared, the State has been endangered; and that the disregard of establishedsocial observances has ever been an accompaniment of politicalrevolutions. Whoever doubts the necessity for a government of mannersproportionate in strength to the co-existing political and religiousgovernments, will be convinced on calling to mind that until recentlyeven elaborate codes of behaviour failed to keep gentlemen fromquarrelling in the streets and fighting duels in taverns; and onremembering further, that even now people exhibit at the doors of atheatre, where there is no ceremonial law to rule them, a degree ofaggressiveness which would produce confusion if carried into socialintercourse. 

As might be expected, we find that, having a common origin and likegeneral functions, these several controlling agencies act during eachera with similar degrees of vigour. Under the Chinese despotism, stringent and multitudinous in its edicts and harsh in the enforcementof them, and associated with which there is an equally stern domesticdespotism exercised by the eldest surviving male of the family, thereexists a system of observances alike complicated and rigid. There is atribunal of ceremonies. Previous to presentation at court, ambassadorspass many days in practising the required forms. Social intercourse iscumbered by endless compliments and obeisances. Class distinctions arestrongly marked by badges. The chief regret on losing an only son is, that there will be no one to perform the sepulchral rites. And if therewants a definite measure of the respect paid to social ordinances, wehave it in the torture to which ladies submit in having their feetcrushed. In India, and indeed throughout the East, there exists a likeconnection between the pitiless tyranny of rulers, the dread terrors ofimmemorial creeds, and the rigid restraint of unchangeable customs: thecaste regulations continue still unalterable; the fashions of clothesand furniture have remained the same for ages; suttees are so ancient asto be mentioned by Strabo and Diodorus Siculus; justice is stilladministered at the palace-gates as of old; in short, "every usage is aprecept of religion and a maxim of jurisprudence. "

A similar relationship of phenomena was exhibited in Europe during theMiddle Ages. While all its governments were autocratic, while feudalismheld sway, while the Church was unshorn of its power, while the criminalcode was full of horrors and the hell of the popular creed full ofterrors, the rules of behaviour were both more numerous and morecarefully conformed to than now. Differences of dress marked divisionsof rank. Men were limited by law to a certain width of shoe-toes; and noone below a specified degree might wear a cloak less than so many incheslong. The symbols on banners and shields were carefully attended to. Heraldry was an important branch of knowledge. Precedence was strictlyinsisted on. And those various salutes of which we now use theabridgments were gone through in full. Even during our own last century, with its corrupt House of Commons and little-curbed monarchs, we maymark a correspondence of social formalities. Gentlemen were stilldistinguished from lower classes by dress; people sacrificed themselvesto inconvenient requirements--as powder, hooped petticoats, and toweringhead-dresses; and children addressed their parents as _Sir_ and_Madam_. 

A further corollary naturally following this last, and almost, indeed, forming part of it, is, that these several kinds of government decreasein stringency at the same rate. Simultaneously with the decline in theinfluence of priesthoods, and in the fear of eternaltorments--simultaneously with the mitigation of political tyranny, thegrowth of popular power, and the amelioration of criminal codes; hastaken place that diminution of formalities and that fading ofdistinctive marks, now so observable. Looking at home, we may note thatthere is less attention to precedence than there used to be. No one inour day ends an interview with the phrase "your humble servant. " Theemployment of the word _Sir_, once general in social intercourse, is atpresent considered bad breeding; and on the occasions calling for them, it is held vulgar to use the words "Your Majesty, " or "Your RoyalHighness, " more than once in a conversation. People no longer formallydrink each other's healths; and even the taking wine with each other atdinner has ceased to be fashionable. The taking-off of hats betweengentlemen has been gradually falling into disuse. Even when the hat isremoved, it is no longer swept out at arm's length, but is simplylifted. Hence the remark made upon us by foreigners, that we take offour hats less than any other nation in Europe--a remark that should becoupled with the other, that we are the freest nation in Europe. 

As already implied, this association of facts is not accidental. Thesetitles of address and modes of salutation, bearing about them, as theyall do, something of that servility which marks their origin, becomedistasteful in proportion as men become more independent themselves, andsympathise more with the independence of others. The feeling which makesthe modern gentleman tell the labourer standing bareheaded before him toput on his hat--the feeling which gives us a dislike to those who cringeand fawn--the feeling which makes us alike assert our own dignity andrespect that of others--the feeling which thus leads us more and more todiscountenance all forms and names which confess inferiority andsubmission; is the same feeling which resists despotic power andinaugurates popular government, denies the authority of the Church andestablishes the right of private judgment. 

A fourth fact, akin to the foregoing, is, that these several kinds ofgovernment not only decline together, but corrupt together. By the sameprocess that a Court of Chancery becomes a place not for theadministration of justice, but for the withholding of it--by the sameprocess that a national church, from being an agency for moral control, comes to be merely a thing of formulas and tithes and bishoprics--bythis same process do titles and ceremonies that once had a meaning and apower become empty forms. 

Coats of arms which served to distinguish men in battle, now figure onthe carriage panels of retired grocers. Once a badge of high militaryrank, the shoulder-knot has become, on the modern footman, a mark ofservitude. The name Banneret, which once marked a partially-createdBaron--a Baron who had passed his military "little go"--is now, underthe modification of Baronet, applicable to any one favoured by wealth orinterest or party feeling. Knighthood has so far ceased to be an honour, that men now honour themselves by declining it. The military dignity_Escuyer_ has, in the modern Esquire, become a wholly unmilitary affix. Not only do titles, and phrases, and salutes cease to fulfil theiroriginal functions, but the whole apparatus of social forms tends tobecome useless for its original purpose--the facilitation of socialintercourse. Those most learned in ceremonies, and most precise in theobservance of them, are not always the best behaved; as those deepestread in creeds and scriptures are not therefore the most religious; northose who have the clearest notions of legality and illegality, the mosthonest. Just as lawyers are of all men the least noted for probity; ascathedral towns have a lower moral character than most others; so, ifSwift is to be believed, courtiers are "the most insignificant race ofpeople that the island can afford, and with the smallest tincture ofgood manners. "

But perhaps it is in that class of social observances comprehended underthe term Fashion, which we must here discuss parenthetically, that thisprocess of corruption is seen with the greatest distinctness. Ascontrasted with Manners, which dictate our minor acts in relation toother persons, Fashion dictates our minor acts in relation to ourselves. While the one prescribes that part of our deportment which directlyaffects our neighbours; the other prescribes that part of our deportmentwhich is primarily personal, and in which our neighbours are concernedonly as spectators. Thus distinguished as they are, however, the twohave a common source. For while, as we have shown, Manners originate byimitation of the behaviour pursued _towards_ the great; Fashionoriginates by imitation _of_ the behaviour of the great. While the onehas its derivation in the titles, phrases, and salutes used _to_ thosein power; the other is derived from the habits and appearances exhibited_by_ those in power. 

The Carrib mother who squeezes her child's head into a shape like thatof the chief; the young savage who makes marks on himself similar to thescars carried by the warriors of his tribe (which is probably the originof tattooing); the Highlander who adopts the plaid worn by the head ofhis clan; the courtiers who affect greyness, or limp, or cover theirnecks, in imitation of their king; and the people who ape the courtiers;are alike acting under a kind of government connate with that ofManners, and, like it too, primarily beneficial. For notwithstanding thenumberless absurdities into which this copyism has led the people, fromnose-rings to ear-rings, from painted faces to beauty-spots, from shavenheads to powdered wigs, from filed teeth and stained nails tobell-girdles, peaked shoes, and breeches stuffed with bran, --it must yetbe concluded, that as the strong men, the successful men, the men ofwill, intelligence, and originality, who have got to the top, are, onthe average, more likely to show judgment in their habits and tastesthan the mass, the imitation of such is advantageous. 

By and by, however, Fashion, corrupting like these other forms of rule, almost wholly ceases to be an imitation of the best, and becomes animitation of quite other than the best. As those who take orders are notthose having a special fitness for the priestly office, but those whosee their way to a living by it; as legislators and public functionariesdo not become such by virtue of their political insight and power torule, but by virtue of birth, acreage, and class influence; so, theself-elected clique who set the fashion, gain this prerogative, not bytheir force of nature, their intellect, their higher worth or bettertaste, but gain it solely by their unchecked assumption. Among theinitiated are to be found neither the noblest in rank, the chief inpower, the best cultured, the most refined, nor those of greatestgenius, wit, or beauty; and their reunions, so far from being superiorto others, are noted for their inanity. Yet, by the example of thesesham great, and not by that of the truly great, does society at largenow regulate its goings and comings, its hours, its dress, its smallusages. As a natural consequence, these have generally little or none ofthat suitableness which the theory of fashion implies they should have. But instead of a continual progress towards greater elegance andconvenience, which might be expected to occur did people copy the waysof the really best, or follow their own ideas of propriety, we have areign of mere whim, of unreason, of change for the sake of change, ofwanton oscillations from either extreme to the other--a reign of usageswithout meaning, times without fitness, dress without taste. And thuslife _à la mode_, instead of being life conducted in the most rationalmanner, is life regulated by spendthrifts and idlers, milliners andtailors, dandies and silly women. 

To these several corollaries--that the various orders of controlexercised over men have a common origin and a common function, arecalled out by co-ordinate necessities and co-exist in like stringency, decline together and corrupt together--it now only remains to add thatthey become needless together. Consequent as all kinds of government areupon the unfitness of the aboriginal man for social life; anddiminishing in coerciveness as they all do in proportion as thisunfitness diminishes; they must one and all come to an end as humanityacquires complete adaptation to its new conditions. That discipline ofcircumstances which has already wrought out such great changes in us, must go on eventually to work out yet greater ones. That daily curbingof the lower nature and culture of the higher, which out of cannibalsand devil worshippers has evolved philanthropists, lovers of peace, andhaters of superstition, cannot fail to evolve out of these, men as muchsuperior to them as they are to their progenitors. The causes that haveproduced past modifications are still in action; must continue in actionas long as there exists any incongruity between man's desires and therequirements of the social state; and must eventually make himorganically fit for the social state. As it is now needless to forbidman-eating and Fetishism, so will it ultimately become needless toforbid murder, theft, and the minor offences of our criminal code. Whenhuman nature has grown into conformity with the moral law, there willneed no judges and statute-books; when it spontaneously takes the rightcourse in all things, as in some things it does already, prospects offuture reward or punishment will not be wanted as incentives; and whenfit behaviour has become instinctive, there will need no code ofceremonies to say how behaviour shall be regulated. 

Thus, then, may be recognised the meaning, the naturalness, thenecessity of those various eccentricities of reformers which we set outby describing. They are not accidental; they are not mere personalcaprices, as people are apt to suppose. On the contrary, they areinevitable results of the law of relationship above illustrated. Thatcommunity of genesis, function, and decay which all forms of restraintexhibit, is simply the obverse of the fact at first pointed out, thatthey have in two sentiments of human nature a common preserver and acommon destroyer. Awe of power originates and cherishes them all: loveof freedom undermines and periodically weakens them all. The one defendsdespotism and asserts the supremacy of laws, adheres to old creeds andsupports ecclesiastical authority, pays respect to titles and conservesforms; the other, putting rectitude above legality, achieves periodicalinstalments of political liberty, inaugurates Protestantism and worksout its consequences, ignores the senseless dictates of Fashion andemancipates men from dead customs. 

To the true reformer no institution is sacred, no belief abovecriticism. Everything shall conform itself to equity and reason; nothingshall be saved by its prestige. Conceding to each man liberty to pursuehis own ends and satisfy his own tastes, he demands for himself likeliberty; and consents to no restrictions on this, save those which othermen's equal claims involve. No matter whether it be an ordinance of oneman, or an ordinance of all men, if it trenches on his legitimate sphereof action, he denies its validity. The tyranny that would impose on hima particular style of dress and a set mode of behaviour, he resistsequally with the tyranny that would limit his buyings and sellings, ordictate his creed. Whether the regulation be formally made by alegislature, or informally made by society at large--whether the penaltyfor disobedience be imprisonment, or frowns and social ostracism, hesees to be a question of no moment. He will utter his beliefnotwithstanding the threatened punishment; he will break conventionsspite of the petty persecutions that will be visited on him. Show himthat his actions are inimical to his fellow-men, and he will pause. Prove that he is disregarding their legitimate claims--that he is doingwhat in the nature of things must produce unhappiness; and he will alterhis course. But until you do this--until you demonstrate that hisproceedings are essentially inconvenient or inelegant, essentiallyirrational, unjust, or ungenerous, he will persevere. 

Some, indeed, argue that his conduct _is_ unjust and ungenerous. Theysay that he has no right to annoy other people by his whims; that thegentleman to whom his letter comes with no "Esq. " appended to theaddress, and the lady whose evening party he enters with glovelesshands, are vexed at what they consider his want of respect, or want ofbreeding; that thus his eccentricities cannot be indulged save at theexpense of his neighbours' feelings; and that hence his nonconformity isin plain terms selfishness. 

He answers that this position, if logically developed, would deprive menof all liberty whatever. Each must conform all his acts to the publictaste, and not his own. The public taste on every point having been onceascertained, men's habits must thenceforth remain for ever fixed; seeingthat no man can adopt other habits without sinning against the publictaste, and giving people disagreeable feelings. Consequently, be it anera of pig-tails or high-heeled shoes, of starched ruffs or trunk-hose, all must continue to wear pig-tails, high-heeled shoes, starched ruffs, or trunk-hose to the crack of doom. 

If it be still urged that he is not justified in breaking throughothers' forms that he may establish his own, and so sacrificing thewishes of many to the wishes of one, he replies that all religious andpolitical changes might be negatived on like grounds. He asks whetherLuther's sayings and doings were not extremely offensive to the mass ofhis contemporaries; whether the resistance of Hampden was not disgustingto the time-servers around him; whether every reformer has not shockedmen's prejudices, and given immense displeasure by the opinions heuttered. The affirmative answer he follows up by demanding what rightthe reformer has, then, to utter these opinions; whether he is notsacrificing the feelings of many to the feelings of one; and so provesthat, to be consistent, his antagonists must condemn not only allnonconformity in actions, but all nonconformity in thoughts. 

His antagonists rejoin that _his_ position, too, may be pushed to anabsurdity. They argue that if a man may offend by the disregard of someforms, he may as legitimately do so by the disregard of all; and theyinquire--Why should he not go out to dinner in a dirty shirt, and withan unshorn chin? Why should he not spit on the drawing-room carpet, andstretch his heels up to the mantle-shelf?

The convention-breaker answers, that to ask this, implies a confoundingof two widely-different classes of actions--the actions that are_essentially_ displeasurable to those around, with the actions that arebut _incidentally_ displeasurable to them. He whose skin is so uncleanas to offend the nostrils of his neighbours, or he who talks so loudlyas to disturb a whole room, may be justly complained of, and rightlyexcluded by society from its assemblies. But he who presents himself ina surtout in place of a dress-coat, or in brown trousers instead ofblack, gives offence not to men's senses, or their innate tastes, butmerely to their prejudices, their bigotry of convention. It cannot besaid that his costume is less elegant or less intrinsically appropriatethan the one prescribed; seeing that a few hours earlier in the day itis admired. It is the implied rebellion, therefore, that annoys. Howlittle the cause of quarrel has to do with the dress itself, is seen inthe fact that a century ago black clothes would have been thoughtpreposterous for hours of recreation, and that a few years hence somenow forbidden style may be nearer the requirements of Fashion than thepresent one. Thus the reformer explains that it is not against thenatural restraints, but against the artificial ones, that he protests;and that manifestly the fire of sneers and angry glances which he has tobear, is poured upon him because he will not bow down to the idol whichsociety has set up. 

Should he be asked how we are to distinguish between conduct that is_absolutely_ disagreeable to others, and conduct that is _relatively_so, he answers, that they will distinguish themselves if men will letthem. Actions intrinsically repugnant will ever be frowned upon, andmust ever remain as exceptional as now. Actions not intrinsicallyrepugnant will establish themselves as proper. No relaxation of customswill introduce the practice of going to a party in muddy boots, and withunwashed hands; for the dislike of dirt would continue were Fashionabolished to-morrow. That love of approbation which now makes people sosolicitous to be _en règle_ would still exist--would still make themcareful of their personal appearance--would still induce them to seekadmiration by making themselves ornamental--would still cause them torespect the natural laws of good behaviour, as they now do theartificial ones. The change would simply be from a repulsive monotony toa picturesque variety. And if there be any regulations respecting whichit is uncertain whether they are based on reality or on convention, experiment will soon decide, if due scope be allowed. 

When at length the controversy comes round, as controversies often do, to the point whence it started, and the "party of order" repeat theircharge against the rebel, that he is sacrificing the feelings of othersto the gratification of his own wilfulness, he replies once for all thatthey cheat themselves by misstatements. He accuses them of being sodespotic, that, not content with being masters over their own ways andhabits, they would be masters over his also; and grumble because hewill not let them. He merely asks the same freedom which they exercise;they, however, propose to regulate his course as well as their own--tocut and clip his mode of life into agreement with their approvedpattern; and then charge him with wilfulness and selfishness, because hedoes not quietly submit! He warns them that he shall resist, nevertheless; and that he shall do so, not only for the assertion of hisown independence, but for their good. He tells them that they areslaves, and know it not; that they are shackled, and kiss their chains;that they have lived all their days in prison, and complain at the wallsbeing broken down. He says he must persevere, however, with a view tohis own release; and in spite of their present expostulations, heprophesies that when they have recovered from the fright which theprospect of freedom produces, they will thank him for aiding in theiremancipation. 

Unamiable as seems this find-fault mood, offensive as is this defiantattitude, we must beware of overlooking the truths enunciated, indislike of the advocacy. It is an unfortunate hindrance to allinnovation, that in virtue of their very function, the innovators standin a position of antagonism; and the disagreeable manners, and sayings, and doings, which this antagonism generates, are commonly associatedwith the doctrines promulgated. Quite forgetting that whether the thingattacked be good or bad, the combative spirit is necessarily repulsive;and quite forgetting that the toleration of abuses seems amiable merelyfrom its passivity; the mass of men contract a bias against advancedviews, and in favour of stationary ones, from intercourse with theirrespective adherents. "Conservatism, " as Emerson says, "is debonnair andsocial; reform is individual and imperious. " And this remains true, however vicious the system conserved, however righteous the reform to beeffected. Nay, the indignation of the purists is usually extreme inproportion as the evils to be got rid of are great. The more urgent therequired change, the more intemperate is the vehemence of its promoters. Let no one, then, confound with the principles of this socialnonconformity the acerbity and the disagreeable self-assertion of thosewho first display it. 

 * * * * *

The most plausible objection raised against resistance to conventions, is grounded on its impolicy, considered even from the progressist'spoint of view. It is urged by many of the more liberal andintelligent--usually those who have themselves shown some independenceof behaviour in earlier days--that to rebel in these small matters is todestroy your own power of helping on reform in greater matters. "If youshow yourself eccentric in manners or dress, the world, " they say, "willnot listen to you. You will be considered as crotchety, andimpracticable. The opinions you express on important subjects, whichmight have been treated with respect had you conformed on minor points, will now inevitably be put down among your singularities; and thus, bydissenting in trifles, you disable yourself from spreading dissent inessentials. "

Only noting, as we pass, that this is one of those anticipations whichbring about their own fulfilment--that it is because most who disapprovethese conventions do not show their disapproval, that the few who doshow it look eccentric--and that did all act out their convictions, nosuch inference as the above would be drawn, and no such evil wouldresult;--noting this as we pass, we go on to reply that these socialrestraints, and forms, and requirements, are not small evils, but amongthe greatest. Estimate their sum total, and we doubt whether they wouldnot exceed most others. Could we add up the trouble, the cost, thejealousies, vexations, misunderstandings, the loss of time and the lossof pleasure, which these conventions entail--could we clearly realisethe extent to which we are all daily hampered by them, daily enslaved bythem; we should perhaps come to the conclusion that the tyranny of Mrs. Grundy is worse than any other tyranny we suffer under. Let us look at afew of its hurtful results; beginning with those of minor importance. 

It produces extravagance. The desire to be _comme il faut_, whichunderlies all conformities, whether of manners, dress, or styles ofentertainment, is the desire which makes many a spendthrift and many abankrupt. To "keep up appearances, " to have a house in an approvedquarter furnished in the latest taste, to give expensive dinners andcrowded _soirées_, is an ambition forming the natural outcome of theconformist spirit. It is needless to enlarge on these follies: they havebeen satirised by hosts of writers, and in every drawing-room. All thathere concerns us, is to point out that the respect for socialobservances, which men think so praiseworthy, has the same root withthis effort to be fashionable in mode of living; and that, other thingsequal, the last cannot be diminished without the first being diminishedalso. If, now, we consider all that this extravagance entails--if wecount up the robbed tradesmen, the stinted governesses, theill-educated children, the fleeced relatives, who have to suffer fromit--if we mark the anxiety and the many moral delinquencies which itsperpetrators involve themselves in; we shall see that this regard forconventions is not quite so innocent as it looks. 

Again, it decreases the amount of social intercourse. Passing over thereckless, and those who make a great display on speculation with theoccasional result of getting on in the world to the exclusion of muchbetter men, we come to the far larger class who, being prudent andhonest enough not to exceed their means, and yet having a strong wish tobe "respectable, " are obliged to limit their entertainments to thesmallest possible number; and that each of these may be turned to thegreatest advantage in meeting the claims upon their hospitality, areinduced to issue their invitations with little or no regard to thecomfort or mutual fitness of their guests. A few inconveniently-largeassemblies, made up of people mostly strange to each other or butdistantly acquainted, and having scarcely any tastes in common, are madeto serve in place of many small parties of friends intimate enough tohave some bond of thought and sympathy. Thus the quantity of intercourseis diminished, and the quality deteriorated. Because it is the custom tomake costly preparations and provide costly refreshments; and because itentails both less expense and less trouble to do this for many personson a few occasions than for few persons on many occasions; the reunionsof our less wealthy classes are rendered alike infrequent and tedious. 

Let it be further observed, that the existing formalities of socialintercourse drive away many who most need its refining influence: anddrive them into injurious habits and associations. Not a few men, andnot the least sensible men either, give up in disgust this going out tostately dinners, and stiff evening-parties; and instead, seek society inclubs, and cigar-divans, and taverns. "I'm sick of this standing aboutin drawing-rooms, talking nonsense, and trying to look happy, " willanswer one of them when taxed with his desertion. "Why should I anylonger waste time and money, and temper? Once I was ready enough to rushhome from the office to dress; I sported embroidered shirts, submittedto tight boots, and cared nothing for tailors' and haberdashers' bills. I know better now. My patience lasted a good while; for though I foundeach night pass stupidly, I always hoped the next would make amends. ButI'm undeceived. Cab-hire and kid gloves cost more than any eveningparty pays for; or rather--it is worth the cost of them to avoid theparty. No, no; I'll no more of it. Why should I pay five shillings atime for the privilege of being bored?"

If, now, we consider that this very common mood tends towardsbilliard-rooms, towards long sittings over cigars and brandy-and-water, towards Evans's and the Coal Hole, towards every place where amusementmay be had; it becomes a question whether these precise observanceswhich hamper our set meetings, have not to answer for much of theprevalent dissoluteness. Men must have excitements of some kind orother; and if debarred from higher ones will fall back upon lower. It isnot that those who thus take to irregular habits are essentially thoseof low tastes. Often it is quite the reverse. Among half a dozenintimate friends, abandoning formalities and sitting at ease round thefire, none will enter with greater enjoyment into the highest kind ofsocial intercourse--the genuine communion of thought and feeling; and ifthe circle includes women of intelligence and refinement, so much thegreater is their pleasure. It is because they will no longer be chokedwith the mere dry husks of conversation which society offers them, thatthey fly its assemblies, and seek those with whom they may havediscourse that is at least real, though unpolished. The men who thuslong for substantial mental sympathy, and will go where they can get it, are often, indeed, much better at the core than the men who are contentwith the inanities of gloved and scented party-goers--men who feel noneed to come morally nearer to their fellow creatures than they can comewhile standing, tea-cup in hand, answering trifles with trifles; andwho, by feeling no such need, prove themselves shallow-thoughted andcold-hearted. 

It is true, that some who shun drawing-rooms do so from inability tobear the restraints prescribed by a genuine refinement, and that theywould be greatly improved by being kept under these restraints. But itis not less true that, by adding to the legitimate restraints, which arebased on convenience and a regard for others, a host of factitiousrestraints based only on convention, the refining discipline, whichwould else have been borne with benefit, is rendered unbearable, and somisses its end. Excess of government invariably defeats itself bydriving away those to be governed. And if over all who desert itsentertainments in disgust either at their emptiness or their formality, society thus loses its salutary influence--if such not only fail toreceive that moral culture which the company of ladies, when rationallyregulated, would give them, but, in default of other relaxation, aredriven into habits and companionships which often end in gambling anddrunkenness; must we not say that here, too, is an evil not to be passedover as insignificant?

Then consider what a blighting effect these multitudinous preparationsand ceremonies have upon the pleasures they profess to subserve. Who, oncalling to mind the occasions of his highest social enjoyments, does notfind them to have been wholly informal, perhaps impromptu? Howdelightful a picnic of friends, who forget all observances save thosedictated by good nature! How pleasant the little unpretended gatheringsof book-societies, and the like; or those purely accidental meetings ofa few people well known to each other! Then, indeed, we may see that "aman sharpeneth the countenance of his friend. " Cheeks flush, and eyessparkle. The witty grow brilliant, and even the dull are excited intosaying good things. There is an overflow of topics; and the rightthought, and the right words to put it in, spring up unsought. Gravealternates with gay: now serious converse, and now jokes, anecdotes, andplayful raillery. Every one's best nature is shown, every one's bestfeelings are in pleasurable activity; and, for the time, life seems wellworth having. 

Go now and dress for some half-past eight dinner, or some ten o'clock"at home;" and present yourself in spotless attire, with every hairarranged to perfection. How great the difference! The enjoyment seems inthe inverse ratio of the preparation. These figures, got up with suchfinish and precision, appear but half alive. They have frozen each otherby their primness; and your faculties feel the numbing effects of theatmosphere the moment you enter it. All those thoughts, so nimble and soapt awhile since, have disappeared--have suddenly acquired apreternatural power of eluding you. If you venture a remark to yourneighbour, there comes a trite rejoinder, and there it ends. No subjectyou can hit upon outlives half a dozen sentences. Nothing that is saidexcites any real interest in you; and you feel that all you say islistened to with apathy. By some strange magic, things that usually givepleasure seem to have lost all charm. 

You have a taste for art. Weary of frivolous talk, you turn to thetable, and find that the book of engravings and the portfolio ofphotographs are as flat as the conversation. You are fond of music. Yetthe singing, good as it is, you hear with utter indifference; and say"Thank you" with a sense of being a profound hypocrite. Wholly at easethough you could be, for your own part, you find that your sympathieswill not let you. You see young gentlemen feeling whether their ties areproperly adjusted, looking vacantly round, and considering what theyshall do next. You see ladies sitting disconsolately, waiting for someone to speak to them, and wishing they had the wherewith to occupy theirfingers. You see the hostess standing about the doorway, keeping afactitious smile on her face, and racking her brain to find therequisite nothings with which to greet her guests as they enter. You seenumberless traits of weariness and embarrassment; and, if you have anyfellow-feeling, these cannot fail to produce a feeling of discomfort. The disorder is catching; and do what you will you cannot resist thegeneral infection. You struggle against it; you make spasmodic effortsto be lively; but none of your sallies or your good stories do more thanraise a simper or a forced laugh: intellect and feeling are alikeasphyxiated. And when, at length, yielding to your disgust, you rushaway, how great is the relief when you get into the fresh air, and seethe stars! How you "Thank God, that's over!" and half resolve to avoidall such boredom for the future!

