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GEORGE IDE CHACE,
LL.D.
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Ø filtmorial.
EDITED BY
JAMES O. MURRAY.
CAMERIDGE :
ºrintet at the ſtipergite 39tegg,
1886.
But I that am under a command not to grieve at the common rate of desolate women,
while I am studying which way to moderate my woe, and if it were possible to augment
my love, can for the present find out none more just [to him] nor consolatory to myself
than the preservation of his memory ; which I need not gild as with such flattering com-
mendations as the hired preachers do equally give to the truly and titularly honorable.
A naked, unadorned narrative, speaking the simple truth of him will deck him with more
substantial glory than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever consecrate to the virtues
of the best men. — MEMOIRS OF COLONEL HUTCHINSON BY HIS WIFE.
CONTENTS.
–0–
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . . . . . . . . .
LIST . OF CONTRIBUTIONS TO REVIEWS
LECTURES AND ESSAYS
THE ExISTENCE OF GOD
THE MATERIALISTIC FoRM OF THE DEVELOPMENT HYPOTHESIS .
OF SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIEs witH which THEISM IS PRESSED
THE RELATION of GoD TO THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS
CoLLATERAL PROOFs of THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN
A DISCOURSE on FRANCIS WAYLAND
THE REALM of FAITH
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE tº º dº º tº gº &
. 138
. 243
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
BY
JAMES O. MURRAY, D. D.
GEORGE IDE CHACE.
–0-
THE life of a beloved and venerated teacher has peculiar
claims for commemoration. Even when his fame has been
secured by his writings or his services, much of his best work
simply lives in the character of the pupils he has trained. In
thus moulding character, he touches and shapes the most vital
interests of society. He becomes a power behind the throne.
The world may admire the philosophical writings of Plato more
than his personal reminiscences of Socrates. But if we were
compelled to choose between these and the dreamy speculations
in some of his treatises, we should not hesitate to take his grate-
ful record of the life of the great Grecian teacher, and give up
his brilliant speculations in philosophy. Dr. Arnold of Rugby
has just claims for remembrance as a historical scholar. It is
not these, however, by which he will chiefly live in the grate-
ful estimation of his countrymen. His fame will be perpetuated
rather as the great educator, who more than any man of his
age lifted the high vocation of the teacher into its deserved
prominence.
All the more is it true that the teachers of men should be
fitly commemorated, if the subject of the memoir has been one
of those choice spirits whose real worth has been somewhat
veiled by reserve, whose sphere of work has been outside the
1
2 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
glare of wide publicity. It happens also in the case of not a
few of our worthiest scholars that their toils have been put
forth in a varied field of effort, sometimes compelled to this by
circumstances or necessity, when, if choice could have been fol-
lowed, and the talents concentrated on one line of work, the
impression of the life would have been more sharply defined.
For such, the only adequate estimate can be reached by “gath-
ering up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost,” and
weaving into a connected whole what in its separateness never
gains the appreciation it deserves. And when a high unity of
Christian purpose has characterized the whole career, and the
life has borne its best fruit in the closing period, the task will
be one no less delightful than sacred.
George Ide Chace, the son of Charles and Ruth (Jenckes)
Chace, was born in Lancaster, Massachusetts, February 19,
1808. The home into which he was born was one of those
New England households in which so many of our best-public
men have been trained. Its atmosphere was one of strictness
in religious belief and life. But no austerity chilled the affec-
tionate intercourse between parents and son. The relation be-
tween his parents and himself, judging from his letters, was
one of uncommon confidence and tenderness. Writing to his
mother on his thirty-sixth birthday, he says: —
This day reminds me anew of the untold, unpaid, and unpayable
debt of gratitude which every son is under to a good mother, and for
which the only return he can make is to show her that he is not
insensible of it. Frequently, when not otherwise occupied, does my
mind wander back to the days of my early childhood, when it was so
Sweet to pillow my head upon my mother's knee, when her lap was my
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 3
home, the safe refuge to which I flew from every childish grief or
trouble. And there are moments when my spirit, worn and soiled by
the cares of life, has lost its freshness and its hope, in which I would
fain be that little boy over again, and again nestle in my mother's
bosom, and find it as secure a retreat from the trials of manhood as
I then did from the trials of infancy.
His boyhood was passed on a large farm, now the seat of ex-
tensive manufactories. The surrounding region is one of great
natural beauty, and to this in his earlier years, as indeed
through life, he was keenly sensitive. It wakened in him at
an early period the love for observation of nature which simi-
lar surroundings have developed in the case of many scientific
men. His interest in all natural growths strengthened with
years and studies. His love for nature was something more
and deeper always than scientific interest. It was also the sen-
timent which the poetry of Wordsworth expresses so tenderly
and richly. But the scientific interest and the tender senti-
ment had their beginnings in the early home at Lancaster.
An accident which befell him at ten years of age was a
turning point in his life. He fell from the roof of a building
then undergoing repairs. He escaped fatal injury, but was for
a time confined to the house. During this protracted convales-
cence, he gave himself to study under the tuition of an elder
brother. Natural love of study was quickened. His thoughts
were turned in the direction of a collegiate education, and his
heart became set upon it. In this desire his father warmly sym-
pathized, and when his confinement was ended he began the
preparatory studies at Lancaster Academy. Here a marked
aptness for study and devotion to it drew upon him the notice
of the principal, who wisely and warmly fostered the studious
4 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
purposes of his pupil. For this service to himself, in furnish-
ing him at the very outset of his life as a scholar with so much
genuine stimulus, Professor Chace always delighted to express
the sincerest and deepest gratitude. It was a service which he
amply repaid in similar help to many of his college pupils, who
recall it with affection and gratitude.
In the autumn of 1827 he entered the sophomore class of
Brown University. Under the presidency of Dr. Wayland, be-
gun in that year, the institution was animated by a new life,
graphically described by Professor Chace himself, in his dis-
course on the virtues and services of Dr. Wayland. His intellec-
tual enthusiasm was still more roused. He applied himself to
college work with unremitting pains, and was graduated in 1830
with the first honors of his class, a class which has enrolled in it
names of high distinction. His valedictory oration on the “Re-
Sults of Improvements in the Science of Education '' seems to
show that the vocation of the teacher was attracting him. He
does not seem seriously to have contemplated any other as his
calling in life. Immediately after his graduation, he took the
position of principal of the academy in Waterville, Maine, now
known as the Waterville Classical Institute, but after a brief
service there relinquished it, to accept the office of tutor in
Brown University. Short, however, as the term of service was,
it disclosed his rare abilities as a teacher, and it gave him life-
long friendships. Years later, in 1841, a call to become the pres-
ident of the college in Waterville, now known as Colby Univer-
sity, shows that his earlier labors had never been forgotten.
In 1831 he was offered the place of tutor in Brown Univer-
sity. He accepted the office at once, and thus began that long
and brilliant career of service to his Alma Mater which lasted
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 5
forty-one years. The tutorship to which he was called was that
of mathematics, a branch of study for which he had in school
and college days shown marked aptitude. From time to time
during his connection with the college, he was called on to
give instruction in its various departments. There can be no
doubt that if Professor Chace had devoted his life to the
study of pure mathematics, his abilities would have placed him
in the front rank of our mathematicians. In 1833, he was ad-
vanced from his tutorship to the position of adjunct professor
of mathematics and natural philosophy, and at this point his
subsequent career as a teacher of natural sciences begins. In
1834, he was appointed professor of chemistry. In 1836, the
chair was enlarged to that of chemistry, geology, and physi-
ology, a chair filled by him till the end of the college year
1866–67. These are certainly rapid changes in the depart-
ments of instruction. They are advances, too, in the nature
and extent of work required of him. They only show how
early and how thoroughly Professor Chace had displayed his
varied powers. The following sketch of his career, drawn by
his lifelong friend and associate, Professor Gammell, will re-
veal the sources of his power, and the secret of his success in
his manifold labors for the college and for the public.
Of Professor Chace's student days I have little knowledge. He
graduated in 1830, and I graduated in 1831, but I recall little else
concerning him than the high rank which he held in his class, and
the general estimate which was entertained by his fellow students of
his ability to master any subject to which he gave his attention. In
the summer following his graduation, by the selection of President
Wayland, he came back to the college as tutor of mathematics. He
thus became a member of the faculty of instruction, a position which
6 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
he continued to hold till the summer of 1872, during forty-one years.
In this time I was associated with him as an instructor in the college
from 1832 to 1864, a period of nearly thirty-two years; and though
in quite different departments of instruction from his, I was fully ac-
quainted not only with the character of his work and the manner in
which it was performed, but also with the spirit with which he was
animated and the success which he achieved.
At the beginning of this period a New England college was an
institution quite different from what it has since become. It then re-
tained something of the semi-monastic character which belonged to the
colleges that form the two great universities of England. From these
colleges our own had taken their type. The rules as to the life and
the work of students were still somewhat rigid, and allowed far less
liberty than now prevails. Officers of instruction, whether professors
or tutors, were required to occupy rooms in the halls, and to exercise
an oversight over their students in the rooms around them. The
whole college assembled at chapel for morning and evening prayers,
the former being at six o'clock in summer, and not later than seven in
winter. There was also a commons hall, at which most of the students
took their meals, and there were study hours, during which all rec-
reation was suspended and the strictest quiet was enjoined. The
accepted theory in those days was, that a student's life was to be one
of systematic and diligent work. College education did not then
embrace so many amusements as now belong to it. Affiliated Secret
Societies had only just begun to exist, though there had long been
societies for debate and for literary exercises. There were then no
inter - collegiate matches in boating, or base ball, or other athletic
sports. Even Class Day was celebrated on a scale that would now be
thought very limited. But even thus college life had its enjoyments
which the men of that day delight to recall, and its essential work
has not materially changed. Its greater freedom and its enlarged
self-reliance have undoubtedly been of important advantage in the
formation of manly character.
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 7
As I have stated, Mr. Chace began as tutor in mathematics. He
was soon promoted to be assistant professor of mechanical philosophy,
and in this latter capacity he began the teaching of chemistry. While
thus engaged, he spent a lecture season in Philadelphia, as a special
assistant of Dr. Robert-Hare, then at the height of his renown as pro-
fessor of chemistry in the Medical School of the University of Penn-
sylvania. He also attended lectures in anatomy and physiology at
that school, which was then largely resorted to by students of natu-
ral science. Not long after his return, a professorship was created
specially for him, and was made to embrace the three comprehensive
and attractive sciences of chemistry, physiology, and geology, and in
the teaching of these sciences, with their various affiliations and ap-
plications, he spent the greater part of his professional life. He be-
came a master in each one of them; not only a lecturer and teacher,
but also an original investigator as to their laws and uses and their
manifold relations to other kinds of knowledge.
These sciences had then scarcely begun to have any other than a
very secondary place in college education. To make room for them,
and to allow to them anything like the prominence which some of
their votaries demanded, would require very important changes in the
course of instruction, in which the ancient languages had hitherto held
the most conspicuous place. The whole question as to what should
constitute a liberal education was thus raised, and it has not ceased to
be earnestly discussed even at the present time. President Wayland,
as is well known, entertained very liberal views on this question, and
Some years later embodied them in a little volume entitled, “Thoughts
on the Present System of Collegiate Education in the United States.”
From him the new studies did not fail to receive all needed encourage-
ment. He also had a high appreciation of Mr. Chace's ability and
promise as an instructor, and we may readily believe that in addition
to this he felt a warm interest in the success of the earliest of his own
pupils who had been appointed to a professor's chair. All his expec-
tations, I well remember, were fully satisfied by the manner in which
8 * * GEORGE IDE CHA CIE.
his pupil performed his work. He entered into it with the utmost
zeal. He made the study of these sciences exceedingly attractive from
the very outset. He imparted his own enthusiasm to his successive
classes. The leading proficients among them he would invite to spe-
cial investigations, and would constantly select from them his assist-
ants in the laboratory and lecture room.
It is to be kept in mind that much of the scientific knowledge which
is to us familiar then presented the aspect of novelty and even of mys-
tery. The scientific methods which have now been long in use were
then new. The applications of chemistry to the innumerable pro-
cesses in which it is now involved had then just been developed. The
primal facts of animal and vegetable physiology and their connection
not only with human life, but with the whole realm of organized being,
were then recent discoveries, and so novel were the teachings of geol-
ogy that many learned theologians were ready to denounce the sci-
ence as hostile to revealed religion. It is thus that Professor Chace
was one of the pioneers in teaching at an American college the phys-
ical sciences according to the methods which now prevail. With many
of the leading masters of these sciences he maintained a familiar ac-
quaintance. He was always attached to his early teacher, Dr. Hare,
and often saw him in his annual visits to Providence. He shared in
the extraordinary impulse which the advent of Professor Agassiz im-
parted to scientific study, especially in geology and physiology, and fre-
quently met him in familiar personal relations. He numbered the late
Professor Guyot and Professor James D. Dana among his personal
friends, and with the late Professor Henry, of the Smithsonian Insti-
tution, he was on terms of special intimacy, and kept up with him a
frequent correspondence to the end of his life. The latter especially
often urged him to publish some of the results of his scientific work,
but save to a very limited extent, he was never willing to do so. His
ideal in such matters was a high one, and he thought that many So-
called contributions to science were hardly worthy of the name. I
have often heard him modestly say that he had nothing of the kind
worth publishing.
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 9
His services as a teacher of science were by no means confined to
his college classes. Quite early in his career his lectures in chemistry,
by an arrangement of the city authorities, were attended by the elder
classes, of both sexes, of the Providence High School, and this arrange-
ment continued for several years. He also gave a brilliant series of
special lectures to the manufacturing jewelers of Providence, which
at the time attracted much attention. He was frequently resorted to
for advice by manufacturers and others engaged in industries depend-
ing on the right application of the principles of chemistry. Invita-
tions, too, constantly came to him to lecture in distant places, as well
as in those near to Providence, most of which he was obliged to
decline on account of his college engagements. He, however, during
vacations in different years, gave courses of lectures in Boston, at the
Peabody Institute in Baltimore, and at the Smithsonian Institution in
Washington. In the years between 1863 and 1866, while the gold
excitement was prevailing, his services were in great demand among
capitalists, who sought advice as to the value of mines which were
offered to them for purchase. In business of this kind he was for a
time quite largely engaged, purely as a man of science, who had noth-
ing at stake but his professional reputation. He thus visited mining
districts in Nova Scotia, in Canada, in Colorado, and other Territories
of the West, and also in Nicaragua, in Central America. But he
made no ventures for himself, and, by his careful examinations and
. cautious judgments, I have no doubt he often prevented others from
doing so, greatly to their own advantage.
In the summer of 1867, the presidency of Brown University be-
came vacant by the resignation of the Rev. Barnas Sears, D. D., who
had been elected General Agent of the Peabody Education Fund.
The resignation was unexpected, and it occasioned no small embar-
rassment at the college. Professor Chace was the senior member of
the faculty, and by a portion of the corporation he was deemed the
most desirable person that could be selected to fill the vacant office,
while a majority of that body were unwilling to vote for any one who
10 GEORGE I DE CHA CE.
was not a clergyman, as all the presidents had hitherto been. An-
other person was accordingly chosen to fill the office, but by him it
was declined. Meanwhile, the emergency became a pressing one, and
Professor Chace was requested to assume the office ad interim, till
another election should be made ; and he was also charged with the
instruction of the senior class in metaphysics and ethics, a work usu-
ally associated with the office of president. This, not without reluc-
tance, he also consented to do, for it seemed to be essential to the
well-being of the college, and for six months he performed the two-
fold duties thus assigned to him, with eminent success. It was, how-
ever, still the opinion of the corporation that the head of the college
should be a minister of the gospel. The result was that the Rev. Dr.
Caswell, the venerable and highly esteemed ex-professor of mathe-
matics and astronomy, who had retired from his chair some years
before, was chosen to the office of president, and Professor Chace was
at the same time transferred to the professorship of metaphysics and
ethics. Dr. Caswell was now advanced in life, and was unwilling to
undertake the duties of a new department of instruction. He could
not, therefore, fill the office of president, unless the other part of the
corporation’s arrangement was carried into effect by Mr. Chace's ac-
ceptance of the vacant professorship. The dilemma was not an agree-
able one. It demanded a great sacrifice on the part of Mr. Chace,
and it is not surprising that he hesitated before accepting a position,
not only involving new labors and responsibilities, but also thus pecu-
liarly conditioned by the action of the corporation. His final decision
was prompted by his loyalty to the college, and by his warm regard
for Dr. Caswell, his early teacher, and his friend and associate for
many years. His acceptance, in the circumstances, was regarded by
his friends as an act of rare magnanimity and self-denial.
It is not to be imagined that Professor Chace was summoned from
his chair of natural science to one apparently so dissimilar without
distinct and well-considered reference to his qualifications. In the first
place, he had been a teacher in the college for thirty-six years, and in
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 11
that time had taught a variety of studies probably greater than any
other teacher in its whole history, and this he had done with a high
order of success. His mind united in a rare degree metaphysical
acuteness and philosophic breadth, and he was an accomplished master
in the art of teaching. Nor had his devotion to natural science been
by any means exclusive. He could not study any one subject without
considering its relations to kindred subjects. To his thoughtful and
religious mind the world of matter was the vestibule to the world of
spirit. His study of the mysteries of the one had led him to con-
template the sublimer mysteries of the other. No realm of inquiry
was to him invested with so much interest as that which lies on the
confines of matter and mind, and he had long delighted to meditate
the problems which it suggests, and the analogies which it reveals.
He was also well informed as to the characteristics of the leading
Schools of metaphysical philosophy, and once engaged in his new
teaching he became intensely interested in it. He performed his
work in a manner which awakened the utmost enthusiasm in the sev-
eral classes he instructed, and retired from it in 1872, at the end of
five years of most useful and honorable service.
I have thus written of Professor Chace only as a man of science
and as a teacher. This, however, is by no means all that he was. I
have been much with him in other interesting relations in which his
personal qualities were finely shown and his varied resources were
amply revealed. Of these I may refer to a circle of educated men,
known as the “Friday Evening Club,” of which he was one of the
original members. It was formed in 1868, and was not suspended till
1884, and then only in consequence of the changes which death and
absence and domestic bereavement had wrought among those who
composed it. It was essentially and largely social in its character and
spirit, but each member was required in his turn to furnish a paper
on Some subject of his own selection that was also approved by the
club. His papers, according to my recollection, more frequently re-
lated to ethical, or social, or metaphysical subjects than to those of
12 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
natural science. It was especially in these, and in the free and
wide-ranging discussion of the papers prepared by others, that he
showed not only the extent and thoroughness of his knowledge and
the variety of his intellectual resources, but also the genial and unas-
suming responsiveness of his social spirit. In the generous confidence,
the abounding good nature, the unrestricted interchange of opinions
and suggestions of every kind, both grave and gay, in the sallies of
wit, and in the high debate which marked these meetings he took
great delight, and during the sixteen years in which they continued to
be held he contributed his full share to the rare intellectual and social
enjoyments which, in the minds of all its members, will always be asso-
ciated with our “Friday Evening Club.”