What, now, is the secret of this perpetual miscarriage anddisappointment? Does not the fault lie with all these needlessadjuncts--these elaborate dressings, these set forms, these expensivepreparations, these many devices and arrangements that imply trouble andraise expectation? Who that has lived thirty years in the world has notdiscovered that Pleasure is coy; and must not be too directly pursued, but must be caught unawares? An air from a street-piano, heard while atwork, will often gratify more than the choicest music played at aconcert by the most accomplished musicians. A single good picture seenin a dealer's window, may give keener enjoyment than a whole exhibitiongone through with catalogue and pencil. By the time we have got readyour elaborate apparatus by which to secure happiness, the happiness isgone. It is too subtle to be contained in these receivers, garnishedwith compliments, and fenced round with etiquette. The more we multiplyand complicate appliances, the more certain are we to drive it away. 

The reason is patent enough. These higher emotions to which socialintercourse ministers, are of extremely complex nature; theyconsequently depend for their production upon very numerous conditions;the more numerous the conditions, the greater the liability that one orother of them will be disturbed, and the emotions consequentlyprevented. It takes a considerable misfortune to destroy appetite; butcordial sympathy with those around may be extinguished by a look or aword. Hence it follows, that the more multiplied the _unnecessary_requirements with which social intercourse is surrounded, the lesslikely are its pleasures to be achieved. It is difficult enough tofulfil continuously all the _essentials_ to a pleasurable communion withothers: how much more difficult, then, must it be continuously to fulfila host of _non-essentials_ also! It is, indeed, impossible. The attemptinevitably ends in the sacrifice of the first to the last--theessentials to the non-essentials. What chance is there of getting anygenuine response from the lady who is thinking of your stupidity intaking her in to dinner on the wrong arm? How are you likely to haveagreeable converse with the gentleman who is fuming internally becausehe is not placed next to the hostess? Formalities, familiar as they maybecome, necessarily occupy attention--necessarily multiply the occasionsfor mistake, misunderstanding, and jealousy, on the part of one orother--necessarily distract all minds from the thoughts and feelingsthat should occupy them--necessarily, therefore, subvert thoseconditions under which only any sterling intercourse is to be had. 

And this indeed is the fatal mischief which these conventions entail--amischief to which every other is secondary. They destroy those highestof our pleasures which they profess to subserve. All institutions arealike in this, that however useful, and needful even, they originallywere, they not only in the end cease to be so, but become detrimental. While humanity is growing, they continue fixed; daily get moremechanical and unvital; and by and by tend to strangle what they beforepreserved. It is not simply that they become corrupt and fail to act:they become obstructions. Old forms of government finally grow sooppressive, that they must be thrown off even at the risk of reigns ofterror. Old creeds end in being dead formulas, which no longer aid butdistort and arrest the general mind; while the State-churchesadministering them, come to be instruments for subsidising conservatismand repressing progress. Old schemes of education, incarnated in publicschools and colleges, continue filling the heads of new generations withwhat has become relatively useless knowledge, and, by consequence, excluding knowledge which is useful. Not an organisation of anykind--political, religious, literary, philanthropic--but what, by itsever-multiplying regulations, its accumulating wealth, its yearlyaddition of officers, and the creeping into it of patronage and partyfeeling, eventually loses its original spirit, and sinks into a merelifeless mechanism, worked with a view to private ends--a mechanismwhich not merely fails of its first purpose, but is a positive hindranceto it. 

Thus is it, too, with social usages. We read of the Chinese that theyhave "ponderous ceremonies transmitted from time immemorial, " which makesocial intercourse a burden. The court forms prescribed by monarchs fortheir own exaltation, have, in all times and places, ended in consumingthe comfort of their lives. And so the artificial observances of thedining-room and saloon, in proportion as they are many and strict, extinguish that agreeable communion which they were originally intendedto secure. The dislike with which people commonly speak of society thatis "formal, " and "stiff, " and "ceremonious, " implies the generalrecognition of this fact; and this recognition, logically developed, involves that all usages of behaviour which are not based on naturalrequirements, are injurious. That these conventions defeat their ownends is no new assertion. Swift, criticising the manners of his day, says--"Wise men are often more uneasy at the over-civility of theserefiners than they could possibly be in the conversation of peasants andmechanics. "

But it is not only in these details that the self-defeating action ofour arrangements is traceable: it is traceable in the very substance andnature of them. Our social intercourse, as commonly managed, is a meresemblance of the reality sought. What is it that we want? Somesympathetic converse with our fellow-creatures: some converse that shallnot be mere dead words, but the vehicle of living thoughts andfeelings--converse in which the eyes and the face shall speak, and thetones of the voice be full of meaning--converse which shall make us feelno longer alone, but shall draw us closer to another, and double our ownemotions by adding another's to them. Who is there that has not, fromtime to time, felt how cold and flat is all this talk about politics andscience, and the new books and the new men, and how a genuine utteranceof fellow-feeling outweighs the whole of it? Mark the words ofBacon:--"For a crowd is not a company, and faces are but a gallery ofpictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. "

If this be true, then it is only after acquaintance has grown intointimacy, and intimacy has ripened into friendship, that the realcommunion which men need becomes possible. A rationally-formed circlemust consist almost wholly of those on terms of familiarity and regard, with but one or two strangers. What folly, then, underlies the wholesystem of our grand dinners, our "at homes, " our eveningparties--assemblages made up of many who never met before, many otherswho just bow to each other, many others who though familiar feel mutualindifference, with just a few real friends lost in the general mass! Youneed but look round at the artificial expressions of face, to see atonce how it is. All have their disguises on; and how can there besympathy between masks? No wonder that in private every one exclaimsagainst the stupidity of these gatherings. No wonder that hostesses getthem up rather because they must than because they wish. No wonder thatthe invited go less from the expectation of pleasure than from fear ofgiving offence. The whole thing is a gigantic mistake--an organiseddisappointment. 

And then note, lastly, that in this case, as in all others, when anorganisation has become effete and inoperative for its legitimatepurpose, it is employed for quite other ones--quite opposite ones. Whatis the usual plea put in for giving and attending these tediousassemblies? "I admit that they are stupid and frivolous enough, " repliesevery man to your criticisms; "but then, you know, one must keep upone's connections. " And could you get from his wife a sincere answer, itwould be--"Like you, I am sick of these frivolities; but then, we mustget our daughters married. " The one knows that there is a profession topush, a practice to gain, a business to extend: or parliamentaryinfluence, or county patronage, or votes, or office, to be got:position, berths, favours, profit. The other's thoughts run uponhusbands and settlements, wives and dowries. Worthless for theirostensible purpose of daily bringing human beings into pleasurablerelations with each other, these cumbrous appliances of our socialintercourse are now perseveringly kept in action with a view to thepecuniary and matrimonial results which they indirectly produce. 

Who then shall say that the reform of our system of observances isunimportant? When we see how this system induces fashionableextravagance, with its entailed bankruptcy and ruin--when we mark howgreatly it limits the amount of social intercourse among the lesswealthy classes--when we find that many who most need to be disciplinedby mixing with the refined are driven away by it, and led intodangerous and often fatal courses--when we count up the many minor evilsit inflicts, the extra work which its costliness entails on allprofessional and mercantile men, the damage to public taste in dress anddecoration by the setting up of its absurdities as standards forimitation, the injury to health indicated in the faces of its devoteesat the close of the London season, the mortality of milliners and thelike, which its sudden exigencies yearly involve;--and when to all thesewe add its fatal sin, that it blights, withers up, and kills, that highenjoyment it professedly ministers to--that enjoyment which is a chiefend of our hard struggling in life to obtain--shall we not conclude thatto reform our system of etiquette and fashion, is an aim yielding to fewin urgency?

 * * * * *

There needs, then, a protestantism in social usages. Forms that haveceased to facilitate and have become obstructive--whether political, religious, or other--have ever to be swept away; and eventually are soswept away in all cases. Signs are not wanting that some change is athand. A host of satirists, led on by Thackeray, have been for yearsengaged in bringing our sham-festivities, and our fashionable follies, into contempt; and in their candid moods, most men laugh at thefrivolities with which they and the world in general are deluded. Ridicule has always been a revolutionary agent. That which is habituallyassailed with sneers and sarcasms cannot long survive. Institutions thathave lost their roots in men's respect and faith are doomed; and the dayof their dissolution is not far off. The time is approaching, then, whenour system of social observances must pass through some crisis, out ofwhich it will come purified and comparatively simple. 

How this crisis will be brought about, no one can with any certaintysay. Whether by the continuance and increase of individual protests, orwhether by the union of many persons for the practice and propagation ofsome better system, the future alone can decide. The influence ofdissentients acting without co-operation, seems, under the present stateof things, inadequate. Standing severally alone, and having nowell-defined views; frowned on by conformists, and expostulated witheven by those who secretly sympathise with them; subject to pettypersecutions, and unable to trace any benefit produced by their example;they are apt, one by one, to give up their attempts as hopeless. Theyoung convention-breaker eventually finds that he pays too heavily forhis nonconformity. Hating, for example, everything that bears about itany remnant of servility, he determines, in the ardour of hisindependence, that he will uncover to no one. But what he means simplyas a general protest, he finds that ladies interpret into a personaldisrespect. Though he sees that, from the days of chivalry downwards, these marks of supreme consideration paid to the other sex have been buta hypocritical counterpart to the actual subjection in which men haveheld them--a pretended submission to compensate for a real domination;and though he sees that when the true dignity of women is recognised, the mock dignities given to them will be abolished; yet he does not liketo be thus misunderstood, and so hesitates in his practice. 

In other cases, again, his courage fails him. Such of hisunconventionalities as can be attributed only to eccentricity, he has noqualms about: for, on the whole, he feels rather complimented thanotherwise in being considered a disregarder of public opinion. But whenthey are liable to be put down to ignorance, to ill-breeding, or topoverty, he becomes a coward. However clearly the recent innovation ofeating some kinds of fish with knife and fork proves the fork-and-breadpractice to have had little but caprice for its basis, yet he dares notwholly ignore that practice while fashion partially maintains it. Thoughhe thinks that a silk handkerchief is quite as appropriate fordrawing-room use as a white cambric one, he is not altogether at ease inacting out his opinion. Then, too, he begins to perceive that hisresistance to prescription brings round disadvantageous results which hehad not calculated upon. He had expected that it would save him from agreat deal of social intercourse of a frivolous kind--that it wouldoffend the fools, but not the sensible people; and so would serve as aself-acting test by which those worth knowing would be separated fromthose not worth knowing. But the fools prove to be so greatly in themajority that, by offending them, he closes against himself nearly allthe avenues though which the sensible people are to be reached. Thus hefinds, that his nonconformity is frequently misinterpreted; that thereare but few directions in which he dares to carry it consistently out;that the annoyances and disadvantages which it brings upon him aregreater than he anticipated; and that the chances of his doing any goodare very remote. Hence he gradually loses resolution, and lapses, stepby step, into the ordinary routine of observances. 

Abortive as individual protests thus generally turn out, it may possiblybe that nothing effectual will be done until there arises some organisedresistance to this invisible despotism, by which our modes and habitsare dictated. It may happen, that the government of Manners and Fashionwill be rendered less tyrannical, as the political and religiousgovernments have been, by some antagonistic union. Alike in Church andState, men's first emancipations from excess of restriction wereachieved by numbers, bound together by a common creed or a commonpolitical faith. What remained undone while there were but individualschismatics or rebels, was effected when there came to be many acting inconcert. It is tolerably clear that these earliest instalments offreedom could not have been obtained in any other way; for so long asthe feeling of personal independence was weak and the rule strong, therecould never have been a sufficient number of separate dissentients toproduce the desired results. Only in these later times, during which thesecular and spiritual controls have been growing less coercive, and thetendency towards individual liberty greater, has it become possible forsmaller and smaller sects and parties to fight against establishedcreeds and laws; until now men may safely stand even alone in theirantagonism. 

The failure of individual nonconformity to customs, as aboveillustrated, suggests that an analogous series of changes may have to begone through in this case also. It is true that the _lex non scripta_differs from the _lex scripta_ in this, that, being unwritten, it ismore readily altered; and that it has, from time to time, been quietlyameliorated. Nevertheless, we shall find that the analogy holdssubstantially good. For in this case, as in the others, the essentialrevolution is not the substituting of any one set of restraints for anyother, but the limiting or abolishing the authority which prescribesrestraints. Just as the fundamental change inaugurated by theReformation was not a superseding of one creed by another, but anignoring of the arbiter who before dictated creeds--just as thefundamental change which Democracy long ago commenced, was not from thisparticular law to that, but from the despotism of one to the freedom ofall; so, the parallel change yet to be wrought out in this supplementarygovernment of which we are treating, is not the replacing of absurdusages by sensible ones, but the dethronement of that secret, irresponsible power which now imposes our usages, and the assertion ofthe right of all individuals to choose their own usages. In rules ofliving, a West-end clique is our Pope; and we are all papists, with buta mere sprinkling of heretics. On all who decisively rebel, comes downthe penalty of excommunication, with its long catalogue of disagreeableand, indeed, serious consequences. 

The liberty of the subject asserted in our constitution, and ever on theincrease, has yet to be wrested from this subtler tyranny. The right ofprivate judgment, which our ancestors wrung from the church, remains tobe claimed from this dictator of our habits. Or, as before said, to freeus from these idolatries and superstitious conformities, there has stillto come a protestanism in social usages. Parallel, therefore, as is thechange to be wrought out, it seems not improbable that it may be wroughtout in an analogous way. That influence which solitary dissentients failto gain, and that perseverance which they lack, may come into existencewhen they unite. That persecution which the world now visits upon themfrom mistaking their nonconformity for ignorance or disrespect, maydiminish when it is seen to result from principle. The penalty whichexclusion now entails may disappear when they become numerous enough toform visiting circles of their own. And when a successful stand has beenmade, and the brunt of the opposition has passed, that large amount ofsecret dislike to our observances which now pervades society, maymanifest itself with sufficient power to effect the desiredemancipation. 

Whether such will be the process, time alone can decide. That communityof origin, growth, supremacy, and decadence, which we have found amongall kinds of government, suggests a community in modes of change also. On the other hand, Nature often performs substantially similaroperations, in ways apparently different. Hence these details can neverbe foretold. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile, let us glance at the conclusions that have been reached. Onthe one side, government, originally one, and afterwards subdivided forthe better fulfilment of its function, must be considered as having everbeen, in all its branches--political, religious, andceremonial--beneficial; and, indeed, absolutely necessary. On the otherside, government, under all its forms, must be regarded as subserving atemporary office, made needful by the unfitness of aboriginal humanityfor social life; and the successive diminutions of its coerciveness inState, in Church, and in Custom, must be looked upon as steps towardsits final disappearance. To complete the conception, there requires tobe borne in mind the third fact, that the genesis, the maintenance, andthe decline of all governments, however named, are alike brought aboutby the humanity to be controlled: from which may be drawn the inferencethat, on the average, restrictions of every kind cannot last much longerthan they are wanted, and cannot be destroyed much faster than theyought to be. 

Society, in all its developments, undergoes the process of exuviation. These old forms which it successively throws off, have all been oncevitally united with it--have severally served as the protectiveenvelopes within which a higher humanity was being evolved. They arecast aside only when they become hindrances--only when some inner andbetter envelope has been formed; and they bequeath to us all that therewas in them good. The periodical abolitions of tyrannical laws have leftthe administration of justice not only uninjured, but purified. Dead andburied creeds have not carried with them the essential morality theycontained, which still exists, uncontaminated by the sloughs ofsuperstition. And all that there is of justice and kindness and beauty, embodied in our cumbrous forms of etiquette, will live perennially whenthe forms themselves have been forgotten. 

[1] _Westminster Review_, April 1854. 

[2] This was written before moustaches and beards had become common. 

ON THE GENESIS OF SCIENCE[1]

There has ever prevailed among men a vague notion that scientificknowledge differs in nature from ordinary knowledge. By the Greeks, withwhom Mathematics--literally _things learnt_--was alone considered asknowledge proper, the distinction must have been strongly felt; and ithas ever since maintained itself in the general mind. Though, considering the contrast between the achievements of science and thoseof daily unmethodic thinking, it is not surprising that such adistinction has been assumed; yet it needs but to rise a little abovethe common point of view, to see that no such distinction can reallyexist: or that at best, it is but a superficial distinction. The samefaculties are employed in both cases; and in both cases their mode ofoperation is fundamentally the same. 

If we say that science is organised knowledge, we are met by the truththat all knowledge is organised in a greater or less degree--that thecommonest actions of the household and the field presuppose factscolligated, inferences drawn, results expected; and that the generalsuccess of these actions proves the data by which they were guided tohave been correctly put together. If, again, we say that science isprevision--is a seeing beforehand--is a knowing in what times, places, combinations, or sequences, specified phenomena will be found; we areyet obliged to confess that the definition includes much that is utterlyforeign to science in its ordinary acceptation. For example, a child'sknowledge of an apple. This, as far as it goes, consists in previsions. When a child sees a certain form and colours, it knows that if it putsout its hand it will have certain impressions of resistance, androundness, and smoothness; and if it bites, a certain taste. Andmanifestly its general acquaintance with surrounding objects is of likenature--is made up of facts concerning them, so grouped as that any partof a group being perceived, the existence of the other facts included init is foreseen. 

If, once more, we say that science is _exact_ prevision, we still failto establish the supposed difference. Not only do we find that much ofwhat we call science is not exact, and that some of it, as physiology, can never become exact; but we find further, that many of the previsionsconstituting the common stock alike of wise and ignorant, _are_ exact. That an unsupported body will fall; that a lighted candle will go outwhen immersed in water; that ice will melt when thrown on thefire--these, and many like predictions relating to the familiarproperties of things have as high a degree of accuracy as predictionsare capable of. It is true that the results predicated are of a verygeneral character; but it is none the less true that they are rigorouslycorrect as far as they go: and this is all that is requisite to fulfilthe definition. There is perfect accordance between the anticipatedphenomena and the actual ones; and no more than this can be said of thehighest achievements of the sciences specially characterised as exact. 

Seeing thus that the assumed distinction between scientific knowledgeand common knowledge is not logically justifiable; and yet feeling, aswe must, that however impossible it may be to draw a line between them, the two are not practically identical; there arises the question--Whatis the relationship that exists between them? A partial answer to thisquestion may be drawn from the illustrations just given. Onreconsidering them, it will be observed that those portions of ordinaryknowledge which are identical in character with scientific knowledge, comprehend only such combinations of phenomena as are directlycognisable by the senses, and are of simple, invariable nature. That thesmoke from a fire which she is lighting will ascend, and that the firewill presently boil water, are previsions which the servant-girl makesequally well with the most learned physicist; they are equally certain, equally exact with his; but they are previsions concerning phenomena inconstant and direct relation--phenomena that follow visibly andimmediately after their antecedents--phenomena of which the causation isneither remote nor obscure--phenomena which may be predicted by thesimplest possible act of reasoning. 

If, now, we pass to the previsions constituting what is commonly knownas science--that an eclipse of the moon will happen at a specified time;and when a barometer is taken to the top of a mountain of known height, the mercurial column will descend a stated number of inches; that thepoles of a galvanic battery immersed in water will give off, the one aninflammable and the other an inflaming gas, in definite ratio--weperceive that the relations involved are not of a kind habituallypresented to our senses; that they depend, some of them, upon specialcombinations of causes; and that in some of them the connection betweenantecedents and consequents is established only by an elaborate seriesof inferences. The broad distinction, therefore, between the two ordersof knowledge, is not in their nature, but in their remoteness fromperception. 

If we regard the cases in their most general aspect, we see that thelabourer, who, on hearing certain notes in the adjacent hedge, candescribe the particular form and colours of the bird making them; andthe astronomer, who, having calculated a transit of Venus, can delineatethe black spot entering on the sun's disc, as it will appear through thetelescope, at a specified hour; do essentially the same thing. Eachknows that on fulfilling the requisite conditions, he shall have apreconceived impression--that after a definite series of actions willcome a group of sensations of a foreknown kind. The difference, then, isnot in the fundamental character of the mental acts; or in thecorrectness of the previsions accomplished by them; but in thecomplexity of the processes required to achieve the previsions. Much ofour commonest knowledge is, as far as it goes, rigorously precise. Science does not increase this precision; cannot transcend it. What thendoes it do? It reduces other knowledge to the same degree of precision. That certainty which direct perception gives us respecting coexistencesand sequences of the simplest and most accessible kind, science gives usrespecting coexistences and sequences, complex in their dependencies orinaccessible to immediate observation. In brief, regarded from thispoint of view, science may be called _an extension of the perceptions bymeans of reasoning_. 

On further considering the matter, however, it will perhaps be felt thatthis definition does not express the whole fact--that inseparable asscience may be from common knowledge, and completely as we may fill upthe gap between the simplest previsions of the child and the mostrecondite ones of the natural philosopher, by interposing a series ofprevisions in which the complexity of reasoning involved is greater andgreater, there is yet a difference between the two beyond that which ishere described. And this is true. But the difference is still not suchas enables us to draw the assumed line of demarcation. It is adifference not between common knowledge and scientific knowledge; butbetween the successive phases of science itself, or knowledgeitself--whichever we choose to call it. In its earlier phases scienceattains only to _certainty_ of foreknowledge; in its later phases itfurther attains to _completeness_. We begin by discovering _a_relation: we end by discovering _the_ relation. Our first achievement isto foretell the _kind_ of phenomenon which will occur under specificconditions: our last achievement is to foretell not only the kind butthe _amount_. Or, to reduce the proposition to its most definiteform--undeveloped science is _qualitative_ prevision: developed scienceis _quantitative_ prevision. 

This will at once be perceived to express the remaining distinctionbetween the lower and the higher stages of positive knowledge. Theprediction that a piece of lead will take more force to lift it than apiece of wood of equal size, exhibits certainty, but not completeness, of foresight. The kind of effect in which the one body will exceed theother is foreseen; but not the amount by which it will exceed. There isqualitative prevision only. On the other hand, the prediction that at astated time two particular planets will be in conjunction; that by meansof a lever having arms in a given ratio, a known force will raise justso many pounds; that to decompose a specified quantity of sulphate ofiron by carbonate of soda will require so many grains--these predictionsexhibit foreknowledge, not only of the nature of the effects to beproduced, but of the magnitude, either of the effects themselves, of theagencies producing them, or of the distance in time or space at whichthey will be produced. There is not only qualitative but quantitativeprevision. 

And this is the unexpressed difference which leads us to considercertain orders of knowledge as especially scientific when contrastedwith knowledge in general. Are the phenomena _measurable_? is the testwhich we unconsciously employ. Space is measurable: hence Geometry. Force and space are measureable: hence Statics. Time, force, and spaceare measureable: hence Dynamics. The invention of the barometer enabledmen to extend the principles of mechanics to the atmosphere; andAerostatics existed. When a thermometer was devised there arose ascience of heat, which was before impossible. Such of our sensations aswe have not yet found modes of measuring do not originate sciences. Wehave no science of smells; nor have we one of tastes. We have a scienceof the relations of sounds differing in pitch, because we havediscovered a way to measure them; but we have no science of sounds inrespect to their loudness or their _timbre_, because we have got nomeasures of loudness and _timbre_. 

Obviously it is this reduction of the sensible phenomena it represents, to relations of magnitude, which gives to any division of knowledge itsespecially scientific character. Originally men's knowledge of weightsand forces was in the same condition as their knowledge of smells andtastes is now--a knowledge not extending beyond that given by theunaided sensations; and it remained so until weighing instruments anddynamometers were invented. Before there were hour-glasses andclepsydras, most phenomena could be estimated as to their durations andintervals, with no greater precision than degrees of hardness can beestimated by the fingers. Until a thermometric scale was contrived, men's judgments respecting relative amounts of heat stood on the samefooting with their present judgments respecting relative amounts ofsound. And as in these initial stages, with no aids to observation, onlythe roughest comparisons of cases could be made, and only the mostmarked differences perceived; it is obvious that only the most simplelaws of dependence could be ascertained--only those laws which, beinguncomplicated with others, and not disturbed in their manifestations, required no niceties of observation to disentangle them. Whence itappears not only that in proportion as knowledge becomes quantitative doits previsions become complete as well as certain, but that until itsassumption of a quantitative character it is necessarily confined to themost elementary relations. 

Moreover it is to be remarked that while, on the one hand, we candiscover the laws of the greater proportion of phenomena only byinvestigating them quantitatively; on the other hand we can extend therange of our quantitative previsions only as fast as we detect the lawsof the results we predict. For clearly the ability to specify themagnitude of a result inaccessible to direct measurement, impliesknowledge of its mode of dependence on something which can bemeasured--implies that we know the particular fact dealt with to be aninstance of some more general fact. Thus the extent to which ourquantitative previsions have been carried in any direction, indicatesthe depth to which our knowledge reaches in that direction. And here, asanother aspect of the same fact, we may further observe that as we passfrom qualitative to quantitative prevision, we pass from inductivescience to deductive science. Science while purely inductive is purelyqualitative: when inaccurately quantitative it usually consists of partinduction, part deduction: and it becomes accurately quantitative onlywhen wholly deductive. We do not mean that the deductive and thequantitative are coextensive; for there is manifestly much deductionthat is qualitative only. We mean that all quantitative prevision isreached deductively; and that induction can achieve only qualitativeprevision. 

Still, however, it must not be supposed that these distinctions enableus to separate ordinary knowledge from science, much as they seem to doso. While they show in what consists the broad contrast between theextreme forms of the two, they yet lead us to recognise their essentialidentity; and once more prove the difference to be one of degree only. For, on the one hand, the commonest positive knowledge is to some extentquantitative; seeing that the amount of the foreseen result is knownwithin certain wide limits. And, on the other hand, the highestquantitative prevision does not reach the exact truth, but only a verynear approximation to it. Without clocks the savage knows that the dayis longer in the summer than in the winter; without scales he knows thatstone is heavier than flesh: that is, he can foresee respecting certainresults that their amounts will exceed these, and be less than those--heknows _about_ what they will be. And, with his most delicate instrumentsand most elaborate calculations, all that the man of science can do, isto reduce the difference between the foreseen and the actual results toan unimportant quantity. 

Moreover, it must be borne in mind not only that all the sciences arequalitative in their first stages, --not only that some of them, asChemistry, have but recently reached the quantitative stage--but thatthe most advanced sciences have attained to their present power ofdetermining quantities not present to the senses, or not directlymeasurable, by a slow process of improvement extending through thousandsof years. So that science and the knowledge of the uncultured are alikein the nature of their previsions, widely as they differ in range; theypossess a common imperfection, though this is immensely greater in thelast than in the first; and the transition from the one to the other hasbeen through a series of steps by which the imperfection has beenrendered continually less, and the range continually wider. 

These facts, that science and the positive knowledge of the unculturedcannot be separated in nature, and that the one is but a perfected andextended form of the other, must necessarily underlie the whole theoryof science, its progress, and the relations of its parts to each other. There must be serious incompleteness in any history of the sciences, which, leaving out of view the first steps of their genesis, commenceswith them only when they assume definite forms. There must be gravedefects, if not a general untruth, in a philosophy of the sciencesconsidered in their interdependence and development, which neglects theinquiry how they came to be distinct sciences, and how they wereseverally evolved out of the chaos of primitive ideas. 

Not only a direct consideration of the matter, but all analogy, goes toshow that in the earlier and simpler stages must be sought the key toall subsequent intricacies. The time was when the anatomy and physiologyof the human being were studied by themselves--when the adult man wasanalysed and the relations of parts and of functions investigated, without reference either to the relations exhibited in the embryo or tothe homologous relations existing in other creatures. Now, however, ithas become manifest that no true conceptions, no true generalisations, are possible under such conditions. Anatomists and physiologists nowfind that the real natures of organs and tissues can be ascertained onlyby tracing their early evolution; and that the affinities betweenexisting genera can be satisfactorily made out only by examining thefossil genera to which they are allied. Well, is it not clear that thelike must be true concerning all things that undergo development? Is notscience a growth? Has not science, too, its embryology? And must not theneglect of its embryology lead to a misunderstanding of the principlesof its evolution and of its existing organisation?

There are _à priori_ reasons, therefore, for doubting the truth of allphilosophies of the sciences which tacitly proceed upon the commonnotion that scientific knowledge and ordinary knowledge are separate;instead of commencing, as they should, by affiliating the one upon theother, and showing how it gradually came to be distinguishable from theother. We may expect to find their generalisations essentiallyartificial; and we shall not be deceived. Some illustrations of this mayhere be fitly introduced, by way of preliminary to a brief sketch of thegenesis of science from the point of view indicated. And we cannot morereadily find such illustrations than by glancing at a few of the various_classifications_ of the sciences that have from time to time beenproposed. To consider all of them would take too much space: we mustcontent ourselves with some of the latest. 

 * * * * *

Commencing with those which may be soonest disposed of, let us noticefirst the arrangement propounded by Oken. An abstract of it runsthus:--

 Part I. MATHESIS. --_Pneumatogeny_: Primary Art, Primary Consciousness, God, Primary Rest, Time, Polarity, Motion, Man, Space, Point. Line, Surface, Globe, Rotation. --_Hylogeny_: Gravity, Matter, Ether, Heavenly Bodies, Light, Heat, Fire. 

 (He explains that MATHESIS is the doctrine of the whole; _Pneumatogeny_ being the doctrine of immaterial totalities, and _Hylogeny_ that of material totalities. )

 Part II. ONTOLOGY. --_Cosmogeny_: Rest, Centre, Motion, Line, Planets, Form, Planetary System, Comets. --_Stöchiogeny_: Condensation, Simple Matter, Elements, Air, Water, Earth--_Stöchiology_: Functions of the Elements, etc. , etc. --_Kingdoms of Nature_: Individuals. 

 (He says in explanation that "ONTOLOGY teaches us the phenomena of matter. The first of these are the heavenly bodies comprehended by _Cosmogeny_. These divide into elements--_Stöchiogeny_. The earth element divides into minerals--_Mineralogy_. These unite into one collective body--_Geogeny_. The whole in singulars is the living, or _Organic_, which again divides into plants and animals. _Biology_, therefore, divides into _Organogeny_, _Phytosophy_, _Zoosophy_. ")

 FIRST KINGDOM. --MINERALS. _Mineralogy_, _Geology_. 

 Part III. BIOLOGY. --_Organosophy_, _Phytogeny_, _Phyto-physiology_, _Phytology_, _Zoogeny_, _Physiology_, _Zoology_, _Psychology_. 

A glance over this confused scheme shows that it is an attempt toclassify knowledge, not after the order in which it has been, or may be, built up in the human consciousness; but after an assumed order ofcreation. It is a pseudo-scientific cosmogony, akin to those which menhave enunciated from the earliest times downwards; and only a littlemore respectable. As such it will not be thought worthy of muchconsideration by those who, like ourselves, hold that experience is thesole origin of knowledge. Otherwise, it might have been needful to dwellon the incongruities of the arrangements--to ask how motion can betreated of before space? how there can be rotation without matter torotate? how polarity can be dealt with without involving points andlines? But it will serve our present purpose just to point out a few ofthe extreme absurdities resulting from the doctrine which Oken seems tohold in common with Hegel, that "to philosophise on Nature is tore-think the great thought of Creation. " Here is a sample:--

"Mathematics is the universal science; so also is Physio-philosophy, although it is only a part, or rather but a condition of the universe;both are one, or mutually congruent. 

"Mathematics is, however, a science of mere forms without substance. Physio-philosophy is, therefore, _mathematics endowed with substance_. "

From the English point of view it is sufficiently amusing to find such adogma not only gravely stated, but stated as an unquestionable truth. Here we see the experiences of quantitative relations which men havegathered from surrounding bodies and generalised (experiences which hadbeen scarcely at all generalised at the beginning of the historicperiod)--we find these generalised experiences, these intellectualabstractions, elevated into concrete actualities, projected back intoNature, and considered as the internal framework of things--the skeletonby which matter is sustained. But this new form of the old realism is byno means the most startling of the physio-philosophic principles. Wepresently read that, "The highest mathematical idea, or the fundamental principle of allmathematics is the zero = 0. ". . . . 

"Zero is in itself nothing. Mathematics is based upon nothing, and, _consequently_, arises out of nothing. 

"Out of nothing, _therefore_, it is possible for something to arise; formathematics, consisting of propositions, is something, in relation to0. "

By such "consequentlys" and "therefores" it is, that men philosophisewhen they "re-think the great thought of Creation. " By dogmas thatpretend to be reasons, nothing is made to generate mathematics; and byclothing mathematics with matter, we have the universe! If now we deny, as we _do_ deny, that the highest mathematical idea is the zero;--if, onthe other hand, we assert, as we _do_ assert, that the fundamental ideaunderlying all mathematics, is that of equality; the whole of Oken'scosmogony disappears. And here, indeed, we may see illustrated, thedistinctive peculiarity of the German method of procedure in thesematters--the bastard _à priori_ method, as it may be termed. Thelegitimate _à priori_ method sets out with propositions of which thenegation is inconceivable; the _à priori_ method as illegitimatelyapplied, sets out either with propositions of which the negation is_not_ inconceivable, or with propositions like Oken's, of which the_affirmation_ is inconceivable. 

It is needless to proceed further with the analysis; else might wedetail the steps by which Oken arrives at the conclusions that "theplanets are coagulated colours, for they are coagulated light; that thesphere is the expanded nothing;" that gravity is "a weighty nothing, aheavy essence, striving towards a centre;" that "the earth is theidentical, water the indifferent, air the different; or the first thecentre, the second the radius, the last the periphery of the generalglobe or of fire. " To comment on them would be nearly as absurd as arethe propositions themselves. Let us pass on to another of the Germansystems of knowledge--that of Hegel. 

The simple fact that Hegel puts Jacob Boehme on a par with Bacon, suffices alone to show that his standpoint is far remote from the oneusually regarded as scientific: so far remote, indeed, that it is noteasy to find any common basis on which to found a criticism. Those whohold that the mind is moulded into conformity with surrounding things bythe agency of surrounding things, are necessarily at a loss how to dealwith those, who, like Schelling and Hegel, assert that surroundingthings are solidified mind--that Nature is "petrified intelligence. "However, let us briefly glance at Hegel's classification. He dividesphilosophy into three parts:--

1. _Logic_, or the science of the idea in itself, the pure idea. 

2. _The Philosophy of Nature_, or the science of the idea consideredunder its other form--of the idea as Nature. 

3. _The Philosophy of the Mind_, or the science of the idea in itsreturn to itself. 

Of these, the second is divided into the natural sciences, commonly socalled; so that in its more detailed form the series runs thus:--Logic, Mechanics, Physics, Organic Physics, Psychology. 

Now, if we believe with Hegel, first, that thought is the true essenceof man; second, that thought is the essence of the world; and that, therefore, there is nothing but thought; his classification, beginningwith the science of pure thought, may be acceptable. But otherwise, itis an obvious objection to his arrangement, that thought implies thingsthought of--that there can be no logical forms without the substance ofexperience--that the science of ideas and the science of things musthave a simultaneous origin. Hegel, however, anticipates this objection, and, in his obstinate idealism, replies, that the contrary is true; thatall contained in the forms, to become something, requires to be thought:and that logical forms are the foundations of all things. 

It is not surprising that, starting from such premises, and reasoningafter this fashion, Hegel finds his way to strange conclusions. Out of_space_ and _time_ he proceeds to build up _motion_, _matter_, _repulsion_, _attraction_, _weight_, and _inertia_. He then goes on tologically evolve the solar system. In doing this he widely divergesfrom the Newtonian theory; reaches by syllogism the conviction that theplanets are the most perfect celestial bodies; and, not being able tobring the stars within his theory, says that they are mere formalexistences and not living matter, and that as compared with the solarsystem they are as little admirable as a cutaneous eruption or a swarmof flies. [2]

Results so outrageous might be left as self-disproved, were it not thatspeculators of this class are not alarmed by any amount of incongruitywith established beliefs. The only efficient mode of treating systemslike this of Hegel, is to show that they are self-destructive--that bytheir first steps they ignore that authority on which all theirsubsequent steps depend. If Hegel professes, as he manifestly does, todevelop his scheme by reasoning--if he presents successive inferences as_necessarily following_ from certain premises; he implies the postulatethat a belief which necessarily follows after certain antecedents is atrue belief: and, did an opponent reply to one of his inferences, that, though it was impossible to think the opposite, yet the opposite wastrue, he would consider the reply irrational. The procedure, however, which he would thus condemn as destructive of all thinking whatever, isjust the procedure exhibited in the enunciation of his own firstprinciples. 

Mankind find themselves unable to conceive that there can be thoughtwithout things thought of. Hegel, however, asserts that there _can_ bethought without things thought of. That ultimate test of a trueproposition--the inability of the human mind to conceive the negation ofit--which in all other cases he considers valid, he considers invalidwhere it suits his convenience to do so; and yet at the same time deniesthe right of an opponent to follow his example. If it is competent forhim to posit dogmas, which are the direct negations of what humanconsciousness recognises; then is it also competent for his antagoniststo stop him at every step in his argument by saying, that though theparticular inference he is drawing seems to his mind, and to all minds, necessarily to follow from the premises, yet it is not true, but thecontrary inference is true. Or, to state the dilemma in anotherform:--If he sets out with inconceivable propositions, then may he withequal propriety make all his succeeding propositions inconceivableones--may at every step throughout his reasoning draw exactly theopposite conclusion to that which seems involved. 

Hegel's mode of procedure being thus essentially suicidal, the Hegelianclassification which depends upon it falls to the ground. Let usconsider next that of M. Comte. 

As all his readers must admit, M. Comte presents us with a scheme of thesciences which, unlike the foregoing ones, demands respectfulconsideration. Widely as we differ from him, we cheerfully bear witnessto the largeness of his views, the clearness of his reasoning, and thevalue of his speculations as contributing to intellectual progress. Didwe believe a serial arrangement of the sciences to be possible, that ofM. Comte would certainly be the one we should adopt. His fundamentalpropositions are thoroughly intelligible; and if not true, have a greatsemblance of truth. His successive steps are logically co-ordinated; andhe supports his conclusions by a considerable amount ofevidence--evidence which, so long as it is not critically examined, ornot met by counter evidence, seems to substantiate his positions. But itonly needs to assume that antagonistic attitude which _ought_ to beassumed towards new doctrines, in the belief that, if true, they willprosper by conquering objectors--it needs but to test his leadingdoctrines either by other facts than those he cites, or by his own factsdifferently applied, to at once show that they will not stand. We willproceed thus to deal with the general principle on which he bases hishierarchy of the sciences. 

In the second chapter of his _Cours de Philosophic Positive_, M. Comtesays:--"Our problem is, then, to find the one _rational_ order, amongsta host of possible systems. " . . . "This order is determined by the degreeof simplicity, or, what comes to the same thing, of generality of theirphenomena. " And the arrangement he deduces runs thus: _Mathematics_, _Astronomy_, _Physics_, _Chemistry_, _Physiology_, _Social Physics_. This he asserts to be "the true _filiation_ of the sciences. " He assertsfurther, that the principle of progression from a greater to a lessdegree of generality, "which gives this order to the whole body ofscience, arranges the parts of each science. " And, finally, he assertsthat the gradations thus established _à priori_ among the sciences, andthe parts of each science, "is in essential conformity with the orderwhich has spontaneously taken place among the branches of naturalphilosophy;" or, in other words--corresponds with the order of historicdevelopment. 

Let us compare these assertions with the facts. That there may beperfect fairness, let us make no choice, but take as the field for ourcomparison, the succeeding section treating of the firstscience--Mathematics; and let us use none but M. Comte's own facts, andhis own admissions. Confining ourselves to this one science, of courseour comparisons must be between its several parts. M. Comte says, thatthe parts of each science must be arranged in the order of theirdecreasing generality; and that this order of decreasing generalityagrees with the order of historical development. Our inquiry must be, then, whether the history of mathematics confirms this statement. 

Carrying out his principle, M. Comte divides Mathematics into "AbstractMathematics, or the Calculus (taking the word in its most extendedsense) and Concrete Mathematics, which is composed of General Geometryand of Rational Mechanics. " The subject-matter of the first of these is_number_; the subject-matter of the second includes _space_, _time_, _motion_, _force_. The one possesses the highest possible degree ofgenerality; for all things whatever admit of enumeration. The others areless general; seeing that there are endless phenomena that are notcognisable either by general geometry or rational mechanics. Inconformity with the alleged law, therefore, the evolution of thecalculus must throughout have preceded the evolution of the concretesub-sciences. Now somewhat awkwardly for him, the first remark M. Comtemakes bearing upon this point is, that "from an historical point ofview, mathematical analysis _appears to have risen out of_ thecontemplation of geometrical and mechanical facts. " True, he goes on tosay that, "it is not the less independent of these sciences logicallyspeaking;" for that "analytical ideas are, above all others, universal, abstract, and simple; and geometrical conceptions are necessarilyfounded on them. "

We will not take advantage of this last passage to charge M. Comte withteaching, after the fashion of Hegel, that there can be thought withoutthings thought of. We are content simply to compare the two assertions, that analysis arose out of the contemplation of geometrical andmechanical facts, and that geometrical conceptions are founded uponanalytical ones. Literally interpreted they exactly cancel each other. Interpreted, however, in a liberal sense, they imply, what we believe tobe demonstrable, that the two had _a simultaneous origin_. The passageis either nonsense, or it is an admission that abstract and concretemathematics are coeval. Thus, at the very first step, the allegedcongruity between the order of generality and the order of evolutiondoes not hold good. 

But may it not be that though abstract and concrete mathematics tooktheir rise at the same time, the one afterwards developed more rapidlythan the other; and has ever since remained in advance of it? No: andagain we call M. Comte himself as witness. Fortunately for his argumenthe has said nothing respecting the early stages of the concrete andabstract divisions after their divergence from a common root; otherwisethe advent of Algebra long after the Greek geometry had reached a highdevelopment, would have been an inconvenient fact for him to deal with. But passing over this, and limiting ourselves to his own statements, wefind, at the opening of the next chapter, the admission, that "thehistorical development of the abstract portion of mathematical sciencehas, since the time of Descartes, been for the most part _determined_ bythat of the concrete. " Further on we read respecting algebraic functionsthat "most functions were concrete in their origin--even those which areat present the most purely abstract; and the ancients discovered onlythrough geometrical definitions elementary algebraic properties offunctions to which a numerical value was not attached till longafterwards, rendering abstract to us what was concrete to the oldgeometers. " How do these statements tally with his doctrine? Again, having divided the calculus into algebraic and arithmetical, M. Comteadmits, as perforce he must, that the algebraic is more general than thearithmetical; yet he will not say that algebra preceded arithmetic inpoint of time. And again, having divided the calculus of functions intothe calculus of direct functions (common algebra) and the calculus ofindirect functions (transcendental analysis), he is obliged to speak ofthis last as possessing a higher generality than the first; yet it isfar more modern. Indeed, by implication, M. Comte himself confesses thisincongruity; for he says:--"It might seem that the transcendentalanalysis ought to be studied before the ordinary, as it provides theequations which the other has to resolve; but though the transcendental_is logically independent of the ordinary_, it is best to follow theusual method of study, taking the ordinary first. " In all these cases, then, as well as at the close of the section where he predicts thatmathematicians will in time "create procedures of _a wider generality_", M. Comte makes admissions that are diametrically opposed to the allegedlaw. 

In the succeeding chapters treating of the concrete department ofmathematics, we find similar contradictions M. Comte himself names thegeometry of the ancients _special_ geometry, and that of moderns the_general_ geometry. He admits that while "the ancients studied geometrywith reference to the bodies under notice, or specially; the modernsstudy it with reference to the _phenomena_ to be considered, orgenerally. " He admits that while "the ancients extracted all they couldout of one line or surface before passing to another, " "the moderns, since Descartes, employ themselves on questions which relate to anyfigure whatever. " These facts are the reverse of what, according to histheory, they should be. So, too, in mechanics. Before dividing it intostatics and dynamics, M. Comte treats of the three laws of _motion_, andis obliged to do so; for statics, the more _general_ of the twodivisions, though it does not involve motion, is impossible as a scienceuntil the laws of motion are ascertained. Yet the laws of motion pertainto dynamics, the more _special_ of the divisions. Further on he pointsout that after Archimedes, who discovered the law of equilibrium of thelever, statics made no progress until the establishment of dynamicsenabled us to seek "the conditions of equilibrium through the laws ofthe composition of forces. " And he adds--"At this day _this is themethod universally employed_. At the first glance it does not appear themost rational--dynamics being more complicated than statics, andprecedence being natural to the simpler. It would, in fact, be morephilosophical to refer dynamics to statics, as has since been done. "Sundry discoveries are afterwards detailed, showing how completely thedevelopment of statics has been achieved by considering its problemsdynamically; and before the close of the section M. Comte remarks that"before hydrostatics could be comprehended under statics, it wasnecessary that the abstract theory of equilibrium should be made sogeneral as to apply directly to fluids as well as solids. This wasaccomplished when Lagrange supplied, as the basis of the whole ofrational mechanics, the single principle of virtual velocities. " Inwhich statement we have two facts directly at variance: with M. Comte'sdoctrine; first, that the simpler science, statics, reached its presentdevelopment only by the aid of the principle of virtual velocities, which belongs to the more complex science, dynamics; and that this"single principle" underlying all rational mechanics--this _mostgeneral form_ which includes alike the relations of statical, hydro-statical, and dynamical forces--was reached so late as the time ofLagrange. 

Thus it is _not_ true that the historical succession of the divisions ofmathematics has corresponded with the order of decreasing generality. Itis _not_ true that abstract mathematics was evolved antecedently to, and independently of concrete mathematics. It is _not_ true that of thesubdivisions of abstract mathematics, the more general came before themore special. And it is _not_ true that concrete mathematics, in eitherof its two sections, began with the most abstract and advanced to theless abstract truths. 

It may be well to mention, parenthetically, that in defending hisalleged law of progression from the general to the special, M. Comtesomewhere comments upon the two meanings of the word _general_, and theresulting liability to confusion. Without now discussing whether theasserted distinction can be maintained in other cases, it is manifestthat it does not exist here. In sundry of the instances above quoted, the endeavours made by M. Comte himself to disguise, or to explain away, the precedence of the special over the general, clearly indicate thatthe generality spoken of is of the kind meant by his formula. And itneeds but a brief consideration of the matter to show that, even did heattempt it, he could not distinguish this generality, which, as aboveproved, frequently comes last, from the generality which he says alwayscomes first. For what is the nature of that mental process by whichobjects, dimensions, weights, times, and the rest, are found capable ofhaving their relations expressed numerically? It is the formation ofcertain abstract conceptions of unity, duality and multiplicity, whichare applicable to all things alike. It is the invention of generalsymbols serving to express the numerical relations of entities, whateverbe their special characters. And what is the nature of the mentalprocess by which numbers are found capable of having their relationsexpressed algebraically? It is just the same. It is the formation ofcertain abstract conceptions of numerical functions which are the samewhatever be the magnitudes of the numbers. It is the invention ofgeneral symbols serving to express the relations between numbers, asnumbers express the relations between things. And transcendentalanalysis stands to algebra in the same position that algebra stands into arithmetic. 

To briefly illustrate their respective powers--arithmetic can express inone formula the value of a _particular_ tangent to a _particular_ curve;algebra can express in one formula the values of _all_ tangents to a_particular_ curve; transcendental analysis can express in one formulathe values of _all_ tangents to _all_ curves. Just as arithmetic dealswith the common properties of lines, areas, bulks, forces, periods; sodoes algebra deal with the common properties of the numbers whicharithmetic presents; so does transcendental analysis deal with thecommon properties of the equations exhibited by algebra. Thus, thegenerality of the higher branches of the calculus, when compared withthe lower, is the same kind of generality as that of the lower brancheswhen compared with geometry or mechanics. And on examination it will befound that the like relation exists in the various other cases abovegiven. 

Having shown that M. Comte's alleged law of progression does not holdamong the several parts of the same science, let us see how it agreeswith the facts when applied to separate sciences. "Astronomy, " says M. Comte, at the opening of Book III. , "was a positive science, in itsgeometrical aspect, from the earliest days of the school of Alexandria;but Physics, which we are now to consider, had no positive character atall till Galileo made his great discoveries on the fall of heavybodies. " On this, our comment is simply that it is a misrepresentationbased upon an arbitrary misuse of words--a mere verbal artifice. Bychoosing to exclude from terrestrial physics those laws of magnitude, motion, and position, which he includes in celestial physics, M. Comtemakes it appear that the one owes nothing to the other. Not only is thisaltogether unwarrantable, but it is radically inconsistent with his ownscheme of divisions. At the outset he says--and as the point isimportant we quote from the original--"Pour la _physique inorganique_nous voyons d'abord, en nous conformant toujours a l'ordre de généralitéet de dépendance des phénomènes, qu'elle doit être partagée en deuxsections distinctes, suivant qu'elle considère les phénomènes générauxde l'univers, ou, en particulier, ceux que présentent les corpsterrestres. D'où la physique céleste, ou l'astronomie, soit géométrique, soit mechanique; et la physique terrestre. "

Here then we have _inorganic physics_ clearly divided into _celestialphysics_ and _terrestrial physics_--the phenomena presented by theuniverse, and the phenomena presented by earthly bodies. If nowcelestial bodies and terrestrial bodies exhibit sundry leading phenomenain common, as they do, how can the generalisation of these commonphenomena be considered as pertaining to the one class rather than tothe other? If inorganic physics includes geometry (which M. Comte hasmade it do by comprehending _geometrical_ astronomy in itssub-section--celestial physics); and if its sub-section--terrestrialphysics, treats of things having geometrical properties; how can thelaws of geometrical relations be excluded from terrestrial physics?Clearly if celestial physics includes the geometry of objects in theheavens, terrestrial physics includes the geometry of objects on theearth. And if terrestrial physics includes terrestrial geometry, whilecelestial physics includes celestial geometry, then the geometrical partof terrestrial physics precedes the geometrical part of celestialphysics; seeing that geometry gained its first ideas from surroundingobjects. Until men had learnt geometrical relations from bodies on theearth, it was impossible for them to understand the geometricalrelations of bodies in the heavens. 

So, too, with celestial mechanics, which had terrestrial mechanics forits parent. The very conception of _force_, which underlies the whole ofmechanical astronomy, is borrowed from our earthly experiences; and theleading laws of mechanical action as exhibited in scales, levers, projectiles, etc. , had to be ascertained before the dynamics of thesolar system could be entered upon. What were the laws made use of byNewton in working out his grand discovery? The law of falling bodiesdisclosed by Galileo; that of the composition of forces also disclosedby Galileo; and that of centrifugal force found out by Huyghens--all ofthem generalisations of terrestrial physics. Yet, with facts like thesebefore him, M. Comte places astronomy before physics in order ofevolution! He does not compare the geometrical parts of the twotogether, and the mechanical parts of the two together; for this wouldby no means suit his hypothesis. But he compares the geometrical part ofthe one with the mechanical part of the other, and so gives a semblanceof truth to his position. He is led away by a verbal delusion. Had heconfined his attention to the things and disregarded the words, he wouldhave seen that before mankind scientifically co-ordinated _any one classof phenomena_ displayed in the heavens, they had previously co-ordinated_a parallel class of phenomena_ displayed upon the surface of the earth. 

Were it needful we could fill a score pages with the incongruities of M. Comte's scheme. But the foregoing samples will suffice. So far is hislaw of evolution of the sciences from being tenable, that, by followinghis example, and arbitrarily ignoring one class of facts, it would bepossible to present, with great plausibility, just the oppositegeneralisation to that which he enunciates. While he asserts that therational order of the sciences, like the order of their historicdevelopment, "is determined by the degree of simplicity, or, what comesto the same thing, of generality of their phenomena;" it mightcontrariwise be asserted, that, commencing with the complex and thespecial, mankind have progressed step by step to a knowledge of greatersimplicity and wider generality. So much evidence is there of this as tohave drawn from Whewell, in his _History of the Inductive Sciences_, thegeneral remark that "the reader has already seen repeatedly in thecourse of this history, complex and derivative principles presentingthemselves to men's minds before simple and elementary ones. "

Even from M. Comte's own work, numerous facts, admissions, andarguments, might be picked out, tending to show this. We have alreadyquoted his words in proof that both abstract and concrete mathematicshave progressed towards a higher degree of generality, and that he looksforward to a higher generality still. Just to strengthen this adversehypothesis, let us take a further instance. From the _particular_ caseof the scales, the law of equilibrium of which was familiar to theearliest nations known, Archimedes advanced to the more _general_ caseof the unequal lever with unequal weights; the law of equilibrium ofwhich _includes_ that of the scales. By the help of Galileo's discoveryconcerning the composition of forces, D'Alembert "established, for thefirst time, the equations of equilibrium of _any_ system of forcesapplied to the different points of a solid body"--equations whichinclude all cases of levers and an infinity of cases besides. Clearlythis is progress towards a higher generality--towards a knowledge moreindependent of special circumstances--towards a study of phenomena "themost disengaged from the incidents of particular cases;" which is M. Comte's definition of "the most simple phenomena. " Does it not indeedfollow from the familiarly admitted fact, that mental advance is fromthe concrete to the abstract, from the particular to the general, thatthe universal and therefore most simple truths are the last to bediscovered? Is not the government of the solar system by a force varyinginversely as the square of the distance, a simpler conception than anythat preceded it? Should we ever succeed in reducing all orders ofphenomena to some single law--say of atomic action, as M. Comtesuggests--must not that law answer to his test of being _independent_ ofall others, and therefore most simple? And would not such a lawgeneralise the phenomena of gravity, cohesion, atomic affinity, andelectric repulsion, just as the laws of number generalise thequantitative phenomena of space, time, and force?

The possibility of saying so much in support of an hypothesis the veryreverse of M. Comte's, at once proves that his generalisation is only ahalf-truth. The fact is, that neither proposition is correct by itself;and the actuality is expressed only by putting the two together. Theprogress of science is duplex: it is at once from the special to thegeneral, and from the general to the special: it is analytical andsynthetical at the same time. 

M. Comte himself observes that the evolution of science has beenaccomplished by the division of labour; but he quite misstates the modein which this division of labour has operated. As he describes it, ithas simply been an arrangement of phenomena into classes, and the studyof each class by itself. He does not recognise the constant effect ofprogress in each class upon _all_ other classes; but only on the classsucceeding it in his hierarchical scale. Or if he occasionally admitscollateral influences and intercommunications, he does it so grudgingly, and so quickly puts the admissions out of sight and forgets them, as toleave the impression that, with but trifling exceptions, the sciencesaid each other only in the order of their alleged succession. The factis, however, that the division of labour in science, like the divisionof labour in society, and like the "physiological division of labour" inindividual organisms, has been not only a specialisation of functions, but a continuous helping of each division by all the others, and of allby each. Every particular class of inquirers has, as it were, secretedits own particular order of truths from the general mass of materialwhich observation accumulates; and all other classes of inquirers havemade use of these truths as fast as they were elaborated, with theeffect of enabling them the better to elaborate each its own order oftruths. 

It was thus in sundry of the cases we have quoted as at variance with M. Comte's doctrine. It was thus with the application of Huyghens's opticaldiscovery to astronomical observation by Galileo. It was thus with theapplication of the isochronism of the pendulum to the making ofinstruments for measuring intervals, astronomical and other. It was thuswhen the discovery that the refraction and dispersion of light did notfollow the same law of variation, affected both astronomy and physiologyby giving us achromatic telescopes and microscopes. It was thus whenBradley's discovery of the aberration of light enabled him to make thefirst step towards ascertaining the motions of the stars. It was thuswhen Cavendish's torsion-balance experiment determined the specificgravity of the earth, and so gave a datum for calculating the specificgravities of the sun and planets. It was thus when tables ofatmospheric refraction enabled observers to write down the real placesof the heavenly bodies instead of their apparent places. It was thuswhen the discovery of the different expansibilities of metals by heat, gave us the means of correcting our chronometrical measurements ofastronomical periods. It was thus when the lines of the prismaticspectrum were used to distinguish the heavenly bodies that are of likenature with the sun from those which are not. It was thus when, asrecently, an electro-telegraphic instrument was invented for the moreaccurate registration of meridional transits. It was thus when thedifference in the rates of a clock at the equator, and nearer the poles, gave data for calculating the oblateness of the earth, and accountingfor the precession of the equinoxes. It was thus--but it is needless tocontinue. 