In addition to what Professor Gammell has written, it is
worthy of note that the foundation of the present Geological
Collection in the university was laid by Professor Chace. To
accomplish this he made an extended tour in the summer of
1836, through Virginia and Kentucky, accompanied by one of
his students. The service rendered by Professor Chace to the
college by his collections in this expedition was one of great
value. So long as he held the chair of geology, he watched
over this cabinet with unflagging interest, seeking to enrich it
by exchanges, and fully realizing how essential such collections
are to teacher and pupil alike.
Between Professor Chace and his classes in college from first
to last, as will abundantly appear in this sketch, a relation of
peculiar worth existed. It was more than respect or admiration
for his qualities as a teacher. Though somewhat reserved in
manner, yet his pupils never failed to recognize the innate kind-
liness and absolute sincerity of his nature. They knew him to
be genuine and true in all his relations with them; and the
following tributes from some of these who have become emi-
GEORGE I DE CHA CE. 13
ment in various callings, while they fitly supplement from the
student's point of view Professor Gammell's admirable sketch,
only express what all his classes have gladly acknowledged.
The first is from the Rev. George P. Fisher, D. D., LL.D.,
professor in Yale College : —
In the early part of our college course we did not meet Professor
Chace in the class-room. In the first term of the junior year we had
Some lessons from him in physiology, and in the second term we had g
recitations and lectures in chemistry. In the second term of the senior
year we recited to him “Butler's Analogy.” Before I came into per-
sonal contact with him as an instructor I had little direct acquaintance
with him. Twice every day he appeared at prayers in the chapel, and
occasionally, but very unfrequently, in the absence of both Dr. Way-
land and Dr. Caswell, he may have conducted the service. When he
met us on our walks, he greeted us with uniform courtesy, mingled
with a certain reserve, or appearance of reserve. He was regarded, as
we knew, by all the students as a teacher of remarkable acuteness and
logical ability, and as exacting, in the good sense of the term. He saw
through disguises; it was hard for a student to shirk his duties under
him, and his sharp cross-examination laid bare the ignorance, with a
pretense to knowledge, which is a not uncommon phenomenon in col-
lege recitations. It was then the custom at Brown, as some of us have
not forgotten, for the students to be kept by the rule in their rooms
during the “study hours' of the day and evening, and for the several
professors to call at the doors to ascertain if the inmates were at home.
The rule had begun to be observed by the officers with different de-
grees of laxity, and was thus on the road to abrogation; but Professor
Chace was noted for the punctual or more strict observance of it.
Hence students who chafed under this restriction sought rooms else-
where than in his division. But as to his fairness, as well as his civil-
ity of manner, I never heard, then or afterwards, any dispute or com-
plaint.
14 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
It was the custom of Professors Caswell and Chace to select two
students from the class to assist them in preparing experiments for
their lectures. My classmate, Weston, and myself were honored with
this appointment. We thus had occasion to observe with what vigi-
lance and painstaking Professor Chace made ready for his chemical
lectures. With characteristic caution, he would not unfrequently warn
the class, just before performing an experiment, that it might not suc-
ceed; but we knew, and the class found out, that the experiments
would never fail. Of the attainments of Professor Chace in the
science of chemistry I am not competent to speak; but of his merits
as a lecturer in that branch there can be but one opinion among his
pupils. His order was lucid; he did not crowd the hearer's mind with
minutiae; he set forth the main facts and principles of the science
simply and precisely ; he was fluent without being too rapid. In con-
ducting recitations, he demanded precision of statement, and his whole
method of procedure had a high disciplinary value. In personal inter-
course with Professor Chace, Weston and I met only with kindness;
but it was not until later that I escaped from a certain feeling of self-
criticism from the consciousness of being under the eye of so keen-
sighted a man, whose pitiless analysis, we fancied, would detect any
of our shortcomings as surely as he detected fallacies of logic and in-
accuracies of statement in the class-room. Subsequently, as I saw him
in his own family and in the more familiar intercourse of later years,
this peculiar feeling vanished. His evidently warm attachment to his
pupils, his relish for humor, and his affability exorcised the old tim-
idity natural to a boy.
Professor Chace taught the seniors “Butler's Analogy.” Here we
met him in another province in which his extraordinary acumen ap-
peared to great advantage. He had an innate taste for metaphysics,
and a corresponding talent. It was a field in which he was adapted
to attain to very high distinction. The study of Butler under such a
teacher, independently of the instruction derived from the author, was
an admirable discipline of the intellectual powers. Our teacher, when
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 15
he differed from Butler, or from other authorities, appeared to us to
have at command a weapon as sharp as a blade of Damascus. A be-
liever in the truths of religion, he was one who imperatively sought
and required a rational basis for all his opinions. His understanding
was naturally skeptical in the sense that he interrogated whatever
called for credence, and was disposed to take nothing for granted. His
natural tendencies, I should say, were wholly averse to everything that
savored of mysticism. His temperament, if one may so say, was scien-
tific in its whole character. Tenets that offered themselves for accept-
ance must exhibit their title to belief. Knowledge must verify itself,
and define itself, and keep within its exact boundaries. His religious
character was manifest rather in a steady self-government and in faith-
ful obedience to the precepts of the Master than in expressions of
emotion.
But I must leave it to others to dwell on the various excellences of
our honored friend, and, in particular, on the traits which were spe-
cially manifest, and the services rendered to the public, in the closing
period of his life. He deserves to be always held in honor in Brown
University as a very able and faithful instructor. In the memory of
his pupils he will always abide in a place of honor and grateful esteem.
President Angell, of the University of Michigan, gives similar
tribute to Professor Chace's merits as an instructor: —
While I was an under-graduate in Brown University, Professor
Chace at one time or another gave instruction in different branches of
mathematics, in chemistry, in physics, in zoölogy, in botany, in geol-
ogy, and in “Butler's Analogy,” and afterwards in the whole range of
philosophic studies pursued in that institution. His pupils will, I am
sure, with one accord, testify that he taught every branch admirably.
He had in large measure the qualities of a superior teacher. His mind
was singularly acute, yet he never indulged in hair-splitting. He had
remarkable power of clear and terse statement. No one was left in
doubt concerning his meaning. His lucid propositions were in them-
16 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
selves almost demonstrations. He untangled a difficult problem with
such simplicity that men disinclined to mathematics learned to like
them under his instruction. In illustrating scientific teaching he was
very skillful as a manipulator and experimenter. He was one of the
few men who could talk well while conducting an experiment.
Lucid and accurate himself, he insisted on clearness and exactness
in his pupils. No slipshod work passed muster with him. None of
the ingenious devices with which shiftless students strive to palm off
ignorance, or half-knowledge, or happy guesses, for real knowledge
ever deceived him. So well was this understood that no student who
was not at once very audacious and desperately hard pressed would
be so short sighted as to attempt it. Few members of any class which
passed through his hands failed to have their minds quickened, if not
to catch a positive inspiration for scholarly work, from his vigor and
enthusiasm.
In respect to style his writing was of a high order. It was simple
and wonderfully clear. It was compact, yet graceful and flowing. At
times it rose easily and naturally to fervid eloquence.
He always seemed to me to have an eminently scientific cast of mind.
He observed keenly, he analyzed thoroughly, he made the most careful
inductions, he governed all his reasoning by the severest canons of
logic. Had not the exigencies of old-fashioned college teaching com-
pelled him to scatter his energies over so many fields of work; had he
been able to concentrate his efforts on some one of the sciences, he must
have attained marked eminence in it. Yet probably his dominant
passion as a scholar was always for philosophic study, and could he
have devoted himself to that early in life he would have accomplished
more than he could have done by an exclusive devotion to science.
Still, either because so much of his life had been given to science, or
because he had by nature so strong a scientific bent, he carried much
of the scientific method into his philosophic work, as he did into all
work. Perhaps his mind might be called in the best sense skeptical.
He took nothing for granted. His premises must be beyond dispute.
GEORGE I DE CHA CE. 17
Every step of reasoning must be securely taken. He must have ra-
tional grounds for his beliefs. Therefore his conclusions, when reached,
were strongly held. They were not merely opinions, but convictions,
and very positive convictions.
The strength of his convictions, and his weight of character, and his
acute perception of the character of others enabled him to do easily,
when he turned from the secluded life of a scholar to an active partic-
ipation in public duties, what was a surprise to many, namely, to take
a leading place among men of affairs, and to control and guide them in
a remarkable degree. They speedily recognized in him a man of clear
ideas, of great force and energy, of the purest principle, and of sincere
devotion to the good of the unfortunate and the criminal classes which
the charitable and the penal institutions of the State undertook to care
for. I have always understood that the Hospital Boards and Board of
State Charities on which he served so faithfully were largely guided
by his counsels while he was a member of them.
It was perhaps a surprise to those who did not know him well that
he should have given the ripest years of his life to charitable labors,
which could be requited only by the consciousness of good done to
the helpless and the wretched. There was in him a certain shyness
or reserve which restrained him from revealing himself to those out-
side of a narrow circle of most intimate friends, and sometimes gave the
impression to others of lacking something of that tenderness and sym-
pathy which really dwelt in his heart. Fortunate as Rhode Island has
been in finding men of ability and character to administer as a labor of
love her charitable and penal institutions, she has had none who have
given themselves for long and toilsome years to that noble work with
more unselfish consideration and more fruitful results than George I.