Here, within our own limited knowledge of its history, we have named tenadditional cases in which the single science of astronomy has owed itsadvance to sciences coming _after_ it in M. Comte's series. Not only itssecondary steps, but its greatest revolutions have been thus determined. Kepler could not have discovered his celebrated laws had it not been forTycho Brahe's accurate observations; and it was only after some progressin physical and chemical science that the improved instruments withwhich those observations were made, became possible. The heliocentrictheory of the solar system had to wait until the invention of thetelescope before it could be finally established. Nay, even the granddiscovery of all--the law of gravitation--depended for its proof upon anoperation of physical science, the measurement of a degree on theEarth's surface. So completely indeed did it thus depend, that Newton_had actually abandoned his hypothesis_ because the length of a degree, as then stated, brought out wrong results; and it was only afterPicart's more exact measurement was published, that he returned to hiscalculations and proved his great generalisation. Now this constantintercommunion, which, for brevity's sake, we have illustrated in thecase of one science only, has been taking place with all the sciences. Throughout the whole course of their evolution there has been acontinuous _consensus_ of the sciences--a _consensus_ exhibiting ageneral correspondence with the _consensus_ of faculties in each phaseof mental development; the one being an objective registry of thesubjective state of the other. 

From our present point of view, then, it becomes obvious that theconception of a _serial_ arrangement of the sciences is a vicious one. It is not simply that the schemes we have examined are untenable; but itis that the sciences cannot be rightly placed in any linear orderwhatever. It is not simply that, as M. Comte admits, a classification"will always involve something, if not arbitrary, at least artificial;"it is not, as he would have us believe, that, neglecting minorimperfections a classification may be substantially true; but it is thatany grouping of the sciences in a succession gives a radically erroneousidea of their genesis and their dependencies. There is no "one_rational_ order among a host of possible systems. " There is no "true_filiation_ of the sciences. " The whole hypothesis is fundamentallyfalse. Indeed, it needs but a glance at its origin to see at once howbaseless it is. Why a _series_? What reason have we to suppose that thesciences admit of a _linear_ arrangement? Where is our warrant forassuming that there is some _succession_ in which they can be placed?There is no reason; no warrant. Whence then has arisen the supposition?To use M. Comte's own phraseology, we should say, it is a metaphysicalconception. It adds another to the cases constantly occurring, of thehuman mind being made the measure of Nature. We are obliged to think insequence; it is the law of our minds that we must consider subjectsseparately, one after another: _therefore_ Nature must beserial--_therefore_ the sciences must be classifiable in a succession. See here the birth of the notion, and the sole evidence of its truth. Men have been obliged when arranging in books their schemes of educationand systems of knowledge, to choose _some_ order or other. And frominquiring what is the best order, have naturally fallen into the beliefthat there is an order which truly represents the facts--have perseveredin seeking such an order; quite overlooking the previous questionwhether it is likely that Nature has consulted the convenience ofbook-making. 

For German philosophers, who hold that Nature is "petrifiedintelligence, " and that logical forms are the foundations of all things, it is a consistent hypothesis that as thought is serial, Nature isserial; but that M. Comte, who is so bitter an opponent of allanthropomorphism, even in its most evanescent shapes, should havecommitted the mistake of imposing upon the external world an arrangementwhich so obviously springs from a limitation of the human consciousness, is somewhat strange. And it is the more strange when we call to mindhow, at the outset, M. Comte remarks that in the beginning "_toutes lessciences sont cultivées simultanément par les mêmes esprits_;" thatthis is "_inevitable et même indispensable_;" and how he further remarksthat the different sciences are "_comme les diverses branches d'un troncunique_. " Were it not accounted for by the distorting influence of acherished hypothesis, it would be scarcely possible to understand how, after recognising truths like these, M. Comte should have persisted inattempting to construct "_une échelle encyclopédique_. "

The metaphor which M. Comte has here so inconsistently used to expressthe relations of the sciences--branches of one trunk--is anapproximation to the truth, though not the truth itself. It suggests thefacts that the sciences had a common origin; that they have beendeveloping simultaneously; and that they have been from time to timedividing and subdividing. But it does not suggest the yet more importantfact, that the divisions and subdivisions thus arising do not remainseparate, but now and again reunite in direct and indirect ways. Theyinosculate; they severally send off and receive connecting growths; andthe intercommunion has been ever becoming more frequent, more intricate, more widely ramified. There has all along been higher specialisation, that there might be a larger generalisation; and a deeper analysis, thatthere might be a better synthesis. Each larger generalisation has liftedsundry specialisations still higher; and each better synthesis hasprepared the way for still deeper analysis. 

And here we may fitly enter upon the task awhile since indicated--asketch of the Genesis of Science, regarded as a gradual outgrowth fromcommon knowledge--an extension of the perceptions by the aid of thereason. We propose to treat it as a psychological process historicallydisplayed; tracing at the same time the advance from qualitative toquantitative prevision; the progress from concrete facts to abstractfacts, and the application of such abstract facts to the analysis of neworders of concrete facts; the simultaneous advance in generalisation andspecialisation; the continually increasing subdivision and reunion ofthe sciences; and their constantly improving _consensus_. 

To trace out scientific evolution from its deepest roots would, ofcourse, involve a complete analysis of the mind. For as science is adevelopment of that common knowledge acquired by the unaided senses anduncultured reason, so is that common knowledge itself gradually built upout of the simplest perceptions. We must, therefore, begin somewhereabruptly; and the most appropriate stage to take for our point ofdeparture will be the adult mind of the savage. 

Commencing thus, without a proper preliminary analysis, we are naturallysomewhat at a loss how to present, in a satisfactory manner, thosefundamental processes of thought out of which science ultimatelyoriginates. Perhaps our argument may be best initiated by theproposition, that all intelligent action whatever depends upon thediscerning of distinctions among surrounding things. The condition underwhich only it is possible for any creature to obtain food and avoiddanger is, that it shall be differently affected by differentobjects--that it shall be led to act in one way by one object, and inanother way by another. In the lower orders of creatures this conditionis fulfilled by means of an apparatus which acts automatically. In thehigher orders the actions are partly automatic, partly conscious. And inman they are almost wholly conscious. 

Throughout, however, there must necessarily exist a certainclassification of things according to their properties--a classificationwhich is either organically registered in the system, as in the inferiorcreation, or is formed by experience, as in ourselves. And it may befurther remarked, that the extent to which this classification iscarried, roughly indicates the height of intelligence--that while thelowest organisms are able to do little more than discriminate organicfrom inorganic matter; while the generality of animals carry theirclassifications no further than to a limited number of plants orcreatures serving for food, a limited number of beasts of prey, and alimited number of places and materials; the most degraded of the humanrace possess a knowledge of the distinctive natures of a great varietyof substances, plants, animals, tools, persons, etc. , not only asclasses but as individuals. 

What now is the mental process by which classification is effected?Manifestly it is a recognition of the _likeness_ or _unlikeness_ ofthings, either in respect of their sizes, colours, forms, weights, textures, tastes, etc. , or in respect of their modes of action. By somespecial mark, sound, or motion, the savage identifies a certainfour-legged creature he sees, as one that is good for food, and to becaught in a particular way; or as one that is dangerous; and actsaccordingly. He has classed together all the creatures that are _alike_in this particular. And manifestly in choosing the wood out of which toform his bow, the plant with which to poison his arrows, the bone fromwhich to make his fish-hooks, he identifies them through their chiefsensible properties as belonging to the general classes, wood, plant, and bone, but distinguishes them as belonging to sub-classes by virtueof certain properties in which they are _unlike_ the rest of the generalclasses they belong to; and so forms genera and species. 

And here it becomes manifest that not only is classification carried onby grouping together in the mind things that are _like_; but thatclasses and sub-classes are formed and arranged according to the_degrees of unlikeness_. Things widely contrasted are alonedistinguished in the lower stages of mental evolution; as may be any dayobserved in an infant. And gradually as the powers of discriminationincrease, the widely contrasted classes at first distinguished, come tobe each divided into sub-classes, differing from each other less thanthe classes differ; and these sub-classes are again divided after thesame manner. By the continuance of which process, things are graduallyarranged into groups, the members of which are less and less _unlike_;ending, finally, in groups whose members differ only as individuals, andnot specifically. And thus there tends ultimately to arise the notion of_complete likeness_. For, manifestly, it is impossible that groupsshould continue to be subdivided in virtue of smaller and smallerdifferences, without there being a simultaneous approximation to thenotion of _no difference_. 

Let us next notice that the recognition of likeness and unlikeness, which underlies classification, and out of which continuedclassification evolves the idea of complete likeness--let us next noticethat it also underlies the process of _naming_, and by consequence_language_. For all language consists, at the beginning, of symbolswhich are as _like_ to the things symbolised as it is practicable tomake them. The language of signs is a means of conveying ideas bymimicking the actions or peculiarities of the things referred to. Verballanguage is also, at the beginning, a mode of suggesting objects or actsby imitating the sounds which the objects make, or with which the actsare accompanied. Originally these two languages were usedsimultaneously. It needs but to watch the gesticulations with which thesavage accompanies his speech--to see a Bushman or a Kaffir dramatisingbefore an audience his mode of catching game--or to note the extremepaucity of words in all primitive vocabularies; to infer that at first, attitudes, gestures, and sounds, were all combined to produce as good a_likeness_ as possible, of the things, animals, persons, or eventsdescribed; and that as the sounds came to be understood by themselvesthe gestures fell into disuse: leaving traces, however, in the mannersof the more excitable civilised races. But be this as it may, itsuffices simply to observe, how many of the words current amongbarbarous peoples are like the sounds appertaining to the thingssignified; how many of our own oldest and simplest words have the samepeculiarity; how children tend to invent imitative words; and how thesign-language spontaneously formed by deaf mutes is invariably basedupon imitative actions--to at once see that the nation of _likeness_ isthat from which the nomenclature of objects takes its rise. 

Were there space we might go on to point out how this law of life istraceable, not only in the origin but in the development of language;how in primitive tongues the plural is made by a duplication of thesingular, which is a multiplication of the word to make it _like_ themultiplicity of the things; how the use of metaphor--that prolificsource of new words--is a suggesting of ideas that are _like_ the ideasto be conveyed in some respect or other; and how, in the copious use ofsimile, fable, and allegory among uncivilised races, we see that complexconceptions, which there is yet no direct language for, are rendered, bypresenting known conceptions more or less _like_ them. 

This view is further confirmed, and the predominance of this notion oflikeness in primitive times further illustrated, by the fact that oursystem of presenting ideas to the eye originated after the same fashion. Writing and printing have descended from picture-language. The earliestmode of permanently registering a fact was by depicting it on a wall;that is--by exhibiting something as _like_ to the thing to be rememberedas it could be made. Gradually as the practice grew habitual andextensive, the most frequently repeated forms became fixed, andpresently abbreviated; and, passing through the hieroglyphic andideographic phases, the symbols lost all apparent relations to thethings signified: just as the majority of our spoken words have done. 

Observe again, that the same thing is true respecting the genesis ofreasoning. The _likeness_ that is perceived to exist between cases, isthe essence of all early reasoning and of much of our present reasoning. The savage, having by experience discovered a relation between a certainobject and a certain act, infers that the _like_ relation will be foundin future cases. And the expressions we constantly use in ourarguments--"_analogy_ implies, " "the cases are not _parallel_, " "by_parity_ of reasoning, " "there is no _similarity_, "--show how constantlythe idea of likeness underlies our ratiocinative processes. 

Still more clearly will this be seen on recognising the fact that thereis a certain parallelism between reasoning and classification; that thetwo have a common root; and that neither can go on without the other. For on the one hand, it is a familiar truth that the attributing to abody in consequence of some of its properties, all those otherproperties in virtue of which it is referred to a particular class, isan act of inference. And, on the other hand, the forming of ageneralisation is the putting together in one class all those caseswhich present like relations; while the drawing a deduction isessentially the perception that a particular case belongs to a certainclass of cases previously generalised. So that as classification is agrouping together of _like things_; reasoning is a grouping together of_like relations_ among things. Add to which, that while the perfectiongradually achieved in classification consists in the formation of groupsof _objects_ which are _completely alike_; the perfection graduallyachieved in reasoning consists in the formation of groups of _cases_which are _completely alike_. 

Once more we may contemplate this dominant idea of likeness as exhibitedin art. All art, civilised as well as savage, consists almost wholly inthe making of objects _like_ other objects; either as found in Nature, or as produced by previous art. If we trace back the varied art-productsnow existing, we find that at each stage the divergence from previouspatterns is but small when compared with the agreement; and in theearliest art the persistency of imitation is yet more conspicuous. Theold forms and ornaments and symbols were held sacred, and perpetuallycopied. Indeed, the strong imitative tendency notoriously displayed bythe lowest human races, ensures among them a constant reproducing oflikeness of things, forms, signs, sounds, actions, and whatever else isimitable; and we may even suspect that this aboriginal peculiarity is insome way connected with the culture and development of this generalconception, which we have found so deep and widespread in itsapplications. 

And now let us go on to consider how, by a further unfolding of thissame fundamental notion, there is a gradual formation of the first germsof science. This idea of likeness which underlies classification, nomenclature, language spoken and written, reasoning, and art; and whichplays so important a part because all acts of intelligence are madepossible only by distinguishing among surrounding things, or groupingthem into like and unlike;--this idea we shall find to be the one ofwhich science is the especial product. Already during the stage we havebeen describing, there has existed _qualitative_ prevision in respect tothe commoner phenomena with which savage life is familiar; and we havenow to inquire how the elements of _quantitative_ prevision are evolved. We shall find that they originate by the perfecting of this same idea oflikeness; that they have their rise in that conception of _completelikeness_ which, as we have seen, necessarily results from the continuedprocess of classification. 

For when the process of classification has been carried as far as it ispossible for the uncivilised to carry it--when the animal kingdom hasbeen grouped not merely into quadrupeds, birds, fishes, and insects, buteach of these divided into kinds--when there come to be sub-classes, ineach of which the members differ only as individuals, and notspecifically; it is clear that there must occur a frequent observationof objects which differ so little as to be indistinguishable. Amongseveral creatures which the savage has killed and carried home, it mustoften happen that some one, which he wished to identify, is so exactlylike another that he cannot tell which is which. Thus, then, thereoriginates the notion of _equality_. The things which among ourselvesare called _equal_--whether lines, angles, weights, temperatures, soundsor colours--are things which produce in us sensations that cannot bedistinguished from each other. It is true we now apply the word _equal_chiefly to the separate phenomena which objects exhibit, and not togroups of phenomena; but this limitation of the idea has evidentlyarisen by subsequent analysis. And that the notion of equality did thusoriginate, will, we think, become obvious on remembering that as therewere no artificial objects from which it could have been abstracted, itmust have been abstracted from natural objects; and that the variousfamilies of the animal kingdom chiefly furnish those natural objectswhich display the requisite exactitude of likeness. 

The same order of experiences out of which this general idea of equalityis evolved, gives birth at the same time to a more complex idea ofequality; or, rather, the process just described generates an idea ofequality which further experience separates into two ideas--_equality ofthings_ and _equality of relations_. While organic, and more especiallyanimal forms, occasionally exhibit this perfection of likeness out ofwhich the notion of simple equality arises, they more frequentlyexhibit only that kind of likeness which we call _similarity_; and whichis really compound equality. For the similarity of two creatures of thesame species but of different sizes, is of the same nature as thesimilarity of two geometrical figures. In either case, any two parts ofthe one bear the same ratio to one another as the homologous parts ofthe other. Given in any species, the proportions found to exist amongthe bones, and we may, and zoologists do, predict from any one, thedimensions of the rest; just as, when knowing the proportions subsistingamong the parts of a geometrical figure, we may, from the length of one, calculate the others. And if, in the case of similar geometricalfigures, the similarity can be established only by proving exactness ofproportion among the homologous parts; if we express this relationbetween two parts in the one, and the corresponding parts in the other, by the formula A is to B as _a_ is to _b_; if we otherwise write this, Ato B = _a_ to _b_; if, consequently, the fact we prove is that therelation of A to B _equals_ the relation of _a_ to _b_; then it ismanifest that the fundamental conception of similarity is _equality ofrelations_. 

With this explanation we shall be understood when we say that the notionof equality of relations is the basis of all exact reasoning. Already ithas been shown that reasoning in general is a recognition of _likeness_of relations; and here we further find that while the notion of likenessof things ultimately evolves the idea of simple equality, the notion oflikeness of relations evolves the idea of equality of relations: ofwhich the one is the concrete germ of exact science, while the other isits abstract germ. 

Those who cannot understand how the recognition of similarity increatures of the same kind can have any alliance with reasoning, willget over the difficulty on remembering that the phenomena among whichequality of relations is thus perceived, are phenomena of the same orderand are present to the senses at the same time; while those among whichdeveloped reason perceives relations, are generally neither of the sameorder, nor simultaneously present. And if further, they will call tomind how Cuvier and Owen, from a single part of a creature, as a tooth, construct the rest by a process of reasoning based on this equality ofrelations, they will see that the two things are intimately connected, remote as they at first seem. But we anticipate. What it concerns ushere to observe is, that from familiarity with organic forms theresimultaneously arose the ideas of _simple equality_, and _equality ofrelations_. 

At the same time, too, and out of the same mental processes, came thefirst distinct ideas of _number_. In the earliest stages, thepresentation of several like objects produced merely an indefiniteconception of multiplicity; as it still does among Australians, andBushmen, and Damaras, when the number presented exceeds three or four. With such a fact before us we may safely infer that the first clearnumerical conception was that of duality as contrasted with unity. Andthis notion of duality must necessarily have grown up side by side withthose of likeness and equality; seeing that it is impossible torecognise the likeness of two things without also perceiving that thereare two. From the very beginning the conception of number must have beenas it is still, associated with the likeness or equality of the thingsnumbered. If we analyse it, we find that simple enumeration is aregistration of repeated impressions of any kind. That these may becapable of enumeration it is needful that they be more or less alike;and before any _absolutely true_ numerical results can be reached, it isrequisite that the units be _absolutely equal_. The only way in which wecan establish a numerical relationship between things that do not yieldus like impressions, is to divide them into parts that _do_ yield uslike impressions. Two unlike magnitudes of extension, force, time, weight, or what not, can have their relative amounts estimated only bymeans of some small unit that is contained many times in both; and evenif we finally write down the greater one as a unit and the other as afraction of it, we state, in the denominator of the fraction, the numberof parts into which the unit must be divided to be comparable with thefraction. 

It is, indeed, true, that by an evidently modern process of abstraction, we occasionally apply numbers to unequal units, as the furniture at asale or the various animals on a farm, simply as so many separateentities; but no true result can be brought out by calculation withunits of this order. And, indeed, it is the distinctive peculiarity ofthe calculus in general, that it proceeds on the hypothesis of thatabsolute equality of its abstract units, which no real units possess;and that the exactness of its results holds only in virtue of thishypothesis. The first ideas of number must necessarily then have beenderived from like or equal magnitudes as seen chiefly in organicobjects; and as the like magnitudes most frequently observed magnitudesof extension, it follows that geometry and arithmetic had asimultaneous origin. 

Not only are the first distinct ideas of number co-ordinate with ideasof likeness and equality, but the first efforts at numeration displayedthe same relationship. On reading the accounts of various savage tribes, we find that the method of counting by the fingers, still followed bymany children, is the aboriginal method. Neglecting the several cases inwhich the ability to enumerate does not reach even to the number offingers on one hand, there are many cases in which it does not extendbeyond ten--the limit of the simple finger notation. The fact that in somany instances, remote, and seemingly unrelated nations, have adopted_ten_ as their basic number; together with the fact that in theremaining instances the basic number is either _five_ (the fingers ofone hand) or _twenty_ (the fingers and toes); almost of themselves showthat the fingers were the original units of numeration. The stillsurviving use of the word _digit_, as the general name for a figure inarithmetic, is significant; and it is even said that our word _ten_(Sax. _tyn_; Dutch, _tien_; German, _zehn_) means in its primitiveexpanded form _two hands_. So that originally, to say there were tenthings, was to say there were two hands of them. 

From all which evidence it is tolerably clear that the earliest mode ofconveying the idea of any number of things, was by holding up as manyfingers as there were things; that is--using a symbol which was _equal_, in respect of multiplicity, to the group symbolised. For which inferencethere is, indeed, strong confirmation in the recent statement that ourown soldiers are even now spontaneously adopting this device in theirdealings with the Turks. And here it should be remarked that in thisrecombination of the notion of equality with that of multiplicity, bywhich the first steps in numeration are effected, we may see one of theearliest of those inosculations between the diverging branches ofscience, which are afterwards of perpetual occurrence. 

Indeed, as this observation suggests, it will be well, before tracingthe mode in which exact science finally emerges from the merelyapproximate judgments of the senses, and showing the non-serialevolution of its divisions, to note the non-serial character of thosepreliminary processes of which all after development is a continuation. On reconsidering them it will be seen that not only are they divergentgrowths from a common root, not only are they simultaneous in theirprogress; but that they are mutual aids; and that none can advancewithout the rest. That completeness of classification for which theunfolding of the perceptions paves the way, is impossible without acorresponding progress in language, by which greater varieties ofobjects are thinkable and expressible. On the one hand it is impossibleto carry classification far without names by which to designate theclasses; and on the other hand it is impossible to make language fasterthan things are classified. 

Again, the multiplication of classes and the consequent narrowing ofeach class, itself involves a greater likeness among the things classedtogether; and the consequent approach towards the notion of completelikeness itself allows classification to be carried higher. Moreover, classification necessarily advances _pari passu_ with rationality--theclassification of _things_ with the classification of _relations_. Forthings that belong to the same class are, by implication, things ofwhich the properties and modes of behaviour--the co-existences andsequences--are more or less the same; and the recognition of thissameness of co-existences and sequences is reasoning. Whence it followsthat the advance of classification is necessarily proportionate to theadvance of generalisations. Yet further, the notion of _likeness_, bothin things and relations, simultaneously evolves by one process ofculture the ideas of _equality_ of things and _equality_ of relations;which are the respective bases of exact concrete reasoning and exactabstract reasoning--Mathematics and Logic. And once more, this idea ofequality, in the very process of being formed, necessarily gives originto two series of relations--those of magnitude and those of number: fromwhich arise geometry and the calculus. Thus the process throughout isone of perpetual subdivision and perpetual intercommunication of thedivisions. From the very first there has been that _consensus_ ofdifferent kinds of knowledge, answering to the _consensus_ of theintellectual faculties, which, as already said, must exist among thesciences. 

Let us now go on to observe how, out of the notions of _equality_ and_number_, as arrived at in the manner described, there gradually arosethe elements of quantitative prevision. 

Equality, once having come to be definitely conceived, was readilyapplicable to other phenomena than those of magnitude. Being predicableof all things producing indistinguishable impressions, there naturallygrew up ideas of equality in weights, sounds, colours, etc. ; and indeedit can scarcely be doubted that the occasional experience of equalweights, sounds, and colours, had a share in developing the abstractconception of equality--that the ideas of equality in size, relations, forces, resistances, and sensible properties in general, were evolvedduring the same period. But however this may be, it is clear that asfast as the notion of equality gained definiteness, so fast did thatlowest kind of quantitative prevision which is achieved without anyinstrumental aid, become possible. 

The ability to estimate, however roughly, the amount of a foreseenresult, implies the conception that it will be _equal to_ a certainimagined quantity; and the correctness of the estimate will manifestlydepend upon the accuracy at which the perceptions of sensible equalityhave arrived. A savage with a piece of stone in his hand, and anotherpiece lying before him of greater bulk of the same kind (a fact which heinfers from the _equality_ of the two in colour and texture) knows aboutwhat effort he must put forth to raise this other piece; and he judgesaccurately in proportion to the accuracy with which he perceives thatthe one is twice, three times, four times, etc. , as large as the other;that is--in proportion to the precision of his ideas of equality andnumber. And here let us not omit to notice that even in these vaguest ofquantitative previsions, the conception of _equality of relations_ isalso involved. For it is only in virtue of an undefined perception thatthe relation between bulk and weight in the one stone is _equal_ to therelation between bulk and weight in the other, that even the roughestapproximation can be made. 

But how came the transition from those uncertain perceptions of equalitywhich the unaided senses give, to the certain ones with which sciencedeals? It came by placing the things compared in juxtaposition. Equalitybeing predicated of things which give us indistinguishable impressions, and no accurate comparison of impressions being possible unless theyoccur in immediate succession, it results that exactness of equality isascertainable in proportion to the closeness of the compared things. Hence the fact that when we wish to judge of two shades of colourwhether they are alike or not, we place them side by side; hence thefact that we cannot, with any precision, say which of two allied soundsis the louder, or the higher in pitch, unless we hear the oneimmediately after the other; hence the fact that to estimate the ratioof weights, we take one in each hand, that we may compare theirpressures by rapidly alternating in thought from the one to the other;hence the fact, that in a piece of music we can continue to make equalbeats when the first beat has been given, but cannot ensure commencingwith the same length of beat on a future occasion; and hence, lastly, the fact, that of all magnitudes, those of _linear extension_ are thoseof which the equality is most accurately ascertainable, and those towhich by consequence all others have to be reduced. For it is thepeculiarity of linear extension that it alone allows its magnitudes tobe placed in _absolute_ juxtaposition, or, rather, in coincidentposition; it alone can test the equality of two magnitudes by observingwhether they will coalesce, as two equal mathematical lines do, whenplaced between the same points; it alone can test _equality_ by tryingwhether it will become _identity_. Hence, then, the fact, that all exactscience is reducible, by an ultimate analysis, to results measured inequal units of linear extension. 

Still it remains to be noticed in what manner this determination ofequality by comparison of linear magnitudes originated. Once more may weperceive that surrounding natural objects supplied the needful lessons. From the beginning there must have been a constant experience of likethings placed side by side--men standing and walking together; animalsfrom the same herd; fish from the same shoal. And the ceaselessrepetition of these experiences could not fail to suggest theobservation, that the nearer together any objects were, the more visiblebecame any inequality between them. Hence the obvious device of puttingin apposition things of which it was desired to ascertain the relativemagnitudes. Hence the idea of _measure_. And here we suddenly come upona group of facts which afford a solid basis to the remainder of ourargument; while they also furnish strong evidence in support of theforegoing speculations. Those who look sceptically on this attemptedrehabilitation of the earliest epochs of mental development, and whomore especially think that the derivation of so many primary notionsfrom organic forms is somewhat strained, will perhaps see moreprobability in the several hypotheses that have been ventured, ondiscovering that all measures of _extension_ and _force_ originated fromthe lengths and weights of organic bodies; and all measures of _time_from the periodic phenomena of either organic or inorganic bodies. 

Thus, among linear measures, the cubit of the Hebrews was the _length ofthe forearm_ from the elbow to the end of the middle finger; and thesmaller scriptural dimensions are expressed in _hand-breadths_ and_spans_. The Egyptian cubit, which was similarly derived, was dividedinto digits, which were _finger-breadths_; and each finger-breadth wasmore definitely expressed as being equal to four _grains of barley_placed breadthwise. Other ancient measures were the orgyia or _stretchof the arms_, the _pace_, and the _palm_. So persistent has been the useof these natural units of length in the East, that even now some of theArabs mete out cloth by the forearm. So, too, is it with Europeanmeasures. The _foot_ prevails as a dimension throughout Europe, and hasdone since the time of the Romans, by whom, also, it was used: itslengths in different places varying not much more than men's feet vary. The heights of horses are still expressed in _hands_. The inch is thelength of the terminal joint of _the thumb_; as is clearly shown inFrance, where _pouce_ means both thumb and inch. Then we have the inchdivided into three _barley-corns_. 

So completely, indeed, have these organic dimensions served as thesubstrata of all mensuration, that it is only by means of them that wecan form any estimate of some of the ancient distances. For example, thelength of a degree on the Earth's surface, as determined by the Arabianastronomers shortly after the death of Haroun-al-Raschid, was fifty-sixof their miles. We know nothing of their mile further than that it was4000 cubits; and whether these were sacred cubits or common cubits, would remain doubtful, but that the length of the cubit is given astwenty-seven inches, and each inch defined as the thickness of sixbarley-grains. Thus one of the earliest measurements of a degree comesdown to us in barley-grains. Not only did organic lengths furnish thoseapproximate measures which satisfied men's needs in ruder ages, but theyfurnished also the standard measures required in later times. Oneinstance occurs in our own history. To remedy the irregularities thenprevailing, Henry I. Commanded that the ulna, or ancient ell, whichanswers to the modern yard, should be made of the exact length of _hisown arm_. 

Measures of weight again had a like derivation. Seeds seem commonly tohave supplied the unit. The original of the carat used for weighing inIndia is _a small bean_. Our own systems, both troy and avoirdupois, arederived primarily from wheat-corns. Our smallest weight, the grain, is_a grain of wheat_. This is not a speculation; it is an historicallyregistered fact. Henry III. Enacted that an ounce should be the weightof 640 dry grains of wheat from the middle of the ear. And as all theother weights are multiples or sub-multiples of this, it follows thatthe grain of wheat is the basis of our scale. So natural is it to useorganic bodies as weights, before artificial weights have beenestablished, or where they are not to be had, that in some of theremoter parts of Ireland the people are said to be in the habit, evennow, of putting a man into the scales to serve as a measure for heavycommodities. 

Similarly with time. Astronomical periodicity, and the periodicity ofanimal and vegetable life, are simultaneously used in the first stagesof progress for estimating epochs. The simplest unit of time, the day, nature supplies ready made. The next simplest period, the mooneth ormonth, is also thrust upon men's notice by the conspicuous changesconstituting a lunation. For larger divisions than these, the phenomenaof the seasons, and the chief events from time to time occurring, havebeen used by early and uncivilised races. Among the Egyptians the risingof the Nile served as a mark. The New Zealanders were found to begintheir year from the reappearance of the Pleiades above the sea. One ofthe uses ascribed to birds, by the Greeks, was to indicate the seasonsby their migrations. Barrow describes the aboriginal Hottentot asdenoting periods by the number of moons before or after the ripening ofone of his chief articles of food. He further states that the Kaffirchronology is kept by the moon, and is registered by notches onsticks--the death of a favourite chief, or the gaining of a victory, serving for a new era. By which last fact, we are at once reminded thatin early history, events are commonly recorded as occurring in certainreigns, and in certain years of certain reigns: a proceeding whichpractically made a king's reign a measure of duration. 

And, as further illustrating the tendency to divide time by naturalphenomena and natural events, it may be noticed that even by our ownpeasantry the definite divisions of months and years are but littleused; and that they habitually refer to occurrences as "beforesheep-shearing, " or "after harvest, " or "about the time when the squiredied. " It is manifest, therefore, that the more or less equal periodsperceived in Nature gave the first units of measure for time; as didNature's more or less equal lengths and weights give the first units ofmeasure for space and force. 

It remains only to observe, as further illustrating the evolution ofquantitative ideas after this manner, that measures of value weresimilarly derived. Barter, in one form or other, is found among all butthe very lowest human races. It is obviously based upon the notion of_equality of worth_. And as it gradually merges into trade by theintroduction of some kind of currency, we find that the _measures ofworth_, constituting this currency, are organic bodies; in some cases_cowries_, in others _cocoa-nuts_, in others _cattle_, in others _pigs_;among the American Indians peltry or _skins_, and in Iceland _driedfish_. 

Notions of exact equality and of measure having been reached, there cameto be definite ideas of relative magnitudes as being multiples one ofanother; whence the practice of measurement by direct apposition of ameasure. The determination of linear extensions by this process canscarcely be called science, though it is a step towards it; but thedetermination of lengths of time by an analogous process may beconsidered as one of the earliest samples of quantitative prevision. Forwhen it is first ascertained that the moon completes the cycle of herchanges in about thirty days--a fact known to most uncivilised tribesthat can count beyond the number of their fingers--it is manifest thatit becomes possible to say in what number of days any specified phase ofthe moon will recur; and it is also manifest that this prevision iseffected by an opposition of two times, after the same manner thatlinear space is measured by the opposition of two lines. For to expressthe moon's period in days, is to say how many of these units of measureare contained in the period to be measured--is to ascertain the distancebetween two points in time by means of a _scale of days_, just as weascertain the distance between two points in space by a scale of feet orinches: and in each case the scale coincides with the thingmeasured--mentally in the one; visibly in the other. So that in thissimplest, and perhaps earliest case of quantitative prevision, thephenomena are not only thrust daily upon men's notice, but Nature is, asit were, perpetually repeating that process of measurement by observingwhich the prevision is effected. And thus there may be significance inthe remark which some have made, that alike in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, there is an affinity between the word meaning moon, and that meaningmeasure. 

This fact, that in very early stages of social progress it is known thatthe moon goes through her changes in about thirty days, and that inabout twelve moons the seasons return--this fact that chronologicalastronomy assumes a certain scientific character even before geometrydoes; while it is partly due to the circumstance that the astronomicaldivisions, day, month, and year, are ready made for us, is partly due tothe further circumstances that agricultural and other operations were atfirst regulated astronomically, and that from the supposed divinenature of the heavenly bodies their motions determined the periodicalreligious festivals. As instances of the one we have the observation ofthe Egyptians, that the rising of the Nile corresponded with theheliacal rising of Sirius; the directions given by Hesiod for reapingand ploughing, according to the positions of the Pleiades; and his maximthat "fifty days after the turning of the sun is a seasonable time forbeginning a voyage. " As instances of the other, we have the naming ofthe days after the sun, moon, and planets; the early attempts amongEastern nations to regulate the calendar so that the gods might not beoffended by the displacement of their sacrifices; and the fixing of thegreat annual festival of the Peruvians by the position of the sun. Inall which facts we see that, at first, science was simply an applianceof religion and industry. 

After the discoveries that a lunation occupies nearly thirty days, andthat some twelve lunations occupy a year--discoveries of which there isno historical account, but which may be inferred as the earliest, fromthe fact that existing uncivilised races have made them--we come to thefirst known astronomical records, which are those of eclipses. TheChaldeans were able to predict these. "This they did, probably, " saysDr. Whewell in his useful history, from which most of the materials weare about to use will be drawn, "by means of their cycle of 223 months, or about eighteen years; for at the end of this time, the eclipses ofthe moon begin to return, at the same intervals and in the same order asat the beginning. " Now this method of calculating eclipses by means of arecurring cycle, --the _Saros_ as they called it--is a more complex caseof prevision by means of coincidence of measures. For by whatobservations must the Chaldeans have discovered this cycle? Obviously, as Delambre infers, by inspecting their registers; by comparing thesuccessive intervals; by finding that some of the intervals were alike;by seeing that these equal intervals were eighteen years apart; bydiscovering that _all_ the intervals that were eighteen years apart wereequal; by ascertaining that the intervals formed a series which repeateditself, so that if one of the cycles of intervals were superposed onanother the divisions would fit. This once perceived, and it manifestlybecame possible to use the cycle as a scale of time by which to measureout future periods. Seeing thus that the process of so predictingeclipses is in essence the same as that of predicting the moon's monthlychanges, by observing the number of days after which they repeat--seeingthat the two differ only in the extent and irregularity of theintervals, it is not difficult to understand how such an amount ofknowledge should so early have been reached. And we shall be lesssurprised, on remembering that the only things involved in theseprevisions were _time_ and _number_; and that the time was in a mannerself-numbered. 

Still, the ability to predict events recurring only after so long aperiod as eighteen years, implies a considerable advance incivilisation--a considerable development of general knowledge; and wehave now to inquire what progress in other sciences accompanied, and wasnecessary to, these astronomical previsions. In the first place, theremust clearly have been a tolerably efficient system of calculation. Merefinger-counting, mere head-reckoning, even with the aid of a regulardecimal notation, could not have sufficed for numbering the days in ayear; much less the years, months, and days between eclipses. Consequently there must have been a mode of registering numbers;probably even a system of numerals. The earliest numerical records, ifwe may judge by the practices of the less civilised races now existing, were probably kept by notches cut on sticks, or strokes marked on walls;much as public-house scores are kept now. And there seems reason tobelieve that the first numerals used were simply groups of straightstrokes, as some of the still-extant Roman ones are; leading us tosuspect that these groups of strokes were used to represent groups offingers, as the groups of fingers had been used to represent groups ofobjects--a supposition quite in conformity with the aboriginal system ofpicture writing and its subsequent modifications. Be this so or not, however, it is manifest that before the Chaldeans discovered their_Saros_, there must have been both a set of written symbols serving foran extensive numeration, and a familiarity with the simpler rules ofarithmetic. 

Not only must abstract mathematics have made some progress, but concretemathematics also. It is scarcely possible that the buildings belongingto this era should have been laid out and erected without any knowledgeof geometry. At any rate, there must have existed that elementarygeometry which deals with direct measurement--with the apposition oflines; and it seems that only after the discovery of those simpleproceedings, by which right angles are drawn, and relative positionsfixed, could so regular an architecture be executed. In the case of theother division of concrete mathematics--mechanics, we have definiteevidence of progress. We know that the lever and the inclined plane wereemployed during this period: implying that there was a qualitativeprevision of their effects, though not a quantitative one. But we knowmore. We read of weights in the earliest records; and we find weights inruins of the highest antiquity. Weights imply scales, of which we havealso mention; and scales involve the primary theorem of mechanics in itsleast complicated form--involve not a qualitative but a quantitativeprevision of mechanical effects. And here we may notice how mechanics, in common with the other exact sciences, took its rise from the simplestapplication of the idea of _equality_. For the mechanical propositionwhich the scales involve, is, that if a lever with _equal_ arms, have_equal_ weights suspended from them, the weights will remain at _equal_altitudes. And we may further notice how, in this first step of rationalmechanics, we see illustrated that truth awhile since referred to, thatas magnitudes of linear extension are the only ones of which theequality is exactly ascertainable, the equalities of other magnitudeshave at the outset to be determined by means of them. For the equalityof the weights which balance each other in scales, wholly depends uponthe equality of the arms: we can know that the weights are equal only byproving that the arms are equal. And when by this means we have obtaineda system of weights, --a set of equal units of force, then does a scienceof mechanics become possible. Whence, indeed, it follows, that rationalmechanics could not possibly have any other starting-point than thescales. 

Let us further remember, that during this same period there was alimited knowledge of chemistry. The many arts which we know to have beencarried on must have been impossible without a generalised experience ofthe modes in which certain bodies affect each other under specialconditions. In metallurgy, which was extensively practised, this isabundantly illustrated. And we even have evidence that in some cases theknowledge possessed was, in a sense, quantitative. For, as we find byanalysis that the hard alloy of which the Egyptians made their cuttingtools, was composed of copper and tin in fixed proportions, there musthave been an established prevision that such an alloy was to be obtainedonly by mixing them in these proportions. It is true, this was but asimple empirical generalisation; but so was the generalisationrespecting the recurrence of eclipses; so are the first generalisationsof every science. 

Respecting the simultaneous advance of the sciences during this earlyepoch, it only remains to remark that even the most complex of themmust have made some progress--perhaps even a greater relative progressthan any of the rest. For under what conditions only were the foregoingdevelopments possible? There first required an established and organisedsocial system. A long continued registry of eclipses; the building ofpalaces; the use of scales; the practice of metallurgy--alike imply afixed and populous nation. The existence of such a nation not onlypresupposes laws, and some administration of justice, which we knowexisted, but it presupposes successful laws--laws conforming in somedegree to the conditions of social stability--laws enacted because itwas seen that the actions forbidden by them were dangerous to the State. We do not by any means say that all, or even the greater part, of thelaws were of this nature; but we do say, that the fundamental ones were. It cannot be denied that the laws affecting life and property were such. It cannot be denied that, however little these were enforced betweenclass and class, they were to a considerable extent enforced betweenmembers of the same class. It can scarcely be questioned, that theadministration of them between members of the same class was seen byrulers to be necessary for keeping their subjects together. And knowing, as we do, that, other things equal, nations prosper in proportion to thejustness of their arrangements, we may fairly infer that the very causeof the advance of these earliest nations out of aboriginal barbarism wasthe greater recognition among them of the claims to life and property. 

But supposition aside, it is clear that the habitual recognition ofthese claims in their laws implied some prevision of social phenomena. Even thus early there was a certain amount of social science. Nay, itmay even be shown that there was a vague recognition of that fundamentalprinciple on which all the true social science is based--the equalrights of all to the free exercise of their faculties. That same idea of_equality_ which, as we have seen, underlies all other science, underlies also morals and sociology. The conception of justice, which isthe primary one in morals; and the administration of justice, which isthe vital condition of social existence; are impossible without therecognition of a certain likeness in men's claims in virtue of theircommon humanity. _Equity_ literally means _equalness_; and if it beadmitted that there were even the vaguest ideas of equity in theseprimitive eras, it must be admitted that there was some appreciation ofthe equalness of men's liberties to pursue the objects of life--someappreciation, therefore, of the essential principle of nationalequilibrium. 

Thus in this initial stage of the positive sciences, before geometry hadyet done more than evolve a few empirical rules--before mechanics hadpassed beyond its first theorem--before astronomy had advanced from itsmerely chronological phase into the geometrical; the most involved ofthe sciences had reached a certain degree of development--a developmentwithout which no progress in other sciences was possible. 

Only noting as we pass, how, thus early, we may see that the progress ofexact science was not only towards an increasing number of previsions, but towards previsions more accurately quantitative--how, in astronomy, the recurring period of the moon's motions was by and by more correctlyascertained to be nineteen years, or two hundred and thirty-fivelunations; how Callipus further corrected this Metonic cycle, by leavingout a day at the end of every seventy-six years; and how thesesuccessive advances implied a longer continued registry of observations, and the co-ordination of a greater number of facts--let us go on toinquire how geometrical astronomy took its rise. 

The first astronomical instrument was the gnomon. This was not onlyearly in use in the East, but it was found also among the Mexicans; thesole astronomical observations of the Peruvians were made by it; and weread that 1100 B. C. , the Chinese found that, at a certain place, thelength of the sun's shadow, at the summer solstice, was to the height ofthe gnomon as one and a half to eight. Here again it is observable, notonly that the instrument is found ready made, but that Nature isperpetually performing the process of measurement. Any fixed, erectobject--a column, a dead palm, a pole, the angle of a building--servesfor a gnomon; and it needs but to notice the changing position of theshadow it daily throws to make the first step in geometrical astronomy. How small this first step was, may be seen in the fact that the onlythings ascertained at the outset were the periods of the summer andwinter solstices, which corresponded with the least and greatest lengthsof the mid-shadow; and to fix which, it was needful merely to mark thepoint to which each day's shadow reached. 

And now let it not be overlooked that in the observing at what timeduring the next year this extreme limit of the shadow was again reached, and in the inference that the sun had then arrived at the same turningpoint in his annual course, we have one of the simplest instances ofthat combined use of _equal magnitudes_ and _equal relations_, by whichall exact science, all quantitative prevision, is reached. For therelation observed was between the length of the sun's shadow and hisposition in the heavens; and the inference drawn was that when, nextyear, the extremity of his shadow came to the same point, he occupiedthe same place. That is, the ideas involved were, the equality of theshadows, and the equality of the relations between shadow and sun insuccessive years. As in the case of the scales, the equality ofrelations here recognised is of the simplest order. It is not as thosehabitually dealt with in the higher kinds of scientific reasoning, whichanswer to the general type--the relation between two and three equalsthe relation between six and nine; but it follows the type--the relationbetween two and three, equals the relation between two and three; it isa case of not simply _equal_ relations, but _coinciding_ relations. Andhere, indeed, we may see beautifully illustrated how the idea of equalrelations takes its rise after the same manner that that of equalmagnitude does. As already shown, the idea of equal magnitudes arosefrom the observed coincidence of two lengths placed together; and inthis case we have not only two coincident lengths of shadows, but twocoincident relations between sun and shadows. 

From the use of the gnomon there naturally grew up the conception ofangular measurements; and with the advance of geometrical conceptionsthere came the hemisphere of Berosus, the equinoctial armil, thesolstitial armil, and the quadrant of Ptolemy--all of them employingshadows as indices of the sun's position, but in combination withangular divisions. It is obviously out of the question for us here totrace these details of progress. It must suffice to remark that in allof them we may see that notion of equality of relations of a morecomplex kind, which is best illustrated in the astrolabe, an instrumentwhich consisted "of circular rims, movable one within the other, orabout poles, and contained circles which were to be brought into theposition of the ecliptic, and of a plane passing through the sun and thepoles of the ecliptic"--an instrument, therefore, which represented, asby a model, the relative positions of certain imaginary lines and planesin the heavens; which was adjusted by putting these representative linesand planes into parallelism and coincidence with the celestial ones; andwhich depended for its use upon the perception that the relationsbetween these representative lines and planes were _equal_ to therelations between those represented. 

Were there space, we might go on to point out how the conception of theheavens as a revolving hollow sphere, the discovery of the globular formof the earth, the explanation of the moon's phases, and indeed all thesuccessive steps taken, involved this same mental process. But we mustcontent ourselves with referring to the theory of eccentrics andepicycles, as a further marked illustration of it. As first suggested, and as proved by Hipparchus to afford an explanation of the leadingirregularities in the celestial motions, this theory involved theperception that the progressions, retrogressions, and variations ofvelocity seen in the heavenly bodies, might be reconciled with theirassumed uniform movement in circles, by supposing that the earth was notin the centre of their orbits; or by supposing that they revolved incircles whose centres revolved round the earth; or by both. Thediscovery that this would account for the appearances, was the discoverythat in certain geometrical diagrams the relations were such, that theuniform motion of a point would, when looked at from a particularposition, present analogous irregularities; and the calculations ofHipparchus involved the belief that the relations subsisting among thesegeometrical curves were _equal_ to the relations subsisting among thecelestial orbits. 

Leaving here these details of astronomical progress, and the philosophyof it, let us observe how the relatively concrete science of geometricalastronomy, having been thus far helped forward by the development ofgeometry in general, reacted upon geometry, caused it also to advance, and was again assisted by it. Hipparchus, before making his solar andlunar tables, had to discover rules for calculating the relationsbetween the sides and angles of triangles--_trigonometry_ a subdivisionof pure mathematics. Further, the reduction of the doctrine of thesphere to the quantitative form needed for astronomical purposes, required the formation of a _spherical trigonometry_, which was alsoachieved by Hipparchus. Thus both plane and spherical trigonometry, which are parts of the highly abstract and simple science of extension, remained undeveloped until the less abstract and more complex science ofthe celestial motions had need of them. The fact admitted by M. Comte, that since Descartes the progress of the abstract division ofmathematics has been determined by that of the concrete division, isparalleled by the still more significant fact that even thus early theprogress of mathematics was determined by that of astronomy. 

And here, indeed, we may see exemplified the truth, which the subsequenthistory of science frequently illustrates, that before any moreabstract division makes a further advance, some more concrete divisionmust suggest the necessity for that advance--must present the new orderof questions to be solved. Before astronomy presented Hipparchus withthe problem of solar tables, there was nothing to raise the question ofthe relations between lines and angles; the subject-matter oftrigonometry had not been conceived. And as there must be subject-matterbefore there can be investigation, it follows that the progress of theconcrete divisions is as necessary to that of the abstract, as theprogress of the abstract to that of the concrete. 

Just incidentally noticing the circumstance that the epoch we aredescribing witnessed the evolution of algebra, a comparatively abstractdivision of mathematics, by the union of its less abstract divisions, geometry and arithmetic--a fact proved by the earliest extant samples ofalgebra, which are half algebraic, half geometric--we go on to observethat during the era in which mathematics and astronomy were thusadvancing, rational mechanics made its second step; and something wasdone towards giving a quantitative form to hydrostatics, optics, andharmonics. In each case we shall see, as before, how the idea ofequality underlies all quantitative prevision; and in what simple formsthis idea is first applied. 

As already shown, the first theorem established in mechanics was, thatequal weights suspended from a lever with equal arms would remain inequilibrium. Archimedes discovered that a lever with unequal arms was inequilibrium when one weight was to its arm as the other arm to itsweight; that is--when the numerical relation between one weight and itsarm was _equal_ to the numerical relation between the other arm and itsweight. 

The first advance made in hydrostatics, which we also owe to Archimedes, was the discovery that fluids press _equally_ in all directions; andfrom this followed the solution of the problem of floating bodies:namely, that they are in equilibrium when the upward and downwardpressures are _equal_. 

In optics, again, the Greeks found that the angle of incidence is_equal_ to the angle of reflection; and their knowledge reached nofurther than to such simple deductions from this as their geometrysufficed for. In harmonics they ascertained the fact that three stringsof _equal_ lengths would yield the octave, fifth and fourth, whenstrained by weights having certain definite ratios; and they did notprogress much beyond this. In the one of which cases we see geometryused in elucidation of the laws of light; and in the other, geometry andarithmetic made to measure the phenomena of sound. 

Did space permit, it would be desirable here to describe the state ofthe less advanced sciences--to point out how, while a few had thusreached the first stages of quantitative prevision, the rest wereprogressing in qualitative prevision--how some small generalisationswere made respecting evaporation, and heat, and electricity, andmagnetism, which, empirical as they were, did not in that respect differfrom the first generalisations of every science--how the Greekphysicians had made advances in physiology and pathology, which, considering the great imperfection of our present knowledge, are by nomeans to be despised--how zoology had been so far systematised byAristotle, as, to some extent, enabled him from the presence of certainorgans to predict the presence of others--how in Aristotle's _Politics_there is some progress towards a scientific conception of socialphenomena, and sundry previsions respecting them--and how in the stateof the Greek societies, as well as in the writings of Greekphilosophers, we may recognise not only an increasing clearness in thatconception of equity on which the social science is based, but also someappreciation of the fact that social stability depends upon themaintenance of equitable regulations. We might dwell at length upon thecauses which retarded the development of some of the sciences, as, forexample, chemistry; showing that relative complexity had nothing to dowith it--that the oxidation of a piece of iron is a simpler phenomenonthan the recurrence of eclipses, and the discovery of carbonic acid lessdifficult than that of the precession of the equinoxes--but that therelatively slow advance of chemical knowledge was due, partly to thefact that its phenomena were not daily thrust on men's notice as thoseof astronomy were; partly to the fact that Nature does not habituallysupply the means, and suggest the modes of investigation, as in thesciences dealing with time, extension, and force; and partly to the factthat the great majority of the materials with which chemistry deals, instead of being ready to hand, are made known only by the arts in theirslow growth; and partly to the fact that even when known, their chemicalproperties are not self-exhibited, but have to be sought out byexperiment. 

Merely indicating all these considerations, however, let us go on tocontemplate the progress and mutual influence of the sciences in moderndays; only parenthetically noticing how, on the revival of thescientific spirit, the successive stages achieved exhibit the dominanceof the same law hitherto traced--how the primary idea in dynamics, auniform force, was defined by Galileo to be a force which generates_equal_ velocities in _equal_ successive times--how the uniform actionof gravity was first experimentally determined by showing that the timeelapsing before a body thrown up, stopped, was _equal_ to the time ittook to fall--how the first fact in compound motion which Galileoascertained was, that a body projected horizontally will have a uniformmotion onwards and a uniformly accelerated motion downwards; that is, will describe _equal_ horizontal spaces in _equal_ times, compoundedwith _equal_ vertical increments in _equal_ times--how his discoveryrespecting the pendulum was, that its oscillations occupy _equal_intervals of time whatever their length--how the principle of virtualvelocities which he established is, that in any machine the weights thatbalance each other are reciprocally as their virtual velocities; thatis, the relation of one set of weights to their velocities _equals_ therelation of the other set of velocities to their weights; and how thushis achievements consisted in showing the equalities of certainmagnitudes and relations, whose equalities had not been previouslyrecognised. 

When mechanics had reached the point to which Galileo brought it--whenthe simple laws of force had been disentangled from the friction andatmospheric resistance by which all their earthly manifestations aredisguised--when progressing knowledge of _physics_ had given a dueinsight into these disturbing causes--when, by an effort of abstraction, it was perceived that all motion would be uniform and rectilinear unlessinterfered with by external forces--and when the various consequences ofthis perception had been worked out; then it became possible, by theunion of geometry and mechanics, to initiate physical astronomy. Geometry and mechanics having diverged from a common root in men'ssensible experiences; having, with occasional inosculations, beenseparately developed, the one partly in connection with astronomy, theother solely by analysing terrestrial movements; now join in theinvestigations of Newton to create a true theory of the celestialmotions. And here, also, we have to notice the important fact that, inthe very process of being brought jointly to bear upon astronomicalproblems, they are themselves raised to a higher phase of development. For it was in dealing with the questions raised by celestial dynamicsthat the then incipient infinitesimal calculus was unfolded by Newtonand his continental successors; and it was from inquiries into themechanics of the solar system that the general theorems of mechanicscontained in the _Principia_, --many of them of purely terrestrialapplication--took their rise. Thus, as in the case of Hipparchus, thepresentation of a new order of concrete facts to be analysed, led to thediscovery of new abstract facts; and these abstract facts having beenlaid hold of, gave means of access to endless groups of concrete factsbefore incapable of quantitative treatment. 

Meanwhile, physics had been carrying further that progress withoutwhich, as just shown, rational mechanics could not be disentangled. Inhydrostatics, Stevinus had extended and applied the discovery ofArchimedes. Torricelli had proved atmospheric pressure, "by showing thatthis pressure sustained different liquids at heights inverselyproportional to their densities;" and Pascal "established the necessarydiminution of this pressure at increasing heights in the atmosphere:"discoveries which in part reduced this branch of science to aquantitative form. Something had been done by Daniel Bernouilli towardsthe dynamics of fluids. The thermometer had been invented; and a numberof small generalisations reached by it. Huyghens and Newton had madeconsiderable progress in optics; Newton had approximately calculated therate of transmission of sound; and the continental mathematicians hadsucceeded in determining some of the laws of sonorous vibrations. Magnetism and electricity had been considerably advanced by Gilbert. Chemistry had got as far as the mutual neutralisation of acids andalkalies. And Leonardo da Vinci had advanced in geology to theconception of the deposition of marine strata as the origin of fossils. Our present purpose does not require that we should give particulars. All that it here concerns us to do is to illustrate the _consensus_subsisting in this stage of growth, and afterwards. Let us look at a fewcases. 

The theoretic law of the velocity of sound enunciated by Newton onpurely mechanical considerations, was found wrong by one-sixth. Theerror remained unaccounted for until the time of Laplace, who, suspecting that the heat disengaged by the compression of the undulatingstrata of the air, gave additional elasticity, and so produced thedifference, made the needful calculations and found he was right. Thusacoustics was arrested until thermology overtook and aided it. WhenBoyle and Marriot had discovered the relation between the density ofgases and the pressures they are subject to; and when it thus becamepossible to calculate the rate of decreasing density in the upper partsof the atmosphere, it also became possible to make approximate tables ofthe atmospheric refraction of light. Thus optics, and with it astronomy, advanced with barology. After the discovery of atmospheric pressure hadled to the invention of the air-pump by Otto Guericke; and after it hadbecome known that evaporation increases in rapidity as atmosphericpressure decreases; it became possible for Leslie, by evaporation in avacuum, to produce the greatest cold known; and so to extend ourknowledge of thermology by showing that there is no zero within reach ofour researches. When Fourier had determined the laws of conduction ofheat, and when the Earth's temperature had been found to increase belowthe surface one degree in every forty yards, there were data forinferring the past condition of our globe; the vast period it has takento cool down to its present state; and the immense age of the solarsystem--a purely astronomical consideration. 