Chace. In that field too his practical wisdom, his scientific knowledge,
and his philosophic ability all contributed to his success. His old pu-
pils must feel that, since the gratification was denied them of seeing
him, in his fruitful and vigorous old age, sitting in the governing board
of the ancient university to which he had given a long and useful life
2
18 GEORGE IDE CHA CE,
of toil, and which he remembered so affectionately in his dying hours,
no other work could so fitly have crowned his days as his mission of
mercy to the insane, the sick, and the prisoner. We shall remember
him with affection and admiration, not only as the teacher, the scientist,
the philosopher, but also as the minister to the sorrowing and the suf.
fering, the loving disciple of his Lord and Master.
Hon. Edward L. Pierce, of Boston, the biographer of Sum-
ner, has also well depicted the impression left by Professor
Chace on the students as a man and a teacher: —
The characteristic of Professor Chace as an instructor which most
impressed me during the years 1846–1850, in which I was a member of
his classes, was the clearness and definiteness of his conceptions. His
language was always intelligible, for the thought behind it was exactly
defined in his own mind. A vague or loose statement was foreign to
his intellectual being. His teaching was never obscured by a cloud of
words, and he said only what was needed to communicate his ideas.
No one who has seen much of teachers can fail to respect a faculty in
him, which is missing in many men of genuine learning and accom-
plishments.
As he did his duty, he expected his pupils to do theirs. He was not
disposed to pass lightly over the laziness and indifference of students
who came unprepared to the class-room, either confessing their neglect
of their appointed tasks, or trying to hide it by a fluent recitation.
To such, if the occasion justified, he was apt to speak sharply, some-
times with satire. If the offender had in him a substratum of charac-
ter and purpose, he profited by the rebuke. We venerate, when our
powers are put to the test in the strain of active life, not the teachers
who overlooked our shortcomings, but those only who taught us how to
think and how to work, and who helped to give us character and
brains.
Professor Chace was social and friendly, more so than one might
think from his manner and presence, and he followed with interest the
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 19
fortunes of the men he had taught. I recall the excursion to Cum-
berland and vicinity, taken annually by the class in geology, in which
he explained rare specimens gathered from the mines, – the day clos-
ing with an entertainment at his house, where host and hostess alike
had good words for each and all of us.
It is rare that one has combined such various gifts, such a compre-
hensive intelligence, as distinguished our professor, equally at home as
he was in the exact sciences and in that larger field in which philoso-
pher and teacher “vindicate the ways of God to man.” Pascal and
, Leibnitz easily attained this distinction ; but it is shared by few, and
the world questions the pretensions of all who undertake speculations
in departments not closely related to each other. Est mos hominum
wt nolint eundem pluribus rebus eaccellere.
I have often thought what rare endowments were united in Professor
Chace, and how well placed he would have been at the head of one of
the modern technical schools, to which he would have brought not only
an accurate knowledge of the sciences, but also practical sense and the
large-mindedness of one interested in all concerns of patriotism and
humanity. We may regret that he has left no permanent memorial in
any treatise upon the subjects which he taught, and that others can
never know him as his pupils have known him. But this is only the
common lot. The fashion of this world passeth away; and even the
author who has put his life’s work into a book soon finds, in the quick
transitions of thought and discovery, that he must give place to others
who have profited by his labors and investigations. But our professor
will at least always live in the character and work of the pupils he
served so well. For myself, his personality as teacher and friend has
been a grateful memory during the long interval of more than thirty-
five years since I left the college, and will remain such until I follow
him.
These tributes give fit expression to the sentiments which
forty classes in the college have cherished of his work in the
class-room. They are no blind enthusiasm for an instructor
t
20 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
popular by reason of other qualities than the solid merits of
learning and aptness to teach. They record in well-considered
phrase the delightful memories of an instructor who had a gift
for teaching of high and uncommon order, and record also the
fact that in Professor Chace the college had an illustration
of the truth that in all instruction, taken at its largest and
best, it is the character behind the teachings that is the most
efficient educating force.
In the interval between the presidency of Dr. Barnas Sears
and that of his successor, Dr. Alexis Caswell, Professor Chace
was appointed president ad interim, holding office for the year
1866–67. This appointment involved a change in his depart-
ment of instruction from his old professorship in science to
that of the chair of moral and intellectual philosophy. It was
not without a pang that he severed his connection with the sci-
entifié department of the college, in which he had wrought for
so many years. No more enthusiastic devotee of science ever
labored in her fields. But, as will be seen, Professor Chace had
exceptional fitness for his new duties as teacher of moral and
intellectual philosophy, and fulfilled them with the most grati-
fying success to his classes and the friends of the institution.
To the work thus intrusted to him he brought qualities which
assured its complete and happy achievement. He had from
the beginning of his career as professor in the college enjoyed
the confidence and esteem of his pupils, as a man. He had
won their admiration as a teacher. The dignified courtesy
which in his recitation or lecture room governed his classes
so admirably proved equally efficient and equally attractive in
this new relation. The extraordinary executive abilities which
marked his later career in connection with public trusts were
GEORGE I DE CHA CE. 21
at once brought into notice. No detail escaped his observa-
tion. He was a wise disciplinarian. The college work moved
on without friction, and the order of the institution improved
steadily and visibly under his care. A touching reminder of
his painstaking fidelity in the fulfillment of every official duty
has since his death been found in the carefully written prayers
by which he prepared himself to conduct the chapel exercises.
They are models of what such prayers should be. They were
noted by the students for their appropriateness and fervor, and
gave to the chapel services a deeply reverent but also a warmly
spiritual tone.
At the close of the period, and when, as it appears, the col-
lege had been brought safely and prosperously through a crisis
in its history, Professor Chace was rewarded by the most grati-
fying testimonies to the success of his administration. They
reached him in resolutions by the corporation and by the fac-
ulty of the university. The city journals uttered in the public
ear the same strains of commendation. That he had given
proof of eminent fitness for the position there could be no
doubt. Had the corporation appointed him president, there is
every reason to believe he would have administered the trust
with signal efficiency. The traditions of the college, traditions
which are deserving all respect, seemed to require that the in-
cumbent should be a clergyman.
The resolutions adopted by the faculty and the corporation
are here given, as perhaps best embodying the results and suc-
cesses of his temporary administration : —
At a meeting of the faculty held this day the following resolutions
were unanimously adopted:
Whereas, during the first term of the present year the duties of
22 GEORGE IDE CHACE.
president and of professor of moral and intellectual philosophy were
performed ad interim by Professor George Ide Chace, LL. D. : —
Resolved, that Professor Chace, in consenting to undertake these
duties at a crisis of peculiar peril in the history of the university and
under circumstances involving unusual anxiety and labor, has fur-
nished additional proof of his disinterested zeal for the highest inter-
ests of the institution of which he has been so long a distinguished
Ornament.
Resolved, that the faculty hereby express their appreciation of the
eminent ability and success with which these important duties have
been performed, and their sense of the signal service which Professor
Chace has rendered to the university by his judicious and dignified
administration of its affairs.
Resolved, that the foregoing be entered upon our records, and that
a copy be presented to Professor Chace.
A. HARKNESS, Secretary.
BROWN UNIVERSITY, February 25, 1868.
PROVIDENCE February 11, 1868.
DEAR SIR, - It gives me pleasure to send you the following votes
of the corporation of Brown University at the meeting on the 7th in-
Stant : —
“ Voted, that the thanks of this corporation be rendered to George
I. Chace, President ad interim, for his important and satisfactory re-
port of the condition of the university under his administration at the
present time, and for his recommendations for its future improvement,
and that the secretary communicate this vote to him.
“ Voted, that the report of George I. Chace, President ad interim,
made to the corporation at the present meeting, be referred to a com-
mittee, to consider the same, and to report at the next meeting of the
corporation, — a course advisable to be adopted to carry into effect the
improvements therein suggested, and any others in their opinion de-
sirable and practicable.”
GEORGE IDE CHA CE 23
In accordance with the above vote the following committee was ap-
pointed: Messrs. Caswell, Kingsbury, Caldwell, Woods, of the Fel-
lows; Messrs. W. S. Patten, Ives, Hague, S. G. Arnold, Woods, Lin-
coln, Trustees.
Allow me the return of the report at your earliest convenience, as
it is deemed desirable to copy it on our records. Yours truly,
JOHN KINGSBURY, Secretary C. B. U.
GEORGE I. CHACE, LL. D.
On the accession of Dr. Caswell to the presidency of the
college, Professor Chace's labors were entirely devoted to the
new department of moral and intellectual philosophy, which he
had assumed the previous year, and in which he at once reached
honorable distinction. This was a matter of no surprise to
those who knew his fondness for philosophical studies, espe-
cially as these are connected with natural theology, and who had
been acquainted with his contributions to our periodical litera-
ture discussing such themes. They show the qualities which a
successful teacher in this department of study must have at
command. In his memorial sermon, Rev. Dr. Thayer has given
a just estimate of Professor Chace's fitness for the chair of
moral and intellectual philosophy : —
He was a careful student of the relations between mind and matter,
and of the mysterious analogies through which they reflect light one on
the other. The results of these studies he frequently gave to special
companies of students who met for this purpose, and thus he unfolded
the essential items of natural theology and the argument for immor-
tality. So far, indeed, from his physical studies having absorbed his
capacity for psychological inquiries or dulled his sensibilities to their
finest distinctions, his earlier direction of thought seemed rather to
have rendered his mental vision in the sphere of intellectual and moral
philosophy more acute, and to have disciplined to severer limitations
24 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
his use of analogical reasoning. . . . Many who hear me will testify
to the thoroughness of his instructions, and to the opinions they then
formed of his power to impress on other minds the great truths of
Christian ethics. To some, indeed, who have known little of Professor
Chace as a scientific man, but who in these last years have been some-
what familiar with his treatment of metaphysical subjects, it is a ques-
tion if metaphysical acumen was not his chief characteristic, and his
last department was not best fitted to call out his highest powers.
Professor Andrews, now filling the chair of history and po-
litical economy in Brown University, and a former pupil of
Professor Chace's in these studies, has kindly furnished the ac-
companying statement as to his methods of teaching, its range
and its success, which illustrates and confirms what Dr. Thayer
has so well said:—
Professor Dunn's death and Dr. Sears's resignation in the summer
of 1867 vacated, besides the presidency, two most important profes-
sorships. Who was to succeed to the open places became a serious
question, which students asked with no less anxiety than those who
were responsible for the answer. The more thoughtful and advanced
of them naturally felt special solicitude respecting the instruction in
philosophy. Professor Chace's reputation for ability and for the mas-
tery of his chosen department may have been as high outside college
as within, but few others knew so well as those in college who had
already been his pupils the extraordinary range of his acquirements or
his incomparable excellence as a teacher. To them, therefore, the more
since they could not appreciate the peculiar difficulties of the new de-
partment, his transfer to the chair of philosophy gave the utmost satis-
faction. As class after class reached the senior year, this rose to en-
thusiasm.
The five classes instructed by Professor Chace in philosophy will
never be able to avoid regarding his work during those years as the
clearest of his many titles to grateful remembrance by the college. It
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 25
seems impossible that he should ever have taught any other subject
with equal triumph. He unfolded puzzling conceptions in psychology
and followed out the finest metaphysical distinctions, apparently with
as complete ease and thoroughness as if his work had always lain in
this field. And it is doubtless true that no one of the matters which
his change of employment called him to canvass was new to him.
Of what, as a student, he had learned from President Wayland,
whom he warmly admired and revered, he had evidently forgotten.
nothing, although tradition has it that he never took notes in class. I
chance to possess an item of evidence regarding his proficiency in phi-
losophy when an under-graduate, which has not hitherto been made
public. The Rev. Dr. Babcock, at that time president of Waterville
College, once related to me that, being present at Dr. Wayland’s exam-
ination in Professor Chace's senior year in college, he was led by the
young gentleman's brilliant answers to ask him some quite difficult
questions considerably aside from the topic assigned. Chace hesitating
a little over one of these, Wayland leaned toward Babcock and whis-
pered, “Push him, push him; he’ll stand it.” Stand it he did, giving,
after an instant's reflection, the correct reply. Similarly in all the
Subsequent years, his thinking must have taken a far wider sweep than
his immediate tasks exacted.
Such, for instance, was his cast of mind that all his investigations in
science were at the same time studies in natural theology. He had
become a master in this, and his handling of the argument from design
and his whole exhibition of the telic structure of the universe were
veritably peerless. In enforcing truths of this sort he made constant
and minute reference to the eye and other parts of the human frame,
where his critical knowledge of physiology did him admirable service.
Not an exercise with his class passed wherein he did not greatly enrich
his philosophical instruction by precious bits of fact, method, or insight
from the domain, so familiar to him, of the physical sciences.
Professor Chace's wide researches in other directions had somewhat
limited the amount of reading which he would have been glad to do in
26 GEORGE I DE CHACE.
the earlier history of philosophy, but in the discussions of the philo-
Sophical world which were current in his time he was certainly at home.
He was well acquainted, in fact, with modern English philosophy
entire, from Locke, whose system, as usual then and even still in
American colleges, formed the point of departure for his course of in-
struction in this branch, through Berkeley, Hume, Reid, and Stewart,
to Hamilton and Mill. To the French development of Locke, or the
still more important one by Kant in Germany, he paid little attention,
herein again following the custom of American colleges. Well do I
remember, among much else, his clear account and searching criticism
of Positivism, and how plain he made the logical path from Locke
through Berkeley to Hume. Not less striking was the concise résumé.
he used to give of the various forms which Pantheism has taken in the
history of thought. He loved to dwell upon the causal judgment, and
to point out its significance for philosophy and theology; and he never
tired of explaining the fatal consequences of accepting Hamilton's doc-
trine upon this point. He was no believer in Idealism, but had pro-
found regard for Berkeley, and was wont to insist that Berkeley’s views
should not be misunderstood. The professor had interesting and orig-
inal ideas of the “art process,” as he called it; and this, so far as I
can remember, was the only subject upon which his conclusions were
exactly the reverse of Wayland's. Free-will, where he showed famil.
iarity with Edwards, the nature of miracle, the mode of the soul’s
cognition of its body, - point of his chief difference with President
Porter, — are specimens of the themes with which that rare mind and
trained tongue engaged the interested attention of college students.
In ethics it was Professor Chace's dearest conviction, underlying all
his teaching, never to be forgotten by any of his pupils, that right is
eternal, not proceeding from will, but of the nature of law to all will,
even God's. As little can his unvarying reverence, his earnest spirit
in treating ethical problems, or his lucid and sensible views upon vexing
questions in casuistry ever pass from our memories.
Professor Chace had the keenest analytic power of anythinker whom
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 27
I have ever heard discourse; and, what is very rare indeed, he joined
with this a hardly less remarkable faculty for generalization, which
enabled him, on grasping the salient motions of a philosophical system,
to think his way rapidly to its remotest deductions with but a fraction
of the reading which many another scholar would have required. A
consequence, a very part rather, of this his gift at generalizing, was his
genius for bearing in mind and setting forth all the relevant aspects of
whatever subject he undertook to expound, in their proper and natural
relations, so as to produce a symmetrical and truthful impression. In
proportion, therefore, in its relative emphasis of points, dwelling only
upon essentials and passing the rest with a glance, his teaching was
about faultless. And touching these essentials, nothing short of ab-
solute mastery by pupils would satisfy him. That a recitation repro-
duced the lecture signified little; the student was held to a careful
Original explanation of every topic. Essays were assigned, yet without
references to authorities, every artifice being employed to compel in the
young men power, independence, and clearness of thought. The class-
room discussions and criticisms were meant to stimulate these qualities.
All those of us who sat at his feet in philosophy will remember to
our instructor's perpetual praise that he entertained such a theory as
he did of the aim of college instruction, — a theory which few now
seem to cherish. I mean that he taught for the sake of his pupils, to
build intellect and character, rather than for the sake of the subject.
His first care was to train the mind; filling it he thought important, but
subordinate. Poise, strength, and consistency in mental work resulted.
Able students felt so sure of the ground they had traversed — this is
So far, indeed, a just criticism of the method — that they were left too
little conscious how much, after all, they had not learned. There was
moral quickening as well as intellectual, continual pungent reminders
of the supremacy of moral law, of the reasonableness and worth of re-
ligion. Pupils awoke to their powers and their duties. Not few are
the successful men now in society’s busiest places who received in
Professor Chace's lecture-room their first inspiring consciousness of
28 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
vocation, their earliest permanent and decisive ambitions. In fact,
there are none, I believe, who studied philosophy under him but look
back to that golden year as intellectually and morally the central epoch
of their lives.
The professor's expositions, whatever the subject, were clothed in
language the most choice and exact, often elegant, not rarely eloquent,
the more remarkable from his long association with material science,
and from the fact that he had always been more thinker than reader.
His references to literature were few, but felicitous. Many will recall
his apt quotation from Virgil in his charming and spirited address to
General Sheridan, upon that gentleman's memorable visit to the col-
lege, I think, in 1868. His knowledge of Scripture was copious and
precise, and the rich beauties therefrom, in which his chapel prayers
abounded, made listening to these a constant pleasure and surprise.
For five years Professor Chace continued to hold this position.
His power in the department grew steadily. Though at times
he longed for the old familiar paths of science which he loved so
well to tread, yet he could not have failed to see that at no time
during the long period of his connection with the college was
his influence over the students intellectually and morally greater
than during his five years of work in the chair of moral and in-
tellectual philosophy. Striking and gratifying tokens of this
are seen in a petition and an address from the class of 1872
here given. And when at length the projected departure for
foreign shores took place, the class went in a body to the sta-
tion, and bade him with cordial and affectionate greetings a
God-speed on his voyage.
PETITION OF CLASS OF 1872.
To OUR RESPECTED AND BELOVED PROFESSOR GEORGE I. CHACE:
Realizing the invaluable character of the instruction which we have
received from you, and cherishing at the same time feelings of warm
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 29
personal attachment, which the relations of the past year have devel-
oped, we learn with deep regret that your connection with our college
is so soon to cease. Your instruction cannot, we feel, be replaced to
us: still less can be filled the place which you occupy within our hearts.
We desire, therefore, as a class, to return to you our heartfelt thanks
for the past; and while expressing our preference for your instruction
over that of any one who might succeed you, we sincerely hope that it
may be within your power to complete our course of instruction in
moral philosophy, when we shall consider it our honor to leave the
university with you. [Signed by the class.]