Chemistry having advanced sufficiently to supply the needful materials, and a physiological experiment having furnished the requisite hint, there came the discovery of galvanic electricity. Galvanism reacting onchemistry disclosed the metallic bases of the alkalies, and inauguratedthe electro-chemical theory; in the hands of Oersted and Ampère it ledto the laws of magnetic action; and by its aid Faraday has detectedsignificant facts relative to the constitution of light. Brewster'sdiscoveries respecting double refraction and dipolarisation proved theessential truth of the classification of crystalline forms according tothe number of axes, by showing that the molecular constitution dependsupon the axes. In these and in numerous other cases, the mutualinfluence of the sciences has been quite independent of any supposedhierarchical order. Often, too, their inter-actions are more complexthan as thus instanced--involve more sciences than two. One illustrationof this must suffice. We quote it in full from the _History of theInductive Sciences_. In book xi. , chap, ii. , on "The Progress of theElectrical Theory, " Dr. Whewell writes:--

 "Thus at that period, mathematics was behind experiment, and a problem was proposed, in which theoretical results were wanted for comparison with observation, but could not be accurately obtained; as was the case in astronomy also, till the time of the approximate solution of the problem of three bodies, and the consequent formation of the tables of the moon and planets, on the theory of universal gravitation. After some time, electrical theory was relieved from this reproach, mainly in consequence of the progress which astronomy had occasioned in pure mathematics. About 1801 there appeared in the _Bulletin des Sciences_, an exact solution of the problem of the distribution of electric fluid on a spheroid, obtained by Biot, by the application of the peculiar methods which Laplace had invented for the problem of the figure of the planets. And, in 1811, M. Poisson applied Laplace's artifices to the case of two spheres acting upon one another in contact, a case to which many of Coulomb's experiments were referrible; and the agreement of the results of theory and observation, thus extricated from Coulomb's numbers obtained above forty years previously, was very striking and convincing. "

Not only do the sciences affect each other after this direct manner, butthey affect each other indirectly. Where there is no dependence, thereis yet analogy--_equality of relations_; and the discovery of therelations subsisting among one set of phenomena, constantly suggests asearch for the same relations among another set. Thus the establishedfact that the force of gravitation varies inversely as the square of thedistance, being recognised as a necessary characteristic of allinfluences proceeding from a centre, raised the suspicion that heat andlight follow the same law; which proved to be the case--a suspicion anda confirmation which were repeated in respect to the electric andmagnetic forces. Thus again the discovery of the polarisation of lightled to experiments which ended in the discovery of the polarisation ofheat--a discovery that could never have been made without the antecedentone. Thus, too, the known refrangibility of light and heat latelyproduced the inquiry whether sound also is not refrangible; which ontrial it turns out to be. 

In some cases, indeed, it is only by the aid of conceptions derived fromone class of phenomena that hypotheses respecting other classes can beformed. The theory, at one time favoured, that evaporation is a solutionof water in air, was an assumption that the relation between water andair is _like_ the relation between salt and water; and could never havebeen conceived if the relation between salt and water had not beenpreviously known. Similarly the received theory of evaporation--that itis a diffusion of the particles of the evaporating fluid in virtue oftheir atomic repulsion--could not have been entertained without aforegoing experience of magnetic and electric repulsions. So complete inrecent days has become this _consensus_ among the sciences, causedeither by the natural entanglement of their phenomena, or by analogiesin the relations of their phenomena, that scarcely any considerablediscovery concerning one order of facts now takes place, without veryshortly leading to discoveries concerning other orders. 

To produce a tolerably complete conception of this process ofscientific evolution, it would be needful to go back to the beginning, and trace in detail the growth of classifications and nomenclatures; andto show how, as subsidiary to science, they have acted upon it, and ithas reacted upon them. We can only now remark that, on the one hand, classifications and nomenclatures have aided science by continuallysubdividing the subject-matter of research, and giving fixity anddiffusion to the truths disclosed; and that on the other hand, they havecaught from it that increasing quantitativeness, and that progress fromconsiderations touching single phenomena to considerations touching therelations among many phenomena, which we have been describing. 

Of this last influence a few illustrations must be given. In chemistryit is seen in the facts, that the dividing of matter into the fourelements was ostensibly based upon the single property of weight; thatthe first truly chemical division into acid and alkaline bodies, groupedtogether bodies which had not simply one property in common, but inwhich one property was constantly related to many others; and that theclassification now current, places together in groups _supporters ofcombustion_, _metallic and non-metallic bases_, _acids_, _salts_, etc. , bodies which are often quite unlike in sensible qualities, but which arelike in the majority of their _relations_ to other bodies. In mineralogyagain, the first classifications were based upon differences in aspect, texture, and other physical attributes. Berzelius made two attempts at aclassification based solely on chemical constitution. That now current, recognises as far as possible the _relations_ between physical andchemical characters. In botany the earliest classes formed were _trees_, _shrubs_, and _herbs_: magnitude being the basis of distinction. Dioscorides divided vegetables into _aromatic_, _alimentary_, _medicinal_, and _vinous_: a division of chemical character. Cæsalpinusclassified them by the seeds, and seed-vessels, which he preferredbecause of the _relations_ found to subsist between the character of thefructification and the general character of the other parts. 

While the "natural system" since developed, carrying out the doctrine ofLinnæus, that "natural orders must be formed by attention not to one ortwo, but to _all_ the parts of plants, " bases its divisions on likepeculiarities which are found to be _constantly related_ to the greatestnumber of other like peculiarities. And similarly in zoology, thesuccessive classifications, from having been originally determined byexternal and often subordinate characters not indicative of theessential nature, have been gradually more and more determined by thoseinternal and fundamental differences, which have uniform _relations_ tothe greatest number of other differences. Nor shall we be surprised atthis analogy between the modes of progress of positive science andclassification, when we bear in mind that both proceed by makinggeneralisations; that both enable us to make previsions differing onlyin their precision; and that while the one deals with equal propertiesand relations, the other deals with properties and relations thatapproximate towards equality in variable degrees. 

Without further argument, it will, we think, be sufficiently clear thatthe sciences are none of them separately evolved--are none of themindependent either logically or historically; but that all of them have, in a greater or less degree, required aid and reciprocated it. Indeed, it needs but to throw aside these, and contemplate the mixed characterof surrounding phenomena, to at once see that these notions of divisionand succession in the kinds of knowledge are none of them actually true, but are simple scientific fictions: good, if regarded merely as aids tostudy; bad, if regarded as representing realities in Nature. Considerthem critically, and no facts whatever are presented to our sensesuncombined with other facts--no facts whatever but are in some degreedisguised by accompanying facts: disguised in such a manner that allmust be partially understood before any one can be understood. If it besaid, as by M. Comte, that gravitating force should be treated of beforeother forces, seeing that all things are subject to it, it may on likegrounds be said that heat should be first dealt with; seeing thatthermal forces are everywhere in action; that the ability of any portionof matter to manifest visible gravitative phenomena depends on its stateof aggregation, which is determined by heat; that only by the aid ofthermology can we explain those apparent exceptions to the gravitatingtendency which are presented by steam and smoke, and so establish itsuniversality, and that, indeed, the very existence of the solar systemin a solid form is just as much a question of heat as it is one ofgravitation. 

Take other cases:--All phenomena recognised by the eyes, through whichonly are the data of exact science ascertainable, are complicated withoptical phenomena; and cannot be exhaustively known until opticalprinciples are known. The burning of a candle cannot be explainedwithout involving chemistry, mechanics, thermology. Every wind thatblows is determined by influences partly solar, partly lunar, partlyhygrometric; and implies considerations of fluid equilibrium andphysical geography. The direction, dip, and variations of the magneticneedle, are facts half terrestrial, half celestial--are caused byearthly forces which have cycles of change corresponding withastronomical periods. The flowing of the gulf-stream and the annualmigration of icebergs towards the equator, depending as they do on thebalancing of the centripetal and centrifugal forces acting on the ocean, involve in their explanation the Earth's rotation and spheroidal form, the laws of hydrostatics, the relative densities of cold and warm water, and the doctrines of evaporation. It is no doubt true, as M. Comte says, that "our position in the solar system, and the motions, form, size, equilibrium of the mass of our world among the planets, must be knownbefore we can understand the phenomena going on at its surface. " But, fatally for his hypothesis, it is also true that we must understand agreat part of the phenomena going on at its surface before we can knowits position, etc. , in the solar system. It is not simply that, as wehave already shown, those geometrical and mechanical principles by whichcelestial appearances are explained, were first generalised fromterrestrial experiences; but it is that the very obtainment of correctdata, on which to base astronomical generalisations, implies advancedterrestrial physics. 

Until after optics had made considerable advance, the Copernican systemremained but a speculation. A single modern observation on a star has toundergo a careful analysis by the combined aid of various sciences--hasto _be digested by the organism of the sciences_; which have severallyto assimilate their respective parts of the observation, before theessential fact it contains is available for the further development ofastronomy. It has to be corrected not only for nutation of the earth'saxis and for precession of the equinoxes, but for aberration and forrefraction; and the formation of the tables by which refraction iscalculated, presupposes knowledge of the law of decreasing density inthe upper atmospheric strata; of the law of decreasing temperature, andthe influence of this on the density; and of hygrometric laws as alsoaffecting density. So that, to get materials for further advance, astronomy requires not only the indirect aid of the sciences which havepresided over the making of its improved instruments, but the direct aidof an advanced optics, of barology, of thermology, of hygrometry; and ifwe remember that these delicate observations are in some casesregistered electrically, and that they are further corrected for the"personal equation"--the time elapsing between seeing and registering, which varies with different observers--we may even add electricity andpsychology. If, then, so apparently simple a thing as ascertaining theposition of a star is complicated with so many phenomena, it is clearthat this notion of the independence of the sciences, or certain ofthem, will not hold. 

Whether objectively independent or not, they cannot be subjectivelyso--they cannot have independence as presented to our consciousness; andthis is the only kind of independence with which we are concerned. Andhere, before leaving these illustrations, and especially this last one, let us not omit to notice how clearly they exhibit that increasinglyactive _consensus_ of the sciences which characterises their advancingdevelopment. Besides finding that in these later times a discovery inone science commonly causes progress in others; besides finding that agreat part of the questions with which modern science deals are so mixedas to require the co-operation of many sciences for their solution; wefind in this last case that, to make a single good observation in thepurest of the natural sciences, requires the combined assistance of halfa dozen other sciences. 

Perhaps the clearest comprehension of the interconnected growth of thesciences may be obtained by contemplating that of the arts, to which itis strictly analogous, and with which it is inseparably bound up. Mostintelligent persons must have been, at one time or other, struck withthe vast array of antecedents pre-supposed by one of our processes ofmanufacture. Let him trace the production of a printed cotton, andconsider all that is implied by it. There are the many successiveimprovements through which the power-looms reached their presentperfection; there is the steam-engine that drives them, having its longhistory from Papin downwards; there are the lathes in which its cylinderwas bored, and the string of ancestral lathes from which those lathesproceeded; there is the steam-hammer under which its crank shaft waswelded; there are the puddling-furnaces, the blast-furnaces, thecoal-mines and the iron-mines needful for producing the raw material;there are the slowly improved appliances by which the factory was built, and lighted, and ventilated; there are the printing engine, and the diehouse, and the colour laboratory with its stock of materials from allparts of the world, implying cochineal-culture, logwood-cutting, indigo-growing; there are the implements used by the producers ofcotton, the gins by which it is cleaned, the elaborate machines by whichit is spun: there are the vessels in which cotton is imported, with thebuilding-slips, the rope-yards, the sail-cloth factories, theanchor-forges, needful for making them; and besides all these directlynecessary antecedents, each of them involving many others, there are theinstitutions which have developed the requisite intelligence, theprinting and publishing arrangements which have spread the necessaryinformation, the social organisation which has rendered possible such acomplex co-operation of agencies. 

Further analysis would show that the many arts thus concerned in theeconomical production of a child's frock, have each of them been broughtto its present efficiency by slow steps which the other arts have aided;and that from the beginning this reciprocity has been ever on theincrease. It needs but on the one hand to consider how utterlyimpossible it is for the savage, even with ore and coal ready, toproduce so simple a thing as an iron hatchet; and then to consider, onthe other hand, that it would have been impracticable among ourselves, even a century ago, to raise the tubes of the Britannia bridge from lackof the hydraulic press; to at once see how mutually dependent are thearts, and how all must advance that each may advance. Well, the sciencesare involved with each other in just the same manner. They are, in fact, inextricably woven into the same complex web of the arts; and are onlyconventionally independent of it. Originally the two were one. How tofix the religious festivals; when to sow: how to weigh commodities; andin what manner to measure ground; were the purely practical questionsout of which arose astronomy, mechanics, geometry. Since then there hasbeen a perpetual inosculation of the sciences and the arts. Science hasbeen supplying art with truer generalisations and more completelyquantitative previsions. Art has been supplying science with bettermaterials and more perfect instruments. And all along theinterdependence has been growing closer, not only between art andscience, but among the arts themselves, and among the sciencesthemselves. 

How completely the analogy holds throughout, becomes yet clearer when werecognise the fact that _the sciences are arts to each other_. If, asoccurs in almost every case, the fact to be analysed by any science, hasfirst to be prepared--to be disentangled from disturbing facts by theafore discovered methods of other sciences; the other sciences so used, stand in the position of arts. If, in solving a dynamical problem, aparallelogram is drawn, of which the sides and diagonal representforces, and by putting magnitudes of extension for magnitudes of force ameasurable relation is established between quantities not else to bedealt with; it may be fairly said that geometry plays towards mechanicsmuch the same part that the fire of the founder plays towards the metalhe is going to cast. If, in analysing the phenomena of the colouredrings surrounding the point of contact between two lenses, a Newtonascertains by calculation the amount of certain interposed spaces, fartoo minute for actual measurement; he employs the science of number foressentially the same purpose as that for which the watchmaker employstools. If, before writing down his observation on a star, the astronomerhas to separate from it all the errors resulting from atmospheric andoptical laws, it is manifest that the refraction-tables, andlogarithm-books, and formulæ, which he successively uses, serve him muchas retorts, and filters, and cupels serve the assayer who wishes toseparate the pure gold from all accompanying ingredients. 

So close, indeed, is the relationship, that it is impossible to saywhere science begins and art ends. All the instruments of the naturalphilosopher are the products of art; the adjusting one of them for useis an art; there is art in making an observation with one of them; itrequires art properly to treat the facts ascertained; nay, even theemploying established generalisations to open the way to newgeneralisations, may be considered as art. In each of these casespreviously organised knowledge becomes the implement by which newknowledge is got at: and whether that previously organised knowledge isembodied in a tangible apparatus or in a formula, matters not in so faras its essential relation to the new knowledge is concerned. If, as noone will deny, art is applied knowledge, then such portion of ascientific investigation as consists of applied knowledge is art. Sothat we may even say that as soon as any prevision in science passes outof its originally passive state, and is employed for reaching otherprevisions, it passes from theory into practice--becomes science inaction--becomes art. And when we thus see how purely conventional is theordinary distinction, how impossible it is to make any realseparation--when we see not only that science and art were originallyone; that the arts have perpetually assisted each other; that there hasbeen a constant reciprocation of aid between the sciences and arts; butthat the sciences act as arts to each other, and that the establishedpart of each science becomes an art to the growing part--when werecognise the closeness of these associations, we shall the more clearlyperceive that as the connection of the arts with each other has beenever becoming more intimate; as the help given by sciences to arts andby arts to sciences, has been age by age increasing; so theinterdependence of the sciences themselves has been ever growinggreater, their mutual relations more involved, their _consensus_ moreactive. 

 * * * * *

In here ending our sketch of the Genesis of Science, we are conscious ofhaving done the subject but scant justice. Two difficulties have stoodin our way: one, the having to touch on so many points in such smallspace; the other, the necessity of treating in serial arrangement aprocess which is not serial--a difficulty which must ever attend allattempts to delineate processes of development, whatever their specialnature. Add to which, that to present in anything like completeness andproportion, even the outlines of so vast and complex a history, demandsyears of study. Nevertheless, we believe that the evidence which hasbeen assigned suffices to substantiate the leading propositions withwhich we set out. Inquiry into the first stages of science confirms theconclusion which we drew from the analysis of science as now existing, that it is not distinct from common knowledge, but an outgrowth fromit--an extension of the perception by means of the reason. 

That which we further found by analysis to form the more specificcharacteristic of scientific previsions, as contrasted with theprevisions of uncultured intelligence--their quantitativeness--we alsosee to have been the characteristic alike in the initial steps inscience, and of all the steps succeeding them. The facts and admissionscited in disproof of the assertion that the sciences follow one another, both logically and historically, in the order of their decreasinggenerality, have been enforced by the sundry instances we have met with, in which the more general or abstract sciences have been advanced onlyat the instigation of the more special or concrete--instances serving toshow that a more general science as much owes its progress to thepresentation of new problems by a more special science, as the morespecial science owes its progress to the solutions which the moregeneral science is thus led to attempt--instances therefore illustratingthe position that scientific advance is as much from the special to thegeneral as from the general to the special. 

Quite in harmony with this position we find to be the admissions thatthe sciences are as branches of one trunk, and that they were at firstcultivated simultaneously; and this harmony becomes the more marked onfinding, as we have done, not only that the sciences have a common root, but that science in general has a common root with language, classification, reasoning, art; that throughout civilisation these haveadvanced together, acting and reacting upon each other just as theseparate sciences have done; and that thus the development ofintelligence in all its divisions and subdivisions has conformed to thissame law which we have shown that the sciences conform to. From allwhich we may perceive that the sciences can with no greater propriety bearranged in a succession, than language, classification, reasoning, art, and science, can be arranged in a succession; that, however needful asuccession may be for the convenience of books and catalogues, it mustbe recognised merely as a convention; and that so far from its being thefunction of a philosophy of the sciences to establish a hierarchy, it isits function to show that the linear arrangements required for literarypurposes, have none of them any basis either in Nature or History. 

There is one further remark we must not omit--a remark touching theimportance of the question that has been discussed. Unfortunately itcommonly happens that topics of this abstract nature are slighted as ofno practical moment; and, we doubt not, that many will think it of verylittle consequence what theory respecting the genesis of science may beentertained. But the value of truths is often great, in proportion astheir generality is wide. Remote as they seem from practicalapplication, the highest generalisations are not unfrequently the mostpotent in their effects, in virtue of their influence on all thosesubordinate generalisations which regulate practice. And it must be sohere. Whenever established, a correct theory of the historicaldevelopment of the sciences must have an immense effect upon education;and, through education, upon civilisation. Greatly as we differ from himin other respects, we agree with M. Comte in the belief that, rightlyconducted, the education of the individual must have a certaincorrespondence with the evolution of the race. 

No one can contemplate the facts we have cited in illustration of theearly stages of science, without recognising the _necessity_ of theprocesses through which those stages were reached--a necessity which, inrespect to the leading truths, may likewise be traced in all afterstages. This necessity, originating in the very nature of the phenomenato be analysed and the faculties to be employed, more or less fullyapplies to the mind of the child as to that of the savage. We say moreor less fully, because the correspondence is not special but generalonly. Were the _environment_ the same in both cases, the correspondencewould be complete. But though the surrounding material out of whichscience is to be organised, is, in many cases, the same to the juvenilemind and the aboriginal mind, it is not so throughout; as, for instance, in the case of chemistry, the phenomena of which are accessible to theone, but were inaccessible to the other. Hence, in proportion as theenvironment differs, the course of evolution must differ. Afteradmitting sundry exceptions, however, there remains a substantialparallelism; and, if so, it becomes of great moment to ascertain whatreally has been the process of scientific evolution. The establishmentof an erroneous theory must be disastrous in its educational results;while the establishments of a true one must eventually be fertile inschool-reforms and consequent social benefits. 

[1] _British Quarterly Review_, July 1854. 

[2] It is somewhat curious that the author of _The Plurality of Worlds_, with quite other aims, should have persuaded himself into similarconclusions. 

ON THE PHYSIOLOGY OF LAUGHTER[1]

Why do we smile when a child puts on a man's hat? or what induces us tolaugh on reading that the corpulent Gibbon was unable to rise from hisknees after making a tender declaration? The usual reply to suchquestions is, that laughter results from a perception of incongruity. Even were there not on this reply the obvious criticism that laughteroften occurs from extreme pleasure or from mere vivacity, there wouldstill remain the real problem--How comes a sense of the incongruous tobe followed by these peculiar bodily actions? Some have alleged thatlaughter is due to the pleasure of a relative self-elevation, which wefeel on seeing the humiliation of others. But this theory, whateverportion of truth it may contain, is, in the first place, open to thefatal objection, that there are various humiliations to others whichproduce in us anything but laughter; and, in the second place, it doesnot apply to the many instances in which no one's dignity is implicated:as when we laugh at a good pun. Moreover, like the other, it is merely ageneralisation of certain conditions to laughter; and not an explanationof the odd movements which occur under these conditions. Why, whengreatly delighted, or impressed with certain unexpected contrasts ofideas, should there be a contraction of particular facial muscles, andparticular muscles of the chest and abdomen? Such answer to thisquestion as may be possible can be rendered only by physiology. 

 * * * * *

Every child has made the attempt to hold the foot still while it istickled, and has failed; and probably there is scarcely any one who hasnot vainly tried to avoid winking, when a hand has been suddenly passedbefore the eyes. These examples of muscular movements which occurindependently of the will, or in spite of it, illustrate whatphysiologists call reflex-action; as likewise do sneezing and coughing. To this class of cases, in which involuntary motions are accompanied bysensations, has to be added another class of cases, in which involuntarymotions are unaccompanied by sensations:--instance the pulsations of theheart; the contractions of the stomach during digestion. Further, thegreat mass of seemingly-voluntary acts in such creatures as insects, worms, molluscs, are considered by physiologists to be as purelyautomatic as is the dilatation or closure of the iris under variationsin quantity of light; and similarly exemplify the law, that animpression on the end of an afferent nerve is conveyed to someganglionic centre, and is thence usually reflected along an efferentnerve to one or more muscles which it causes to contract. 

In a modified form this principle holds with voluntary acts. Nervousexcitation always _tends_ to beget muscular motion; and when it rises toa certain intensity, always does beget it. Not only in reflex actions, whether with or without sensation, do we see that special nerves, whenraised to a state of tension, discharge themselves on special muscleswith which they are indirectly connected; but those external actionsthrough which we read the feelings of others, show us that under anyconsiderable tension, the nervous system in general discharges itself onthe muscular system in general: either with or without the guidance ofthe will. The shivering produced by cold, implies irregular muscularcontractions, which, though at first only partly involuntary, become, when the cold is extreme, almost wholly involuntary. When you haveseverely burnt your finger, it is very difficult to preserve a dignifiedcomposure: contortion of face, or movement of limb, is pretty sure tofollow. If a man receives good news with neither change of feature norbodily motion, it is inferred that he is not much pleased, or that hehas extraordinary self-control--either inference implying that joyalmost universally produces contraction of the muscles; and so, altersthe expression, or attitude, or both. And when we hear of the feats ofstrength which men have performed when their lives were at stake--whenwe read how, in the energy of despair, even paralytic patients haveregained for a time the use of their limbs, we see still more clearlythe relations between nervous and muscular excitements. It becomesmanifest both that emotions and sensations tend to generate bodilymovements and that the movements are vehement in proportion as theemotions or sensations are intense. [2]

This, however, is not the sole direction in which nervous excitementexpends itself. Viscera as well as muscles may receive the discharge. That the heart and blood-vessels (which, indeed, being all contractile, may in a restricted sense be classed with the muscular system) arequickly affected by pleasures and pains, we have daily proved to us. Every sensation of any acuteness accelerates the pulse; and howsensitive the heart is to emotions, is testified by the familiarexpressions which use heart and feeling as convertible terms. Similarlywith the digestive organs. Without detailing the various ways in whichthese may be influenced by our mental states, it suffices to mention themarked benefits derived by dyspeptics, as well as other invalids, fromcheerful society, welcome news, change of scene, to show how pleasurablefeeling stimulates the viscera in general into greater activity. 

There is still another direction in which any excited portion of thenervous system may discharge itself; and a direction in which it usuallydoes discharge itself when the excitement is not strong. It may pass onthe stimulus to some other portion of the nervous system. This is whatoccurs in quiet thinking and feeling. The successive states whichconstitute consciousness, result from this. Sensations excite ideas andemotions; these in their turns arouse other ideas and emotions; and so, continuously. That is to say, the tension existing in particular nerves, or groups of nerves, when they yield us certain sensations, ideas, oremotions, generates an equivalent tension in some other nerves, orgroups of nerves, with which there is a connection: the flow of energypassing on, the one idea or feeling dies in producing the next. 

Thus, then, while we are totally unable to comprehend how the excitementof certain nerves should generate feeling--while, in the production ofconsciousness by physical agents acting on physical structure, we cometo an absolute mystery never to be solved; it is yet quite possible forus to know by observation what are the successive forms which thisabsolute mystery may take. We see that there are three channels alongwhich nerves in a state of tension may discharge themselves; or rather, I should say, three classes of channels. They may pass on the excitementto other nerves that have no direct connections with the bodily members, and may so cause other feelings and ideas; or they may pass on theexcitement to one or more motor nerves, and so cause muscularcontractions; or they may pass on the excitement to nerves which supplythe viscera, and may so stimulate one or more of these. 

For simplicity's sake, I have described these as alternative routes, oneor other of which any current of nerve-force must take; thereby, as itmay be thought, implying that such current will be exclusively confinedto some one of them. But this is by no means the case. Rarely, if ever, does it happen that a state of nervous tension, present to consciousnessas a feeling, expends itself in one direction only. Very generally itmay be observed to expend itself in two; and it is probable that thedischarge is never absolutely absent from any one of the three. Thereis, however, variety in the _proportions_ in which the discharge isdivided among these different channels under different circumstances. Ina man whose fear impels him to run, the mental tension generated is onlyin part transformed into a muscular stimulus: there is a surplus whichcauses a rapid current of ideas. An agreeable state of feeling produced, say by praise, is not wholly used up in arousing the succeeding phase ofthe feeling, and the new ideas appropriate to it; but a certain portionoverflows into the visceral nervous system, increasing the action of theheart, and probably facilitating digestion. And here we come upon aclass of considerations and facts which open the way to a solution ofour special problem. 

For starting with the unquestionable truth, that at any moment theexisting quantity of liberated nerve-force, which in an inscrutable wayproduces in us the state we call feeling, _must_ expend itself in somedirection--_must_ generate an equivalent manifestation of forcesomewhere--it clearly follows that, if of the several channels it maytake, one is wholly or partially closed, more must be taken by theothers; or that if two are closed, the discharge along the remaining onemust be more intense; and that, conversely, should anything determine anunusual efflux in one direction, there will be a diminished efflux inother directions. 

Daily experience illustrates these conclusions. It is commonly remarked, that the suppression of external signs of feeling, makes feeling moreintense. The deepest grief is silent grief. Why? Because the nervousexcitement not discharged in muscular action, discharges itself in othernervous excitements--arouses more numerous and more remote associationsof melancholy ideas, and so increases the mass of feelings. People whoconceal their anger are habitually found to be more revengeful thanthose who explode in loud speech and vehement action. Why? Because, asbefore, the emotion is reflected back, accumulates, and intensifies. Similarly, men who, as proved by their powers of representation, havethe keenest appreciation of the comic, are usually able to do and saythe most ludicrous things with perfect gravity. 

On the other hand, all are familiar with the truth that bodily activitydeadens emotion. Under great irritation we get relief by walking aboutrapidly. Extreme effort in the bootless attempt to achieve a desiredend greatly diminishes the intensity of the desire. Those who are forcedto exert themselves after misfortunes, do not suffer nearly so much asthose who remain quiescent. If any one wishes to check intellectualexcitement, he cannot choose a more efficient method than running tillhe is exhausted. Moreover, these cases, in which the production offeeling and thought is hindered by determining the nervous energytowards bodily movements, have their counterparts in the cases in whichbodily movements are hindered by extra absorption of nervous energy insudden thoughts and feelings. If, when walking along, there flashes onyou an idea that creates great surprise, hope, or alarm, you stop; or ifsitting cross-legged, swinging your pendent foot, the movement is atonce arrested. From the viscera, too, intense mental action abstractsenergy. Joy, disappointment, anxiety, or any moral perturbation risingto a great height, will destroy appetite; or if food has been taken, will arrest digestion; and even a purely intellectual activity, whenextreme, will do the like. 

Facts, then, fully bear out these _à priori_ inferences, that thenervous excitement at any moment present to consciousness as feeling, must expend itself in some way or other; that of the three classes ofchannels open to it, it must take one, two, or more, according tocircumstances; that the closure or obstruction of one, must increase thedischarge through the others; and conversely, that if to answer somedemand, the efflux of nervous energy in one direction is unusuallygreat, there must be a corresponding decrease of the efflux in otherdirections. Setting out from these premises, let us now see whatinterpretation is to be put on the phenomena of laughter. 

 * * * * *

That laughter is a display of muscular excitement, and so illustratesthe general law that feeling passing a certain pitch habitually ventsitself in bodily action, scarcely needs pointing out. It perhaps needspointing out, however, that strong feeling of almost any kind producesthis result. It is not a sense of the ludicrous, only, which does it;nor are the various forms of joyous emotion the sole additional causes. We have, besides, the sardonic laughter and the hysterical laughter, which result from mental distress; to which must be added certainsensations, as tickling, and, according to Mr. Bain, cold, and somekinds of acute pain. 

Strong feeling, mental or physical, being, then, the general cause oflaughter, we have to note that the muscular actions constituting it aredistinguished from most others by this, that they are purposeless. Ingeneral, bodily motions that are prompted by feelings are directed tospecial ends; as when we try to escape a danger, or struggle to secure agratification. But the movements of chest and limbs which we make whenlaughing have no object. And now remark that these quasi-convulsivecontractions of the muscles, having no object, but being results of anuncontrolled discharge of energy, we may see whence arise their specialcharacters--how it happens that certain classes of muscles are affectedfirst, and then certain other classes. For an overflow of nerve-force, undirected by any motive, will manifestly take first the most habitualroutes; and if these do not suffice, will next overflow into the lesshabitual ones. Well, it is through the organs of speech that feelingpasses into movement with the greatest frequency. The jaws, tongue, andlips are used not only to express strong irritation or gratification;but that very moderate flow of mental energy which accompanies ordinaryconversation, finds its chief vent through this channel. Hence ithappens that certain muscles round the mouth, small and easy to move, are the first to contract under pleasurable emotion. The class ofmuscles which, next after those of articulation, are most constantly setin action (or extra action, we should say) by feelings of all kinds, arethose of respiration. Under pleasurable or painful sensations we breathemore rapidly: possibly as a consequence of the increased demand foroxygenated blood. The sensations that accompany exertion also bring onhard-breathing; which here more evidently responds to the physiologicalneeds. And emotions, too, agreeable and disagreeable, both, at first, excite respiration; though the last subsequently depress it. That is tosay, of the bodily muscles, the respiratory are more constantlyimplicated than any others in those various acts which our feelingsimpel us to; and, hence, when there occurs an undirected discharge ofnervous energy into the muscular system, it happens that, if thequantity be considerable, it convulses not only certain of thearticulatory and vocal muscles, but also those which expel air from thelungs. 

Should the feeling to be expended be still greater in amount--too greatto find vent in these classes of muscles--another class comes into play. The upper limbs are set in motion. Children frequently clap their handsin glee; by some adults the hands are rubbed together; and others, understill greater intensity of delight, slap their knees and sway theirbodies backwards and forwards. Last of all, when the other channels forthe escape of the surplus nerve-force have been filled to overflowing, ayet further and less-used group of muscles is spasmodically affected:the head is thrown back and the spine bent inwards--there is a slightdegree of what medical men call opisthotonos. Thus, then, withoutcontending that the phenomena of laughter in all their details are to beso accounted for, we see that in their _ensemble_ they conform to thesegeneral principles:--that feeling excites to muscular action; that whenthe muscular action is unguided by a purpose, the muscles first affectedare those which feeling most habitually stimulates; and that as thefeeling to be expended increases in quantity, it excites an increasingnumber of muscles, in a succession determined by the relative frequencywith which they respond to the regulated dictates of feeling. 

There still, however, remains the question with which we set out. Theexplanation here given applies only to the laughter produced by acutepleasure or pain: it does not apply to the laughter that follows certainperceptions of incongruity. It is an insufficient explanation that, inthese cases, laughter is a result of the pleasure we take in escapingfrom the restraint of grave feelings. That this is a part-cause is true. Doubtless very often, as Mr. Bain says, "it is the coerced form ofseriousness and solemnity without the reality that gives us that stiffposition from which a contact with triviality or vulgarity relieves us, to our uproarious delight. " And in so far as mirth is caused by the gushof agreeable feeling that follows the cessation of mental strain, itfurther illustrates the general principle above set forth. But noexplanation is thus afforded of the mirth which ensues when the shortsilence between the _andante_ and _allegro_ in one of Beethoven'ssymphonies, is broken by a loud sneeze. In this, and hosts of likecases, the mental tension is not coerced but spontaneous--notdisagreeable but agreeable; and the coming impressions to which theattention is directed, promise a gratification that few, if any, desireto escape. Hence, when the unlucky sneeze occurs, it cannot be that thelaughter of the audience is due simply to the release from an irksomeattitude of mind: some other cause must be sought. 

This cause we shall arrive at by carrying our analysis a step further. We have but to consider the quantity of feeling that exists under suchcircumstances, and then to ask what are the conditions that determinethe direction of its discharge, to at once reach a solution. Take acase. You are sitting in a theatre, absorbed in the progress of aninteresting drama. Some climax has been reached which has aroused yoursympathies--say, a reconciliation between the hero and heroine, afterlong and painful misunderstanding. The feelings excited by this sceneare not of a kind from which you seek relief; but are, on the contrary, a grateful relief from the painful feelings with which you havewitnessed the previous estrangement. Moreover, the sentiments thesefictitious personages have for the moment inspired you with, are notsuch as would lead you to rejoice in any indignity offered to them; butrather, such as would make you resent the indignity. And now, while youare contemplating the reconciliation with a pleasurable sympathy, thereappears from behind the scenes a tame kid, which, having stared round atthe audience, walks up to the lovers and sniffs at them. You cannot helpjoining in the roar which greets this _contretemps_. Inexplicable as isthis irresistible burst on the hypothesis of a pleasure in escaping frommental restraint; or on the hypothesis of a pleasure from relativeincrease of self-importance, when witnessing the humiliation of others;it is readily explicable if we consider what, in such a case, mustbecome of the feeling that existed at the moment the incongruity arose. A large mass of emotion had been produced; or, to speak in physiologicallanguage, a large portion of the nervous system was in a state oftension. There was also great expectation with respect to the furtherevolution of the scene--a quantity of vague, nascent thought andemotion, into which the existing quantity of thought and emotion wasabout to pass. 

Had there been no interruption, the body of new ideas and feelings nextexcited would have sufficed to absorb the whole of the liberated nervousenergy. But now, this large amount of nervous energy, instead of beingallowed to expend itself in producing an equivalent amount of the newthoughts and emotions which were nascent, is suddenly checked in itsflow. The channels along which the discharge was about to take place areclosed. The new channel opened--that afforded by the appearance andproceedings of the kid--is a small one; the ideas and feelings suggestedare not numerous and massive enough to carry off the nervous energy tobe expended. The excess must therefore discharge itself in some otherdirection; and in the way already explained, there results an effluxthrough the motor nerves to various classes of the muscles, producingthe half-convulsive actions we term laughter. 

This explanation is in harmony with the fact, that when, among severalpersons who witness the same ludicrous occurrence, there are some who donot laugh; it is because there has arisen in them an emotion notparticipated in by the rest, and which is sufficiently massive to absorball the nascent excitement. Among the spectators of an awkward tumble, those who preserve their gravity are those in whom there is excited adegree of sympathy with the sufferer, sufficiently great to serve as anoutlet for the feeling which the occurrence had turned out of itsprevious course. Sometimes anger carries off the arrested current; andso prevents laughter. An instance of this was lately furnished me by afriend who had been witnessing the feats at Franconi's. A tremendousleap had just been made by an acrobat over a number of horses. Theclown, seemingly envious of this success, made ostentatious preparationsfor doing the like; and then, taking the preliminary run with immenseenergy, stopped short on reaching the first horse, and pretended to wipesome dust from its haunches. In the majority of the spectators, merriment was excited; but in my friend, wound up by the expectation ofthe coming leap to a state of great nervous tension, the effect of thebaulk was to produce indignation. Experience thus proves what the theoryimplies: namely, that the discharge of arrested feelings into themuscular system, takes place only in the absence of other adequatechannels--does not take place if there arise other feelings equal inamount to those arrested. 

Evidence still more conclusive is at hand. If we contrast theincongruities which produce laughter with those which do not, we at oncesee that in the non-ludicrous ones the unexpected state of feelingaroused, though wholly different in kind, is not less in quantity orintensity. Among incongruities that may excite anything but a laugh, Mr. Bain instances--"A decrepit man under a heavy burden, five loaves andtwo fishes among a multitude, and all unfitness and gross disproportion;an instrument out of tune, a fly in ointment, snow in May, Archimedesstudying geometry in a siege, and all discordant things; a wolf insheep's clothing, a breach of bargain, and falsehood in general; themultitude taking the law in their own hands, and everything of thenature of disorder; a corpse at a feast, parental cruelty, filialingratitude, and whatever is unnatural; the entire catalogue of thevanities given by Solomon, are all incongruous, but they cause feelingsof pain, anger, sadness, loathing, rather than mirth. " Now in thesecases, where the totally unlike state of consciousness suddenly producedis not inferior in mass to the preceding one, the conditions to laughterare not fulfilled. As above shown, laughter naturally results only whenconsciousness is unawares transferred from great things to small--onlywhen there is what we call a _descending_ incongruity. 

And now observe, finally, the fact, alike inferable _à priori_ andillustrated in experience, that an _ascending_ incongruity not onlyfails to cause laughter, but works on the muscular system an effect ofexactly the reverse kind. When after something very insignificant therearises without anticipation something very great, the emotion we callwonder results; and this emotion is accompanied not by an excitement ofthe muscles, but by a relaxation of them. In children and countrypeople, that falling of the jaw which occurs on witnessing somethingthat is imposing and unexpected exemplifies this effect. Persons whohave been wonder-struck at the production of very striking results by aseemingly inadequate cause, are frequently described as unconsciouslydropping the things they held in their hands. Such are just the effectsto be anticipated. After an average state of consciousness, absorbingbut a small quantity of nervous energy, is aroused without the slightestnotice, a strong emotion of awe, terror, or admiration, joined with theastonishment due to an apparent want of adequate causation. This newstate of consciousness demands far more nervous energy than that whichit has suddenly replaced; and this increased absorption of nervousenergy in mental changes involves a temporary diminution of the outflowin other directions: whence the pendent jaw and the relaxing grasp. 

One further observation is worth making. Among the several sets ofchannels into which surplus feeling might be discharged, was named thenervous system of the viscera. The sudden overflow of an arrested mentalexcitement, which, as we have seen, results from a descendingincongruity, must doubtless stimulate not only the muscular system, aswe see it does, but also the internal organs; the heart and stomach mustcome in for a share of the discharge. And thus there seems to be a goodphysiological basis for the popular notion that mirth-creatingexcitement facilitates digestion. 

 * * * * *

Though in doing so I go beyond the boundaries of the immediate topic, Imay fitly point out that the method of inquiry here followed, is onewhich enables us to understand various phenomena besides those oflaughter. To show the importance of pursuing it, I will indicate theexplanation it furnishes of another familiar class of facts. 

All know how generally a large amount of emotion disturbs the action ofthe intellect, and interferes with the power of expression. A speechdelivered with great facility to tables and chairs, is by no means soeasily delivered to an audience. Every schoolboy can testify that histrepidation, when standing before a master, has often disabled him fromrepeating a lesson which he had duly learnt. In explanation of this wecommonly say that the attention is distracted--that the proper train ofideas is broken by the intrusion of ideas that are irrelevant. But thequestion is, in what manner does unusual emotion produce this effect;and we are here supplied with a tolerably obvious answer. The repetitionof a lesson, or set speech previously thought out, implies the flow of avery moderate amount of nervous excitement through a comparativelynarrow channel. The thing to be done is simply to call up in successioncertain previously-arranged ideas--a process in which no great amount ofmental energy is expended. Hence, when there is a large quantity ofemotion, which must be discharged in some direction or other; and when, as usually happens, the restricted series of intellectual actions to begone through, does not suffice to carry it off; there result dischargesalong other channels besides the one prescribed: there are arousedvarious ideas foreign to the train of thought to be pursued; and thesetend to exclude from consciousness those which should occupy it. 

And now observe the meaning of those bodily actions spontaneously set upunder these circumstances. The school-boy saying his lesson commonly hashis fingers actively engaged--perhaps in twisting about a broken pen, orperhaps squeezing the angle of his jacket; and if told to keep his handsstill, he soon again falls into the same or a similar trick. Manyanecdotes are current of public speakers having incurable automaticactions of this class: barristers who perpetually wound and unwoundpieces of tape; members of parliament ever putting on and taking offtheir spectacles. So long as such movements are unconscious, theyfacilitate the mental actions. At least this seems a fair inference fromthe fact that confusion frequently results from putting a stop to them:witness the case narrated by Sir Walter Scott of his school-fellow, whobecame unable to say his lesson after the removal of thewaistcoat-button that he habitually fingered while in class. But why dothey facilitate the mental actions? Clearly because they draw off aportion of the surplus nervous excitement. If, as above explained, thequantity of mental energy generated is greater than can find vent alongthe narrow channel of thought that is open to it; and if, inconsequence, it is apt to produce confusion by rushing into otherchannels of thought; then by allowing it an exit through the motornerves into the muscular system, the pressure is diminished, andirrelevant ideas are less likely to intrude on consciousness. 

This further illustration will, I think, justify the position thatsomething may be achieved by pursuing in other cases this method ofpsychological inquiry. A complete explanation of the phenomena, requiresus to trace out _all_ the consequences of any given state ofconsciousness; and we cannot do this without studying the effects, bodily and mental, as varying in quantity at each other's expense. Weshould probably learn much if we in every case asked--Where is all thenervous energy gone?

[1] _Macmillan's Magazine_, March 1860. 

[2] For numerous illustrations see essay on "The Origin and Function ofMusic. "

ON THE ORIGIN AND FUNCTION OF MUSIC[1]

When Carlo, standing, chained to his kennel, sees his master in thedistance, a slight motion of the tail indicates his but faint hope thathe is about to be let out. A much more decided wagging of the tail, passing by and by into lateral undulations of the body, follows hismaster's nearer approach. When hands are laid on his collar, and heknows that he is really to have an outing, his jumping and wriggling aresuch that it is by no means easy to loose his fastenings. And when hefinds himself actually free, his joy expends itself in bounds, inpirouettes, and in scourings hither and thither at the top of his speed. Puss, too, by erecting her tail, and by every time raising her back tomeet the caressing hand of her mistress, similarly expresses hergratification by certain muscular actions; as likewise do the parrot byawkward dancing on his perch, and the canary by hopping and flutteringabout his cage with unwonted rapidity. Under emotions of an oppositekind, animals equally display muscular excitement. The enraged lionlashes his sides with his tail, knits his brows, protrudes his claws. The cat sets up her back; the dog retracts his upper lip; the horsethrows back his ears. And in the struggles of creatures in pain, we seethat the like relation holds between excitement of the muscles andexcitement of the nerves of sensation. 

In ourselves, distinguished from lower creatures as we are by feelingsalike more powerful and more varied, parallel facts are at once moreconspicuous and more numerous. We may conveniently look at them ingroups. We shall find that pleasurable sensations and painfulsensations, pleasurable emotions and painful emotions, all tend toproduce active demonstrations in proportion to their intensity. 

In children, and even in adults who are not restrained by regard forappearances, a highly agreeable taste is followed by a smacking of thelips. An infant will laugh and bound in its nurse's arms at the sight ofa brilliant colour or the hearing of a new sound. People are apt to beattime with head or feet to music which particularly pleases them. In asensitive person an agreeable perfume will produce a smile; and smileswill be seen on the faces of a crowd gazing at some splendid burst offireworks Even the pleasant sensation of warmth felt on getting to thefireside out of a winter's storm, will similarly express itself in theface. 

Painful sensations, being mostly far more intense than pleasurable ones, cause muscular actions of a much more decided kind. A sudden twingeproduces a convulsive start of the whole body. A pain less violent, butcontinuous, is accompanied by a knitting of the brows, a setting of theteeth or biting of the lip, and a contraction of the features generally. Under a persistent pain of a severer kind, other muscular actions areadded: the body is swayed to and fro; the hands clench anything they canlay hold of; and should the agony rise still higher, the sufferer rollsabout on the floor almost convulsed. 

Though more varied, the natural language of the pleasurable emotionscomes within the same generalisation. A smile, which is the commonestexpression of gratified feeling, is a contraction of certain facialmuscles; and when the smile broadens into a laugh, we see a more violentand more general muscular excitement produced by an intensergratification. Rubbing together of the hands, and that other motionwhich Dickens somewhere describes as "washing with impalpable soap ininvisible water, " have like implications. Children may often be seen to"jump for joy. " Even in adults of excitable temperament, an actionapproaching to it is sometimes witnessed. And dancing has all the worldthrough been regarded as natural to an elevated state of mind. Many ofthe special emotions show themselves in special muscular actions. Thegratification resulting from success, raises the head and gives firmnessto the gait. A hearty grasp of the hand is currently taken as indicativeof friendship. Under a gush of affection the mother clasps her child toher breast, feeling as though she could squeeze it to death. And so insundry other cases. Even in that brightening of the eye with which goodnews is received we may trace the same truth; for this appearance ofgreater brilliancy is due to an extra contraction of the muscle whichraises the eyelid, and so allows more light to fall upon, and bereflected from, the wet surface of the eyeball. 

The bodily indications of painful emotions are equally numerous, andstill more vehement. Discontent is shown by raised eyebrows and wrinkledforehead; disgust by a curl of the lip; offence by a pout. The impatientman beats a tattoo with his fingers on the table, swings his pendent legwith increasing rapidity, gives needless pokings to the fire, andpresently paces with hasty strides about the room. In great grief thereis wringing of the hands, and even tearing of the hair. An angry childstamps, or rolls on its back and kicks its heels in the air; and inmanhood, anger, first showing itself in frowns, in distended nostrils, in compressed lips, goes on to produce grinding of the teeth, clenchingof the fingers, blows of the fist on the table, and perhaps ends in aviolent attack on the offending person, or in throwing about andbreaking the furniture. From that pursing of the mouth indicative ofslight displeasure, up to the frantic struggles of the maniac, we shallfind that mental irritation tends to vent itself in bodily activity. 

All feelings, then--sensations or emotions, pleasurable or painful--havethis common characteristic, that they are muscular stimuli. Notforgetting the few apparently exceptional cases in which emotionsexceeding a certain intensity produce prostration, we may set it down asa general law that, alike in man and animals, there is a directconnection between feeling and motion; the last growing more vehement asthe first grows more intense. Were it allowable here to treat the matterscientifically, we might trace this general law down to the principleknown among physiologists as that of _reflex action_. [2] Without doingthis, however, the above numerous instances justify the generalisation, that mental excitement of all kinds ends in excitement of the muscles;and that the two preserve a more or less constant ratio to each other. 

 * * * * *

"But what has all this to do with _The Origin and Function of Music_?"asks the reader. Very much, as we shall presently see. All music isoriginally vocal. All vocal sounds are produced by the agency of certainmuscles. These muscles, in common with those of the body at large, areexcited to contraction by pleasurable and painful feelings. Andtherefore it is that feelings demonstrate themselves in sounds as wellas in movements. Therefore it is that Carlo barks as well as leaps whenhe is let out--that puss purrs as well as erects her tail--that thecanary chirps as well as flutters. Therefore it is that the angry lionroars while he lashes his sides, and the dog growls while he retractshis lip. Therefore it is that the maimed animal not only struggles, buthowls. And it is from this cause that in human beings bodily sufferingexpresses itself not only in contortions, but in shrieks andgroans--that in anger, and fear, and grief, the gesticulations areaccompanied by shouts and screams--that delightful sensations arefollowed by exclamations--and that we hear screams of joy and shouts ofexultation. 

We have here, then, a principle underlying all vocal phenomena;including those of vocal music, and by consequence those of music ingeneral. The muscles that move the chest, larynx, and vocal chords, contracting like other muscles in proportion to the intensity of thefeelings; every different contraction of these muscles involving, as itdoes, a different adjustment of the vocal organs; every differentadjustment of the vocal organs causing a change in the soundemitted;--it follows that variations of voice are the physiologicalresults of variations of feeling; it follows that each inflection ormodulation is the natural outcome of some passing emotion or sensation;and it follows that the explanation of all kinds of vocal expressionmust be sought in this general relation between mental and muscularexcitements. Let us, then, see whether we cannot thus account for thechief peculiarities in the utterance of the feelings: grouping thesepeculiarities under the heads of _loudness_, _quality_, _or_ _timbre_, _pitch_, _intervals_, and _rate of variation_. 

 * * * * *

Between the lungs and the organs of voice there is much the samerelation as between the bellows of an organ and its pipes. And as theloudness of the sound given out by an organ-pipe increases with thestrength of the blast from the bellows; so, other things equal, theloudness of a vocal sound increases with the strength of the blast fromthe lungs. But the expulsion of air from the lungs is effected bycertain muscles of the chest and abdomen. The force with which thesemuscles contract, is proportionate to the intensity of the feelingexperienced. Hence, _à priori_, loud sounds will be the habitual resultsof strong feelings. That they are so we have daily proof. The painwhich, if moderate, can be borne silently, causes outcries if it becomesextreme. While a slight vexation makes a child whimper, a fit of passioncalls forth a howl that disturbs the neighbourhood. When the voices inan adjacent room become unusually audible, we infer anger, or surprise, or joy. Loudness of applause is significant of great approbation; andwith uproarious mirth we associate the idea of high enjoyment. Commencing with the silence of apathy, we find that the utterances growlouder as the sensations or emotions, whether pleasurable or painful, grow stronger. 

That different _qualities_ of voice accompany different mental states, and that under states of excitement the tones are more sonorous thanusual, is another general fact admitting of a parallel explanation. Thesounds of common conversation have but little resonance; those of strongfeeling have much more. Under rising ill temper the voice acquires ametallic ring. In accordance with her constant mood, the ordinary speechof a virago has a piercing quality quite opposite to that softnessindicative of placidity. A ringing laugh marks an especially joyoustemperament. Grief unburdening itself uses tones approaching in _timbre_to those of chanting: and in his most pathetic passages an eloquentspeaker similarly falls into tones more vibratory than those common tohim. Now any one may readily convince himself that resonant vocal soundscan be produced only by a certain muscular effort additional to thatordinarily needed. If after uttering a word in his speaking voice, thereader, without changing the pitch or the loudness, will _sing_ thisword, he will perceive that before he can sing it, he has to alter theadjustment of the vocal organs; to do which a certain force must beused; and by putting his fingers on that external prominence marking thetop of the larynx, he will have further evidence that to produce asonorous tone the organs must be drawn out of their usual position. Thus, then, the fact that the tones of excited feeling are morevibratory than those of common conversation is another instance of theconnection between mental excitement and muscular excitement. Thespeaking voice, the recitative voice, and the singing voice, severallyexemplify one general principle. 

That the _pitch_ of the voice varies according to the action of thevocal muscles scarcely needs saying. All know that the middle notes, inwhich they converse, are made without any appreciable effort; and allknow that to make either very high or very low notes requires aconsiderable effort. In either ascending or descending from the pitch ofordinary speech, we are conscious of an increasing muscular strain, which, at both extremes of the register, becomes positively painful. Hence it follows from our general principle, that while indifference orcalmness will use the medium tones, the tones used during excitementwill be either above or below them; and will rise higher and higher, orfall lower and lower, as the feelings grow stronger. This physiologicaldeduction we also find to be in harmony with familiar facts. Thehabitual sufferer utters his complaints in a voice raised considerablyabove the natural key; and agonising pain vents itself in either shrieksor groans--in very high or very low notes. Beginning at his talkingpitch, the cry of the disappointed urchin grows more shrill as it growslouder. The "Oh!" of astonishment or delight, begins several notes belowthe middle voice, and descends still lower. Anger expresses itself inhigh tones, or else in "curses not loud but _deep_. " Deep tones, too, are always used in uttering strong reproaches. Such an exclamation as"Beware!" if made dramatically--that is, if made with a show offeeling--must be many notes lower than ordinary. Further, we have groansof disapprobation, groans of horror, groans of remorse. And extreme joyand fear are alike accompanied by shrill outcries. 

Nearly allied to the subject of pitch, is that of _intervals_; and theexplanation of them carries our argument a step further. While calmspeech is comparatively monotonous, emotion makes use of fifths, octaves, and even wider intervals. Listen to any one narrating orrepeating something in which he has no interest, and his voice will notwander more than two or three notes above or below his medium note, andthat by small steps; but when he comes to some exciting event he will beheard not only to use the higher and lower notes of his register, but togo from one to the other by larger leaps. Being unable in print toimitate these traits of feeling, we feel some difficulty in fullyrealising them to the reader. But we may suggest a few remembranceswhich will perhaps call to mind a sufficiency of others. If two menliving in the same place, and frequently seeing one another, meet, sayat a public assembly, any phrase with which one may be heard to accostthe other--as "Hallo, are you here?"--will have an ordinary intonation. But if one of them, after long absence, has unexpectedly returned, theexpression of surprise with which his friend may greet him--"Hallo! howcame you here?"--will be uttered in much more strongly contrasted tones. The two syllables of the word "Hallo" will be, the one much higher andthe other much lower than before; and the rest of the sentence willsimilarly ascend and descend by longer steps. 

Again, if, supposing her to be in an adjoining room, the mistress of thehouse calls "Mary, " the two syllables of the name will be spoken in anascending interval of a third. If Mary does not reply, the call will berepeated probably in a descending fifth; implying the slightest shade ofannoyance at Mary's inattention. Should Mary still make no answer, theincreasing annoyance will show itself by the use of a descending octaveon the next repetition of the call. And supposing the silence tocontinue, the lady, if not of a very even temper, will show herirritation at Mary's seemingly intentional negligence by finally callingher in tones still more widely contrasted--the first syllable beinghigher and the last lower than before. 

Now, these and analogous facts, which the reader will readilyaccumulate, clearly conform to the law laid down. For to make largeintervals requires more muscular action than to make small ones. But notonly is the _extent_ of vocal intervals thus explicable as due to therelation between nervous and muscular excitement, but also in somedegree their _direction_, as ascending or descending. The middle notesbeing those which demand no appreciable effort of muscular adjustment;and the effort becoming greater as we either ascend or descend; itfollows that a departure from the middle notes in either direction willmark increasing emotion; while a return towards the middle notes willmark decreasing emotion. Hence it happens that an enthusiastic personuttering such a sentence as--"It was the most splendid sight I eversaw!" will ascend to the first syllable of the word "splendid, " andthence will descend: the word "splendid" marking the climax of thefeeling produced by the recollection. Hence, again, it happens that, under some extreme vexation produced by another's stupidity, anirascible man, exclaiming--"What a confounded fool the fellow is!" willbegin somewhat below his middle voice, and descending to the word"fool, " which he will utter in one of his deepest notes, will thenascend again. And it may be remarked, that the word "fool" will not onlybe deeper and louder than the rest, but will also have more emphasis ofarticulation--another mode in which muscular excitement is shown. 