TO PROFESSOR GEORGE I. CHACE, L.L. D. :
RESPECTED SIR, - A few months since we learned with much regret
that you were about to resign your professorship in the university.
We therefore took the liberty to express to you our earnest hope that
you would delay your departure at least till we had completed the
studies which we had already so happily begun under your guidance.
We do not imagine that your plans were changed in consequence of
our solicitation alone; yet we feel that we are greatly indebted to you
for having continued to us the benefit of your instruction during the
remaining term of our college course. Had you left us then it would
have occasioned us a great disappointment. That you have remained
to the present time has afforded us a corresponding satisfaction and
pleasure. During the past year and a half you have conducted us
through some of the most interesting and important departments of
science, both material and spiritual, and have taught us lessons of price-
less value relating both to the present life and to that which is to come.
We shall always cherish these instructions as among the best treasures
of our college education, and we shall aim to guide our lives in accord-
ance with the precepts and standards which you have placed before us.
For all these and for the daily interest and care which you have be.
stowed upon us, we beg you to accept our heartfelt gratitude.
We are to be the last in the series of classes which have gone forth
30 GEORGE I DE CHA CE.
from the university bearing the impress of your instructions, and your
departure is to be coincident with our own. In recognition of this co-
incidence and as a testimonial of the sentiments we cherish, suffer us
to present to you this simple record, signed with the name of every
member of the class. It is designed to express to you our individual
respect and esteem, our high appreciation as a class of the instructions
which you have given us, and our sincere good wishes for the prosper-
ity of your journey and for your health and happiness during many
years to come.
In taking leave of you we subscribe ourselves, very respectfully,
YOUR PUPILS AND FRIENDS.
The university also, through its corporation, gave expression
to its earnest desire for the retention of Professor Chace among
its faculty, as the following resolutions will show. In this ac-
tion of the college authorities were embodied the views and
feelings of the alumni of the institution. He closed his career
as professor brilliantly, and amid general regrets that it was
to terminate.
- PROVIDENCE, January 24, 1872.
PROFESSOR GEORGE I. CHACE, LL. D. :
DEAR SIR, - At a meeting of the corporation of Brown University,
held to-day in Rhode Island Hall, the undersigned were appointed by
the corporation to convey to you the following resolutions, namely : —
“Resolved, that this corporation tender Professor George I. Chace
their unanimous thanks for his services as professor of intellectual and
moral philosophy, and their unanimous request that he continue to
render the same service during the present collegiate year.
“Jęesolved, that this corporation take the present occasion to ex-
press to Professor George I. Chace their unanimous desire that the rela-
tion which he has for so many years sustained to the university, as one
of the instructors therein, may be continued in future years in such de-
partment and to such an extent as may be acceptable to himself and
the corporation.”
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 31
Permit us, dear sir, to add for ourselves an expression of our grati-
tude for the eminent service which you have rendered the university,
and of an earnest hope that you will comply with the unanimous re-
quest of the corporation ; for we are confident that you will thus con-
fer a lasting benefit on the young men who enjoy your instruction, and
a further honor on the university which you have loved, and have done
so much to render justly famous in the land. With sentiments of cor-
dial esteem and friendship we are, Truly yours,
ALVAH HOVEY,
C. S. BRADLEY,
THATCHER THAYER.
But in the fullness of his strength, and with these tokens of
hearty appreciation of his pupils, colleagues, and the public,
Professor Chace decided on retirement from the institution he
had served for forty-one years with unremitting vigor. It was
no sudden impulse, no hasty plan. Five years earlier he had
written his sister, to whom through life he was tenderly at-
tached : “I prefer to close my professional career while I am in
full strength and vigor, and while I still have freshness of in-
terests enough to find other occupations attractive.”
During the years 1872–73 he sought these new interests in
foreign travel. In company with Mrs. Chace he visited Europe,
Greece, and Egypt. He had projected also travel in the Holy
Land, but was obliged to forego this part of his tour. He
sought the shores of the Old World, not so much for rest as for
the culture to be gained by travel. He had been deeply inter-
ested in the study of history as it disclosed a plan of God for
human advancement. He loved, like Bunsen, to trace the foot-
steps of God in history. Hence his desire to see for himself the
great civilizations of the Old World; to be brought in contact
with older races; to survey for himself the wrecks of the storied
32 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
past. Art in great paintings or sculptures had for him less inter-
est than masterpieces in literature or the growths of nature. He
soon wearied of the picture-galleries. But his delight knew no
bounds when he found himself among the Alps. His studies
in geology had perhaps something to do with this. He had
seen the grandest of our own scenery on the Pacific coast. But
amid the stupendous movements of nature as the Alpine scen-
ery discloses them, his mind and heart were stirred to un-
wonted enthusiasm. He looked on them less from the scientific
point of view than from the aesthetic or moral. Mrs. Agas-
siz, in the memoir of her husband, lately published, has said
that the key-note of all his scientific investigations was belief
in the existence of a Creator. Through all Professor Chace's
life, this runs as a golden thread. It is best expressed by him-
self in this extract from an address to one of the college
classes on the occasion of a Class Day celebration : —
But I must not dwell upon our companionship, however pleasant it
has been to me, as we have ranged together over so wide and so diverse
fields of the great domain of nature. I trust that we have gathered
some fruit. I trust that our souls have been nourished as well as our
understandings informed. I trust that nature has lost none of her
mystery or beauty while we have analyzed her phenomena and sub-
jected them to the dominion of law. Nay, has she not revealed to us a
profounder mystery. Have we not discerned in her a higher beauty,
— a beauty of mind, of thought, of soul, of which her outward forms
and phases are but the dim reflections? I envy no man that philoso-
phy which would limit our knowledge to the feeble grasp of the senses,
would divorce from the universe mind, and see in its regulated and or-
derly changes only the operation of material forces and laws. Better
abandon at once all philosophy and all science. Better the rehabilita-
tion in nature of her ancient divinities, – better for head, better for
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. * 33
heart, better for soul. Better that Apollo should again curb with his
strong arm the fiery steeds of the Sun, the swift-footed hours dancing
in faithful attendance around his flying car; better that Neptune
should traverse once more the ocean in his dolphin-drawn chariot, rul-
ing by his trident the waves, with a huge train of gamboling monsters
in his wake ; better that the forest should be still peopled by dryads,
and every river and brook and fountain have its naiad; better that
the features of a god should look out from every knoll and rock and
tree, than that a blank, dead atheism should spread over and impall
nature.
But I need not say to you that such are not the teachings of true
science. It is only philosophy, falsely so called, that conducts to con-
clusions so disastrous to our whole natures and to every interest of
human society. Science genuine and profound, and in proportion as
it is genuine and profound, will ever be found the assistant and hand-
maid of religion, the interpreter of the divine thought, and the revealer
of the divine will in nature. It discloses in the outward material
world a breadth of plan, a comprehensiveness of design, a grandeur of
movement, and a sublimity of purpose in comparison with which the
loftiest conceptions of divinity attained by classic antiquity are but
the feeble imaginings of sick men or the puerile fancies of children.
Imparting to the universe something of its real magnitude and propor-
tions, it converts that universe into a vast temple everywhere irradiated
by the power and the presence of God, and makes life to a devout man
one continued act of worship.
Next, however, to the grandeurs of Alpine scenery what inter-
ested him most deeply was Egypt and Egyptology. The land
of the Pharaohs was to him fuller of interest than any spot he
visited. It fascinated him as it has fascinated so many other
thoughtful minds. He never wearied of visiting the Museum
of Antiquities at Cairo. He spent hours each day, during a
protracted stay in the ancient city, in studying its treasures.
3
34 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
And it was mainly the religious element in that old civilization
which delighted and engrossed him. The interest of a Chris-
tian philosopher in Egyptology, springing from investigations
in comparative religion, drew him more and more closely to the
strange Egyptian mythology. It seemed to him to have imbed-
ded in itself so lofty and so spiritual teachings as to create a
profound and serious problem. He could not dismiss it as sheer
and utter paganism. On his return, he prepared and read be:
fore the Friday Evening Club in Providence a paper on the
Osiris Myth, which closes with these words, and which shows
the intensity of interest with which he regarded the whole sub-
ject : —
But whence, we naturally ask, did the Egyptian faith derive the
spiritual truths which during the earlier centuries gave it such power,
and which after ages of corruption and perversion by the priests still
enabled it to maintain its hold upon the respect of the people? More
especially, whence the unexpected and almost startling resemblance
which in some of its features it bears to Christianity, unfolding as it
seems to do a similar plan of salvation, and revealing like phases of
the divine character 2 Are its contained truths parts of a heritage,
originally bestowed upon man before his dispersion over the earth’
Or did they originate, as Bunsen supposes, in the God-consciousness
of the human soul ? Or were they reached by philosophic induction
through profound thought and study ? Or has the common Father,
instead of restricting his revelations to a single tribe or stock, made
known to all the great races of mankind such moral and Spiritual
truths as are necessary to the performance of the part assigned them
in the drama of human progress? However we may answer this ques-
tion, a faith that has lighted so many millions of our fellow-men to the
tomb, and has projected its rays, feeble and flickering though they be,
into the unexplored regions beyond, is worthy of our respectful and
sympathetic regard.
GE OR GE IDE CHA CE. 35
This period of foreign travel in 1872–73, lasting for a year
and a half, seems, however, only to have invigorated him for a
new sphere and new plans of work. He wrote from Dresden :
“It is now a little more than a year since we left home. I am
getting weary of travel, and shall be glad when we have accom-
plished what we proposed to do.” His active spirit never could
have contented itself with mere scholarly leisure. Some career of
useful endeavor it was sure to create for itself. Accordingly,
on his return to his own land, and for the last twelve years of
his busy life, we find him devoting himself to labors wholly
apart from his old professional calling, yet which crown his
life with rare completeness and honor. It seems evident that
in these the influence of Dr. Wayland is clearly traceable. He
had in a passage of great force and beauty spoken of Dr. Way.
land’s devoted labors for promoting every educational, philan-
thropic, and religious interest in the city of Providence and the
State of Rhode Island. He caught the inspiration of the great
example. It was easy for him to do so. He was never a schol-
arly recluse, shutting himself off from contact with living social
interests. Naturally reserved, yet that reserve never stood in
the way of active service, and was no bar to useful endeavor.
It was his conviction that the scholar, be he man of letters or
man of science, held his gifts and acquirements in trust for the
common good. Years before, and while he was busy with his
college classes, he found time to give lectures to those engaged
in the manufacturing industries of the State. An illustration of
what he did in this way is found in the following extract from
the Providence “Journal’’: —
We take pleasure in publishing the following correspondence, grow-
ing out of a course of lectures delivered during the past winter in
36 O
GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
Rhode Island Hall. These lectures were given under a provision made
in the recent organization of the university for extending to the prac-
tical classes of the community the advantages of scientific instruction in
the processes of their several arts. They were especially designed for
the benefit of those engaged in the working of metals, and were at-
tended by large numbers of the intelligent and enterprising jewelers of
our city. The manner in which they were appreciated is indicated by
the correspondence, and the value of such appreciation will be inferred
from the position and character of the gentlemen whose names are
affixed to it.
PROVIDENCE, June 8, 1853.
PROFESSOR GEORGE I. CHACE, Brown University:
DEAR SIR, - We ask your acceptance of the accompanying silver
pitcher as a token of the regard in which we hold your labors in the
course of lectures at Rhode Island Hall, on the Chemistry of the
Metals. Yours, very respectfully,
Church & Metcalf, Sacket, Davis & Potter,
Samuel Allen, Allin Brown,
Budlong & Rathbun, Henry Simon,
Stone & Weaver, Potter & Brown,
George Mason, Lewis Carr,
George Hunt, W. F. Marshall,
T. J. Linton, George A. Sagendorph,
Gorham & Co., Wm. W. Keach,
Mathewson & Allen, G. & H. Owen,
Palmer & Capron.
BROWN UNIVERSITY, June 8, 1853.
GENTLEMEN, -Permit me to tender to you my sincere thanks for
the splendid testimonial with which you have been pleased to honor my
humble endeavors to elucidate some of the processes of your beautiful
art. Whether I regard the object itself — a graceful and finished
product of Rhode Island skill and workmanship — or think of the gen-
erous appreciation and high courtesy to which I am indebted for it, its
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 37
possession is equally a source of pride and gratification. I shall ever
prize it, not only as a grateful remembrancer of the past, — of hours
spent pleasantly by me, and I hope not unprofitably by you, - but as a
bright augury of a closer relationship in future, at least within the bor-
ders of our city, between science and the productive arts. For the es-
tablishment and maintenance of such a relationship, I pledge you, in
receiving this superb gift and proud token of your confidence and re-
gard, that no exertions on my part shall be wanting.
With sentiments of the highest respect, I remain, gentlemen,
Your obliged servant,
GEORGE I. CHACE.
We think that the university could hardly desire a more gratifying
proof than is thus offered that its recent provisions for the wider and
more general diffusion of scientific knowledge, especially among the
mechanical classes, are held in due estimation. When, last autumn,
by way of carrying out these provisions in one of the directions open
for it, the above course of lectures was suggested to some of our lead-
ing manufacturing jewelers, they entered at once into the spirit of
the enterprise, and lent to it their ready aid and sympathy. And
now, after having contributed, by their coöperation and influence, in
no small degree to its successful issue, they have chosen this most
emphatic mode of publicly expressing their approbation of the design
and purpose in which it originated.
We trust that the endeavors of the university for the promotion
of a broader and more popular education will be seconded with equal
promptitude and spirit by the intelligent and influential citizens en-
gaged in other branches of trade and manufacture, and that the
time will soon come when a knowledge of the sciences, instead of
being confined to the professional classes, by whom they are sought
chiefly as a means of culture, shall be the possession of every mechanic
and artisan, to whom, besides answering the same general end of cul-
ture, they will prove of the greatest practical value.
38 GEORGE TDE CHA CE.
With the views here expressed Professor Chace was in the
fullest sympathy. He was ready to give unsparing effort to
carry them into effect. His success in this field of effort was
as marked as his success in class-rooms with the pupils of
the college, or before more cultivated audiences.
It is important to note these early efforts of Professor Chace
to identify himself with interests outside his professional life,
since they are the root out of which sprang the “bright
consummate flower " of his closing years. The charitable
labors which invested them with so rich a crown were in fact
no sudden development. His mind and heart had long been
in training for them, and when the opportunity came he seized
it. These labors were, during this period, mainly of a philan-
thropic nature. But before considering them in proper detail,
what seems like an episode in his career should be noticed.
It was his brief service to the city of Providence as one of
its aldermen. To this office he was chosen in 1878, again
in 1879, afterwards declining reëlection, but only because his
labors for the public weal in other directions had become too
severely onerous. To this office he brought the same gifts
which had made him conspicuous as a teacher : fearless hon-
esty in dealing with all questions; thorough-going scrutiny of
whatever came up for investigation ; careful weighing of all
considerations bearing on the question, — and then, as the
result, sound practical conclusions. His speech on the sub-
ject of true municipal economy attracted at the time of its
delivery the attention of the whole city. It was commented on
most favorably by the city journals. Citizens sent in commu-
nications warmly commending his views. In all the varied
interests with which city government has to deal, he was con-
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 39
spicuous as the advocate of sound business-like views. He felt
profound concern as to the whole question of municipal gov-
ernment. He sat upon committees, engaged in debate, pro-
moted measures in the board of aldermen, with the same earnest,
painstaking, thorough-going service with which he taught his
classes in mental and moral philosophy. Perhaps no better
illustration of the breadth and wisdom with which he met all
subjects of municipal welfare can be found than is supplied in
a speech at the dedication of the new Providence High School
Building. Its opening portions are subjoined: –
The completion of this ample, commodious, and beautiful edifice,
to be dedicated henceforward to the highest education of our city,
to be the perpetual seat and home of a manly discipline and gen-
erous culture, where our most gifted youth may, generation after
generation, receive instruction in all useful knowledge, and have their
minds moulded to types of intellectual grace and moral beauty, is a
just cause for pride and a fit subject for congratulations among our
citizens. Well may we give a brief hour to the indulgence of such
pride and the interchange of such congratulations. Happily there
are no drawbacks to the satisfaction we may properly feel in the
accomplishment of so important a work. Although hardly surpassed
in exterior attractions by any building in our city, and uniting within,
to elegance of finish, every accommodation that could be desired,
through the Sedulous care of the commission intrusted with its erec-
tion, it has been kept within the limits of the original estimate, and
now stands complete in all its parts, at a cost which need not dis-
turb the Serenity of the most cautious and prudent citizen.
Whether we ought to have a high school, whether an institution
offering advantages superior to those of our grammar schools has a
rightful place in our system of public education, whether it is expe-
dient or wise or just to provide in the general tax levy for the sup-
port of such an institution, I will not now inquire. That question
40 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
has been decided by our citizens; and the experience of the last
thirty-five years has, I think, abundantly vindicated their decision.
As there are some, however, who are disposed to question its correct-
ness; who, though freely admitting, on the ground of the general wel-
fare, the duty of providing for every child born the means of an
education that shall fit him for the discharge of all the duties of a
freeman, doubt the propriety or right of burdening the general tax-
payer for training here and there a favored boy or girl for the higher
walks and better conditions of life, it may be worth while to consider
for a moment whether there be any just ground for the distinction
here made.
Is it more important that there should be honest and intelligent
voters than that there should be able men, good and true, for whom
they may cast their votes ? Is it more important to a community to
have well-informed and industrious operatives than to have men of
large intelligence and clear heads who may direct their labors and
turn them into profitable channels? Is an enlightened class of pro-
ducers more essential to the business prosperity of the country than
honest clerks, skillful accountants, capable and trusty agents, and able
and sagacious business men and financiers ? At whose door lies the
responsibility for the great losses and fearful commercial disasters of
the last few years, and for the present depressed state of every spe-
cies of industry? At whose door, I say, does the responsibility for
these great evils lie 2 Surely not at the door of the producing classes.
The country is to-day full to repletion of the products of their labor.
We must look higher up in society for the origin of our business
troubles. Their fruitful source will be found in unwise investments,
in incompetent management, in ignorance of the fundamental laws of
trade and finance, in wild and reckless speculation, in enterprises not
well considered and from the start doomed to failure, in lack of
capacity for the organization and conduct of business, in breaches of
trust, in failures of character, in defalcations and misappropriations, in
fraud and trickery and dishonesty of all kinds among the better con-
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 41
ditioned class, —among those who occupy pivotal positions, and con-
trol by their movements, to a large extent, the business of the country;
who not only direct its industries, but receive, handle, and distribute
their varied products. These higher places in society must be filled
with a higher order of men before prosperity can be restored or busi-
mess settle itself upon a sure and solid basis. For the training and
preparation of such men we need all that our highest schools and
best masters can do for them. These more advanced institutions of
learning are as essential to the public Welfare, and are, consequently,
as much entitled to public support, as Schools of a lower grade, where
the pupils are fitted for the ordinary occupations and duties of life.