There is some danger, however, in giving instances like this; seeingthat as the mode of rendering will vary according to the intensity ofthe feeling which the reader feigns to himself, the right cadence maynot be hit upon. With single words there is less difficulty. Thus the"Indeed!" with which a surprising fact is received, mostly begins on themiddle note of the voice, and rises with the second syllable; or, ifdisapprobation as well as astonishment is felt, the first syllable willbe below the middle note, and the second lower still. Conversely, theword "Alas!" which marks not the rise of a paroxysm of grief, but itsdecline, is uttered in a cadence descending towards the middle note; or, if the first syllable is in the lower part of the register, the secondascends towards the middle note. In the "Heigh-ho!" expressive of mentaland muscular prostration, we may see the same truth; and if the cadenceappropriate to it be inverted, the absurdity of the effect clearly showshow the meaning of intervals is dependent on the principle we have beenillustrating. 

The remaining characteristic of emotional speech which we have to noticeis that of _variability of pitch_. It is scarcely possible here toconvey adequate ideas of this more complex manifestation. We must becontent with simply indicating some occasions on which it may beobserved. On a meeting of friends, for instance--as when there arrives aparty of much-wished-for-visitors--the voices of all will be heard toundergo changes of pitch not only greater but much more numerous thanusual. If a speaker at a public meeting is interrupted by some squabbleamong those he is addressing, his comparatively level tones will be inmarked contrast with the rapidly changing one of the disputants. Andamong children, whose feelings are less under control than those ofadults, this peculiarity is still more decided. During a scene ofcomplaint and recrimination between two excitable little girls, thevoices may be heard to run up and down the gamut several times in eachsentence. In such cases we once more recognise the same law: formuscular excitement is shown not only in strength of contraction butalso in the rapidity with which different muscular adjustments succeedeach other. 

Thus we find all the leading vocal phenomena to have a physiologicalbasis. They are so many manifestations of the general law that feelingis a stimulus to muscular action--a law conformed to throughout thewhole economy, not of man only, but of every sensitive creature--a law, therefore, which lies deep in the nature of animal organisation. Theexpressiveness of these various modifications of voice is thereforeinnate. Each of us, from babyhood upwards, has been spontaneously makingthem, when under the various sensations and emotions by which they areproduced. Having been conscious of each feeling at the same time that weheard ourselves make the consequent sound, we have acquired anestablished association of ideas between such sound and the feelingwhich caused it. When the like sound is made by another, we ascribe thelike feeling to him; and by a further consequence we not only ascribe tohim that feeling, but have a certain degree of it aroused in ourselves:for to become conscious of the feeling which another is experiencing, isto have that feeling awakened in our own consciousness, which is thesame thing as experiencing the feeling. Thus these various modificationsof voice become not only a language through which we understand theemotions of others, but also the means of exciting our sympathy withsuch emotions. 

Have we not here, then, adequate data for a theory of music? These vocalpeculiarities which indicate excited feeling _are those which especiallydistinguish song from ordinary speech_. Every one of the alterations ofvoice which we have found to be a physiological result of pain orpleasure, _is carried to its greatest extreme in vocal music_. Forinstance, we saw that, in virtue of the general relation between mentaland muscular excitement, one characteristic of passionate utterance is_loudness_. Well, its comparative loudness is one of the distinctivemarks of song as contrasted with the speech of daily life; and further, the _forte_ passages of an air are those intended to represent theclimax of its emotion. We next saw that the tones in which emotionexpresses itself are, in conformity with this same law, of a moresonorous _timbre_ than those of calm conversation. Here, too, songdisplays a still higher degree of the peculiarity; for the singing toneis the most resonant we can make. Again, it was shown that, from a likecause, mental excitement vents itself in the higher and lower notes ofthe register; using the middle notes but seldom. And it scarcely needssaying that vocal music is still more distinguished by its comparativeneglect of the notes in which we talk, and its habitual use of thoseabove or below them and, moreover, that its most passionate effects arecommonly produced at the two extremities of its scale, but especiallythe upper one. 

A yet further trait of strong feeling, similarly accounted for, was theemployment of larger intervals than are employed in common converse. This trait, also, every ballad and _aria_ carries to an extent beyondthat heard in the spontaneous utterances of emotion: add to which, thatthe direction of these intervals, which, as diverging from or convergingtowards the medium tones, we found to be physiologically expressive ofincreasing or decreasing emotion, may be observed to have in music likemeanings. Once more, it was pointed out that not only extreme but alsorapid variations of pitch are characteristic of mental excitement; andonce more we see in the quick changes of every melody, that song carriesthe characteristic as far, if not farther. Thus, in respect alike of_loudness_, _timbre_, _pitch_, _intervals_, and _rate of variation_, song employs and exaggerates the natural language of the emotions;--itarises from a systematic combination of those vocal peculiarities whichare the physiological effects of acute pleasure and pain. 

Besides these chief characteristics of song as distinguished from commonspeech, there are sundry minor ones similarly explicable as due to therelation between mental and muscular excitement; and before proceedingfurther these should be briefly noticed. Thus, certain passions, andperhaps all passions when pushed to an extreme, produce (probablythrough their influence over the action of the heart) an effect thereverse of that which has been described: they cause a physicalprostration, one symptom of which is a general relaxation of themuscles, and a consequent trembling. We have the trembling of anger, offear, of hope, of joy; and the vocal muscles being implicated with therest, the voice too becomes tremulous. Now, in singing, thistremulousness of voice is very effectively used by some vocalists inhighly pathetic passages; sometimes, indeed, because of itseffectiveness, too much used by them--as by Tamberlik, for instance. 

Again, there is a mode of musical execution known as the _staccato_, appropriate to energetic passages--to passages expressive ofexhilaration, of resolution, of confidence. The action of the vocalmuscles which produces this staccato style is analogous to the muscularaction which produces the sharp decisive, energetic movements of bodyindicating these states of mind; and therefore it is that the staccatostyle has the meaning we ascribe to it. Conversely, slurred intervalsare expressive of gentler and less active feelings; and are so becausethey imply the smaller muscular vivacity due to a lower mental energy. The difference of effect resulting from difference of _time_ in music isalso attributable to the same law. Already it has been pointed out thatthe more frequent changes of pitch which ordinarily result from passionare imitated and developed in song; and here we have to add, that thevarious rates of such changes, appropriate to the different styles ofmusic, are further traits having the same derivation. The slowestmovements, _largo_ and _adagio_, are used where such depressing emotionsas grief, or such unexciting emotions as reverence, are to be portrayed;while the more rapid movements, _andante_, _allegro_, _presto_, represent successively increasing degrees of mental vivacity; and dothis because they imply that muscular activity which flows from thismental vivacity. Even the _rhythm_, which forms a remaining distinctionbetween song and speech, may not improbably have a kindred cause. Whythe actions excited by strong feeling should tend to become rhythmicalis not very obvious; but that they do so there are divers evidences. There is the swaying of the body to and fro under pain or grief, of theleg under impatience or agitation. Dancing, too, is a rhythmical actionnatural to elevated emotion. That under excitement speech acquires acertain rhythm, we may occasionally perceive in the highest efforts ofan orator. In poetry, which is a form of speech used for the betterexpression of emotional ideas, we have this rhythmical tendencydeveloped. And when we bear in mind that dancing, poetry, and music areconnate--are originally constituent parts of the same thing, it becomesclear that the measured movement common to them all implies a rhythmicalaction of the whole system, the vocal apparatus included; and that sothe rhythm of music is a more subtle and complex result of this relationbetween mental and muscular excitement. 

But it is time to end this analysis, which possibly we have alreadycarried too far. It is not to be supposed that the more specialpeculiarities of musical expression are to be definitely explained. Though probably they may all in some way conform to the principle thathas been worked out, it is obviously impracticable to trace thatprinciple in its more ramified applications. Nor is it needful to ourargument that it should be so traced. The foregoing facts sufficientlyprove that what we regard as the distinctive traits of song, are simplythe traits of emotional speech intensified and systematised. In respectof its general characteristics, we think it has been made clear thatvocal music, and by consequence all music, is an idealisation of thenatural language of passion. 

 * * * * *

As far as it goes, the scanty evidence furnished by history confirmsthis conclusion. Note first the fact (not properly an historical one, but fitly grouped with such) that the dance-chants of savage tribes arevery monotonous; and in virtue of their monotony are much more nearlyallied to ordinary speech than are the songs of civilised races. Joiningwith this the fact that there are still extant among boatmen and othersin the East, ancient chants of a like monotonous character, we may inferthat vocal music originally diverged from emotional speech in a gradual, unobtrusive manner; and this is the inference to which our argumentpoints. Further evidence to the same effect is supplied by Greekhistory. The early poems of the Greeks--which, be it remembered, weresacred legends embodied in that rhythmical, metaphorical language whichstrong feeling excites--were not recited, but chanted: the tones andthe cadences were made musical by the same influences which made thespeech poetical. 

By those who have investigated the matter, this chanting is believed tohave been not what we call singing, but nearly allied to our recitative(far simpler indeed, if we may judge from the fact that the early Greeklyre, which had but _four_ strings, was played in _unison_ with thevoice, which was therefore confined to four notes), and as such, muchless remote from common speech than our own singing is. For recitative, or musical recitation, is in all respects intermediate between speechand song. Its average effects are not so _loud_ as those of song. Itstones are less sonorous in _timbre_ than those of song. Commonly itdiverges to a smaller extent from the middle notes--uses notes neitherso high nor so low in _pitch_. The _intervals_ habitual to it areneither so wide nor so varied. Its _rate of variation_ is not so rapid. And at the same time that its primary _rhythm_ is less decided, it hasnone of that secondary rhythm produced by recurrence of the same orparallel musical phrases, which is one of the marked characteristics ofsong. Thus, then, we may not only infer, from the evidence furnished byexisting barbarous tribes, that the vocal music of pre-historic timeswas emotional speech very slightly exalted; but we see that the earliestvocal music of which we have any account differed much less fromemotional speech than does the vocal music of our days. 

That recitative--beyond which, by the way, the Chinese and Hindoos seemnever to have advanced--grew naturally out of the modulations andcadences of strong feeling, we have indeed still current evidence. Thereare even now to be met with occasions on which strong feeling ventsitself in this form. Whoever has been present when a meeting of Quakerswas addressed by one of their preachers (whose practice it is to speakonly under the influence of religious emotion), must have been struck bythe quite unusual tones, like those of a subdued chant, in which theaddress was made. It is clear, too, that the intoning used in somechurches is representative of this same mental state; and has beenadopted on account of the instinctively felt congruity between it andthe contrition, supplication, or reverence verbally expressed. 

And if, as we have good reason to believe, recitative arose by degreesout of emotional speech, it becomes manifest that by a continuance ofthe same process song has arisen out of recitative. Just as, from theorations and legends of savages, expressed in the metaphorical, allegorical style natural to them, there sprung epic poetry, out ofwhich lyric poetry was afterwards developed; so, from the exalted tonesand cadences in which such orations and legends were delivered, came thechant or recitative music, from whence lyrical music has since grown up. And there has not only thus been a simultaneous and parallel genesis, but there is also a parallelism of results. For lyrical poetry differsfrom epic poetry, just as lyrical music differs from recitative: eachstill further intensifies the natural language of the emotions. Lyricalpoetry is more metaphorical, more hyperbolic, more elliptical, and addsthe rhythm of lines to the rhythm of feet; just as lyrical music islouder, more sonorous, more extreme in its intervals, and adds therhythm of phrases to the rhythm of bars. And the known fact that out ofepic poetry the stronger passions developed lyrical poetry as theirappropriate vehicle, strengthens the inference that they similarlydeveloped lyrical music out of recitative. 

Nor indeed are we without evidences of the transition. It needs but tolisten to an opera to hear the leading gradations. Between thecomparatively level recitative of ordinary dialogue, the more variedrecitative with wider intervals and higher tones used in excitingscenes, the still more musical recitative which preludes an air, and theair itself, the successive steps are but small; and the fact that amongairs themselves gradations of like nature may be traced, furtherconfirms the conclusion that the highest form of vocal music was arrivedat by degrees. 

Moreover, we have some clue to the influences which have induced thisdevelopment; and may roughly conceive the process of it. As the tones, intervals, and cadences of strong emotion were the elements out of whichsong was elaborated, so we may expect to find that still strongeremotion produced the elaboration: and we have evidence implying this. Instances in abundance may be cited, showing that musical composers aremen of extremely acute sensibilities. The Life of Mozart depicts him asone of intensely active affections and highly impressionabletemperament. Various anecdotes represent Beethoven as very susceptibleand very passionate. Mendelssohn is described by those who knew him tohave been full of fine feeling. And the almost incredible sensitivenessof Chopin has been illustrated in the memoirs of George Sand. Anunusually emotional nature being thus the general characteristic ofmusical composers, we have in it just the agency required for thedevelopment of recitative and song. Intenser feeling producing intensermanifestations, any cause of excitement will call forth from such anature tones and changes of voice more marked than those called forthfrom an ordinary nature--will generate just those exaggerations which wehave found to distinguish the lower vocal music from emotional speech, and the higher vocal music from the lower. Thus it becomes credible thatthe four-toned recitative of the early Greek poets (like all poets, nearly allied to composers in the comparative intensity of theirfeelings), was really nothing more than the slightly exaggeratedemotional speech natural to them, which grew by frequent use into anorganised form. And it is readily conceivable that the accumulatedagency of subsequent poet-musicians, inheriting and adding to theproducts of those who went before them, sufficed, in the course of theten centuries which we know it took, to develop this four-tonedrecitative into a vocal music having a range of two octaves. 

Not only may we so understand how more sonorous tones, greater extremesof pitch, and wider intervals, were gradually introduced; but also howthere arose a greater variety and complexity of musical expression. Forthis same passionate, enthusiastic temperament, which naturally leadsthe musical composer to express the feelings possessed by others as wellas himself, in extremer intervals and more marked cadences than theywould use, also leads him to give musical utterance to feelings whichthey either do not experience, or experience in but slight degrees. Invirtue of this general susceptibility which distinguishes him, heregards with emotion, events, scenes, conduct, character, which produceupon most men no appreciable effect. The emotions so generated, compounded as they are of the simpler emotions, are not expressible byintervals and cadences natural to these, but by combinations of suchintervals and cadences: whence arise more involved musical phrases, conveying more complex, subtle, and unusual feelings. And thus we may insome measure understand how it happens that music not only so stronglyexcites our more familiar feelings, but also produces feelings we neverhad before--arouses dormant sentiments of which we had not conceived thepossibility and do not know the meaning; or, as Richter says--tells usof things we have not seen and shall not see. 

 * * * * *

Indirect evidences of several kinds remain to be briefly pointed out. One of them is the difficulty, not to say impossibility, of otherwiseaccounting for the expressiveness of music. Whence comes it thatspecial combinations of notes should have special effects upon ouremotions?--that one should give us a feeling of exhilaration, another ofmelancholy, another of affection, another of reverence? Is it that thesespecial combinations have intrinsic meanings apart from the humanconstitution?--that a certain number of aerial waves per second, followed by a certain other number, in the nature of things signifygrief, while in the reverse order they signify joy; and similarly withall other intervals, phrases, and cadences? Few will be so irrational asto think this. Is it, then, that the meanings of these specialcombinations are conventional only?--that we learn their implications, as we do those of words, by observing how others understand them? Thisis an hypothesis not only devoid of evidence, but directly opposed tothe experience of every one. How, then, are musical effects to beexplained? If the theory above set forth be accepted, the difficultydisappears. If music, taking for its raw material the variousmodifications of voice which are the physiological results of excitedfeelings, intensifies, combines, and complicates them--if it exaggeratesthe loudness, the resonance, the pitch, the intervals, and thevariability, which, in virtue of an organic law, are the characteristicsof passionate speech--if, by carrying out these further, moreconsistently, more unitedly, and more sustainedly, it produces anidealised language of emotion; then its power over us becomescomprehensible. But in the absence of this theory, the expressiveness ofmusic appears to be inexplicable. 

Again, the preference we feel for certain qualities of sound presents alike difficulty, admitting only of a like solution. It is generallyagreed that the tones of the human voice are more pleasing than anyothers. Grant that music takes its rise from the modulations of thehuman voice under emotion, and it becomes a natural consequence that thetones of that voice should appeal to our feelings more than any others;and so should be considered more beautiful than any others. But denythat music has this origin, and the only alternative is the untenableposition that the vibrations proceeding from a vocalist's throat are, objectively considered, of a higher order than those from a horn or aviolin. Similarly with harsh and soft sounds. If the conclusiveness ofthe foregoing reasonings be not admitted, it must be supposed that thevibrations causing the last are intrinsically better than those causingthe first; and that, in virtue of some pre-established harmony, thehigher feelings and natures produce the one, and the lower the other. But if the foregoing reasonings be valid, it follows, as a matter ofcourse, that we shall like the sounds that habitually accompanyagreeable feelings, and dislike those that habitually accompanydisagreeable feelings. 

Once more, the question--How is the expressiveness of music to beotherwise accounted for? may be supplemented by the question--How is thegenesis of music to be otherwise accounted for? That music is a productof civilisation is manifest; for though savages have their dance-chants, these are of a kind scarcely to be dignified by the title musical: atmost, they supply but the vaguest rudiment of music, properly so called. And if music has been by slow steps developed in the course ofcivilisation, it must have been developed out of something. If, then, its origin is not that above alleged, what is its origin?

Thus we find that the negative evidence confirms the positive, and that, taken together, they furnish strong proof. We have seen that there is aphysiological relation, common to man and all animals, between feelingand muscular action; that as vocal sounds are produced by muscularaction, there is a consequent physiological relation between feeling andvocal sounds; that all the modifications of voice expressive of feelingare the direct results of this physiological relation; that music, adopting all these modifications, intensifies them more and more as itascends to its higher and higher forms, and becomes music simply invirtue of thus intensifying them; that, from the ancient epic poetchanting his verses, down to the modern musical composer, men ofunusually strong feelings prone to express them in extreme forms, havebeen naturally the agents of these successive intensifications; and thatso there has little by little arisen a wide divergence between thisidealised language of emotion and its natural language: to which directevidence we have just added the indirect--that on no other tenablehypothesis can either the expressiveness or the genesis of music beexplained. 

 * * * * *

And now, what is the _function_ of music? Has music any effect beyondthe immediate pleasure it produces? Analogy suggests that it has. Theenjoyments of a good dinner do not end with themselves, but minister tobodily well-being. Though people do not marry with a view to maintainthe race, yet the passions which impel them to marry secure itsmaintenance. Parental affection is a feeling which, while it conduces toparental happiness, ensures the nurture of offspring. Men love toaccumulate property, often without thought of the benefits it produces;but in pursuing the pleasure of acquisition they indirectly open the wayto other pleasures. The wish for public approval impels all of us to domany things which we should otherwise not do, --to undertake greatlabours, face great dangers, and habitually rule ourselves in a way thatsmooths social intercourse: that is, in gratifying our love ofapprobation we subserve divers ulterior purposes. And, generally, ournature is such that in fulfilling each desire, we in some way facilitatethe fulfilment of the rest. But the love of music seems to exist for itsown sake. The delights of melody and harmony do not obviously ministerto the welfare either of the individual or of society. May we notsuspect, however, that this exception is apparent only? Is it not arational inquiry--What are the indirect benefits which accrue frommusic, in addition to the direct pleasure it gives?

But that it would take us too far out of our track, we should preludethis inquiry by illustrating at some length a certain general law ofprogress;--the law that alike in occupations, sciences, arts, thedivisions that had a common root, but by continual divergence havebecome distinct, and are now being separately developed, are not trulyindependent, but severally act and react on each other to their mutualadvancement. Merely hinting thus much, however, by way of showing thatthere are many analogies to justify us, we go on to express the opinionthat there exists a relationship of this kind between music and speech. 

All speech is compounded of two elements, the words and the tones inwhich they are uttered--the signs of ideas and the signs of feelings. While certain articulations express the thought, certain vocal soundsexpress the more or less of pain or pleasure which the thought gives. Using the word _cadence_ in an unusually extended sense, ascomprehending all modifications of voice, we may say that _cadence isthe commentary of the emotions upon the propositions of the intellect_. The duality of spoken language, though not formally recognised, isrecognised in practice by every one; and every one knows that very oftenmore weight attaches to the tones than to the words. Daily experiencesupplies cases in which the same sentence of disapproval will beunderstood as meaning little or meaning much, according to theinflections of voice which accompany it; and daily experience suppliesstill more striking cases in which words and tones are in directcontradiction--the first expressing consent, while the last expressreluctance; and the last being believed rather than the first. 

These two distinct but interwoven elements of speech have beenundergoing a simultaneous development. We know that in the course ofcivilisation words have been multiplied, new parts of speech have beenintroduced, sentences have grown more varied and complex; and we mayfairly infer that during the same time new modifications of voice havecome into use, fresh intervals have been adopted, and cadences havebecome more elaborate. For while, on the one hand, it is absurd tosuppose that, along with the undeveloped verbal forms of barbarism, there existed a developed system of vocal inflections; it is, on theother hand, necessary to suppose that, along with the higher and morenumerous verbal forms needed to convey the multiplied and complicatedideas of civilised life, there have grown up those more involved changesof voice which express the feelings proper to such ideas. Ifintellectual language is a growth, so also, without doubt, is emotionallanguage a growth. 

Now, the hypothesis which we have hinted above, is, that beyond thedirect pleasure which it gives, music has the indirect effect ofdeveloping this language of the emotions. Having its root, as we haveendeavoured to show, in those tones, intervals, and cadences of speechwhich express feeling--arising by the combination and intensifying ofthese, and coming finally to have an embodiment of its own--music hasall along been reacting upon speech, and increasing its power ofrendering emotion. The use in recitative and song of inflections moreexpressive than ordinary ones, must from the beginning have tended todevelop the ordinary ones. Familiarity with the more varied combinationsof tones that occur in vocal music can scarcely have failed to givegreater variety of combination to the tones in which we utter ourimpressions and desires. The complex musical phrases by which composershave conveyed complex emotions, may rationally be supposed to haveinfluenced us in making those involved cadences of conversation by whichwe convey our subtler thoughts and feelings. 

That the cultivation of music has no effect on the mind, few will beabsurd enough to contend. And if it has an effect, what more naturaleffect is there than this of developing our perception of the meaningsof inflections, qualities, and modulations of voice; and giving us acorrespondingly increased power of using them? Just as mathematics, taking its start from the phenomena of physics and astronomy, andpresently coming to be a separate science, has since reacted on physicsand astronomy to their immense advancement--just as chemistry, firstarising out of the processes of metallurgy and the industrial arts, andgradually growing into an independent study, has now become an aid toall kinds of production--just as physiology, originating out of medicineand once subordinate to it, but latterly pursued for its own sake, is inour day coming to be the science on which the progress of medicinedepends;--so, music, having its root in emotional language, andgradually evolved from it, has ever been reacting upon and furtheradvancing it. Whoever will examine the facts will find this hypothesisto be in harmony with the method of civilisation everywhere displayed. 

It will scarcely be expected that much direct evidence in support ofthis conclusion can be given. The facts are of a kind which it isdifficult to measure, and of which we have no records. Some suggestivetraits, however, may be noted. May we not say, for instance, that theItalians, among whom modern music was earliest cultivated, and who havemore especially practised and excelled in melody (the division of musicwith which our argument is chiefly concerned)--may we not say that theseItalians speak in more varied and expressive inflections and cadencesthan any other nation? On the other hand, may we not say that, confinedalmost exclusively as they have hitherto been to their national airs, which have a marked family likeness, and therefore accustomed to but alimited range of musical expression, the Scotch are unusually monotonousin the intervals and modulations of their speech? And again, do we notfind among different classes of the same nation, differences that havelike implications? The gentleman and the clown stand in a very decidedcontrast with respect to variety of intonation. Listen to theconversation of a servant-girl, and then to that of a refined, accomplished lady, and the more delicate and complex changes of voiceused by the latter will be conspicuous. Now, without going so far as tosay that out of all the differences of culture to which the upper andlower classes are subjected, difference of musical culture is that towhich alone this difference of speech is ascribable, yet we may fairlysay that there seems a much more obvious connection of cause and effectbetween these than between any others. Thus, while the inductiveevidence to which we can appeal is but scanty and vague, yet what thereis favours our position. 

 * * * * *

Probably most will think that the function here assigned to music is oneof very little moment. But further reflection may lead them to acontrary conviction. In its bearings upon human happiness, we believethat this emotional language which musical culture develops and refinesis only second in importance to the language of the intellect; perhapsnot even second to it. For these modifications of voice produced byfeelings are the means of exciting like feelings in others. Joined withgestures and expressions of face, they give life to the otherwise deadwords in which the intellect utters its ideas; and so enable the hearernot only to _understand_ the state of mind they accompany, but to_partake_ of that state. In short, they are the chief media of_sympathy_. And if we consider how much both our general welfare and ourimmediate pleasures depend upon sympathy, we shall recognise theimportance of whatever makes this sympathy greater. If we bear in mindthat by their fellow-feeling men are led to behave justly, kindly, andconsiderately to each other--that the difference between the cruelty ofthe barbarous and the humanity of the civilised, results from theincrease of fellow-feeling; if we bear in mind that this faculty whichmakes us sharers in the joys and sorrows of others, is the basis of allthe higher affections--that in friendship, love, and all domesticpleasures, it is an essential element; if we bear in mind how much ourdirect gratifications are intensified by sympathy, --how, at the theatre, the concert, the picture gallery, we lose half our enjoyment if we haveno one to enjoy with us; if, in short, we bear in mind that for allhappiness beyond what the unfriended recluse can have, we are indebtedto this same sympathy;--we shall see that the agencies which communicateit can scarcely be overrated in value. 

The tendency of civilisation is more and more to repress theantagonistic elements of our characters and to develop the socialones--to curb our purely selfish desires and exercise our unselfishones--to replace private gratifications by gratifications resultingfrom, or involving, the happiness of others. And while, by thisadaptation to the social state, the sympathetic side of our nature isbeing unfolded, there is simultaneously growing up a language ofsympathetic intercourse--a language through which we communicate toothers the happiness we feel, and are made sharers in their happiness. 

This double process, of which the effects are already sufficientlyappreciable, must go on to an extent of which we can as yet have noadequate conception. The habitual concealment of our feelingsdiminishing, as it must, in proportion as our feelings become such as donot demand concealment, we may conclude that the exhibition of them willbecome much more vivid than we now dare allow it to be; and this impliesa more expressive emotional language. At the same time, feelings of ahigher and more complex kind, as yet experienced only by the cultivatedfew, will become general; and there will be a corresponding developmentof the emotional language into more involved forms. Just as there hassilently grown up a language of ideas, which, rude as it at first was, now enables us to convey with precision the most subtle and complicatedthoughts; so, there is still silently growing up a language of feelings, which, notwithstanding its present imperfection, we may expect willultimately enable men vividly and completely to impress on each otherall the emotions which they experience from moment to moment. 

Thus if, as we have endeavoured to show, it is the function of music tofacilitate the development of this emotional language, we may regardmusic as an aid to the achievement of that higher happiness which itindistinctly shadows forth. Those vague feelings of unexperiencedfelicity which music arouses--those indefinite impressions of an unknownideal life which it calls up, may be considered as a prophecy, to thefulfilment of which music is itself partly instrumental. The strangecapacity which we have for being so affected by melody and harmony maybe taken to imply both that it is within the possibilities of our natureto realise those intenser delights they dimly suggest, and that they arein some way concerned in the realisation of them. On this suppositionthe power and the meaning of music become comprehensible; but otherwisethey are a mystery. 

We will only add, that if the probability of these corollaries beadmitted, then music must take rank as he highest of the fine arts--asthe one which, more than any other, ministers to human welfare. Andthus, even leaving out of view the immediate gratifications it is hourlygiving, we cannot too much applaud that progress of musical culturewhich is becoming one of the characteristics of our age. 

[1] _Fraser's Magazine_, October 1857. 

[2] Those who seek information on this point may find it in aninteresting tract by Mr. Alexander Bain, on _Animal Instinct andIntelligence_.