But there is another question connected with our subject, that is
not so easily answered : To what extent should provision be made at
public expense for this higher education ? Shall the doors of our
school be thrown wide open, inviting all who may desire to enter 7
Or shall restrictions be placed upon admission, limiting the number
to such as are, by character and attainment, prepared to avail
themselves of its advantages, and as may be required by the inter-
ests of the community to fill its more important places 2 To ask this
question, one would at first think, is to answer it. Nothing would
seem clearer than that a system of public education, depending for its
justification upon the requirement of the public welfare, should be
kept within the limits of that requirement. Otherwise it loses its
Taison d'être. The encouragement of tastes and aspirations for a kind
of life which nature has not fitted one for is at best a questionable
benefit. It should ever be remembered that schools do not make
brain ; they only discipline and train it. The Smith may go through
the form of sharpening a sabre or knife; but if it lack steel, he can-
not impart to it keenness of edge. In the struggle for place and
power, rude strength will always get the better of educated feeble-
ºness. To turn, at public expense, those born with organizations fit-
ting them to become good farmers or skillful mechanics into slow
accountants, or incapable business agents, or dull teachers, or poor
42 GEORGE IDE CHACE.
doctors, or ministers, or lawyers, is an injury to the individuals them-
selves, as well as a wrong to the community.
But his chief work as a public man is to be found in his con-
nection with the State Board of Charities. The following ac-
count of it, furnished by Professor Gammell, will show what it
was for practical wisdom, for far-reaching benevolence, what a
high order of ability it required, and what a success he achieved.
After the return of Mr. Chace from his visit to Europe and the
East, he was not without some solicitude as to the manner in which he
might find occupation for his unaccustomed leisure. His life had been
spent in the most uniform of all professions, in which the duties of
nearly every day are prescribed by an unvarying rule. He had, hows
ever, little considered how many things there are of public importance
in every large community that will be done only by benevolent and
public-spirited citizens, and especially how numerous are the demands
which are sure to be made on an educated man of leisure who has any
aptitude for affairs. It was not long before he found himself fully oc-
cupied with new activities and cares. He had already, as early as
1870, been chosen a trustee of the Butler Hospital for the Insane,
and had become much interested in the work of that admirable insti-
tution. He continued his connection with it for thirteen years. In
May, 1874, a few months after his return, he was appointed by the
governor of Rhode Island a member of the Board of State Charities
and Corrections, a board which had been created a few years before
for the management of the charitable and penal institutions belong-
ing to the State. On taking his seat with his associates he was im-
mediately chosen chairman of the board, and that position he contin-
ued to fill till his resignation in October, 1883, when his health was
beginning to fail. In November, 1875, he was chosen a trustee of the
Rhode Island Hospital, and in June, 1877, he was made president of
its corporation. This latter office he continued to hold to the end of
his life. Of the duties pertaining to it he took broad and generous
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 43
views, and gave a great deal of time to assisting in the beneficent work
of the hospital. He also had the satisfaction of seeing its resources
greatly increased and its usefulness enlarged during the period of his
connection with it.
It was, however, in the Board of State Charities and Corrections that
his duties became by far the most engrossing. It was of the nature of
a public trust, and having been but recently created by the State it
had not yet completed the experimental period of its existence. It was
also requiring large outlays of money, and was naturally regarded with
some misgivings, which made its success a matter of the utmost impor-
tance. This board, unlike those in other States, is not advisory in its
functions, but purely administrative, and it exercises entire control
over the institutions committed to its care, being responsible only to
the legislature. Its members are always citizens of high character and
superior intelligence, who serve without compensation. When Mr.
Chace entered upon his duties the State Farm in Cranston, some seven
miles from Providence, contained only three of the institutions now es-
tablished there. These were the Almshouse, the House of Correction,
and the Asylum for the Incurable Insane, and for these the buildings
had not all been constructed. The legislature, however, had decided
that the State Prison and the Providence County Jail should be placed
there so soon as the requisite buildings could be erected; and a com-
mission had been created for erecting them, of which the chairman of
the board was, ea officio, a member. Subsequently the institution
known as the Reform School of the City of Providence was transferred
to the State, and additional buildings for separate reformatories for
both sexes were built under the direction of the board. When these
were completed, the establishment at the State Farm included six sepa-
rate institutions, and in addition to these the board exercises an inciden-
tal supervision of the jails in the several counties of the State. These
institutions now require not less than thirty-five separate buildings for
their accommodation, besides houses for officers, attendants, farmers,
and laborers. Of these main buildings, ten are for the Asylum for the
44 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
Incurable Insane, nine are for the Boys' Reformatory, six are for the
State Prison and the County Jail, five are for the Almshouse, four are
for the House of Correction, and one for the Girls’ Reformatory. The
larger part of these buildings were constructed while Mr. Chace was
connected with the board, and more or less under his supervision. But
in addition to the work of building, which was so long in progress, was
the associated work of laying out the grounds embracing a farm of
more than five hundred acres, of inclosing the entire estate and the
allotments of the several institutions with suitable walls, of providing
roads for access to them, of making advantageous arrangements for
gaslight, for abundant water, and for a system of comprehensive drain-
age. New legislation was also to be prepared for adoption by the
General Assembly, and explained to its committees; and, what was not
unfrequently the most delicate and difficult task of all, suitable officers
were to be selected and secured for the proper administration of a
group of institutions so comprehensive and at the same time so diver-
sified in their purposes and in the care which they required.
To this entire work in all its branches Mr. Chace gave himself with
extraordinary energy and zeal. It occupied all his time, and well-nigh
all his thoughts, until its accomplishment was secured, and these im-
portant institutions of the State were placed upon their present pros-
perous footing, and under a system of administration reorganized and
adjusted to their new and enlarged dimensions. In all this work he
and his associates were in the fullest harmony and coöperation. His
scientific knowledge, his careful judgment, and his weight of character
gave them the assurance that he was a safe counselor and guide, while
his conciliatory spirit and unfailing courtesy enabled him to harmonize
varying opinions, and to secure entire unity of action in the discharge
of every duty. Difficult and delicate negotiations were often intrusted
to him, in full confidence that the views of the board and the interests
of the State would in this way be best promoted, and the result always
showed that this confidence had not been misplaced. Several of his
associates with whom I have conversed have spoken in terms of the
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 45
warmest commendation of his judgment, of his executive capacity, his
varied practical knowledge, his thoroughness in all investigations, his
patience in all times of trial, his uniform courtesy, and his rare fit-
ness to guide the deliberations and shape the action of the board.
While he occupied this position he was largely engaged with its duties
and cares, and some of these years, as he used to say, were among the
busiest of his life.
Before this work of construction and reorganization was entirely fin-
ished, those who were nearest to him perceived that it was wearing
upon his strength. He had already been admonished by an eminent
physician whom he consulted that he was tasking himself with too
many cares for the period of life which he had reached. He, however,
did not remit them, though he practiced every prudence, till he saw the
State Farm and its institutions brought to the condition contemplated
in the plans which he had assisted in preparing, and administered ac-
cording to the methods which he had advocated and caused to be
adopted. He felt bound in honor and in religious duty to assist in
carrying to its completion the important work whose execution had
been intrusted to him and his associates. When this had been accom-
plished he withdrew from the board in October, 1883, after a period
of Service extending through nine years and five months, and when he
had already passed his seventy-fifth birthday. His resignation was
even then in accordance with the dictates of prudence rather than with
his wishes, and his interests and his thoughts continued to linger amidst
the State institutions which had been so long nurtured by his daily
care. He, however, still continued his connection with the Rhode Isl-
and Hospital and some other posts of disinterested service, to the end
of his life.
These closing years which Mr. Chace thus devoted to the institutions
of philanthropy with which he became connected, and especially to the
care of the comprehensive establishment at which the State of Rhode
Island gathers its criminals, its pauper insane, its wayward children,
and its dependent poor, make a fitting complement to his long period
46 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
of service as a teacher of science at the university. Together they con-
stitute a life of that order of usefulness and distinction which is always
its own best eulogy, - a life faithfully and religiously spent in promot-
ing the noblest interests of society and of mankind.
And perhaps no more striking proof of what power there is
in such an example could be given than is found in the tribute
paid to him by Hon. Francis Wayland, of New Haven, Conn.
In the course of the annual meeting of the National Prison
Association, held at Detroit October 17–21, 1885, Professor
Francis Wayland, Dean of Yale Law School, addressed the as-
sociation as follows, Ex-President R. B. Hayes being in the
chair : — •
MR. CHAIRMAN, -Since our last annual meeting death has taken
from us several of our most esteemed counselors and co-workers. The
career of one of them so admirably illustrates the value of educated
ability in the work of prison reform and furnishes so stimulating an
example of self-denying devotion to duty that it deserves something
more than passing mention.
Professor George Ide Chace, L.L. D., a vice-president of this body
since its reorganization, was graduated at Brown University in 1830
with the highest honors of his class. Summoned by his Alma Mater,
a year later, to become a member of the faculty of instruction, he had,
at the time of his retirement in 1872, filled with conspicuous ability
every position from tutor to president.
After eighteen months of well-earned rest which he spent in foreign
travel, he returned to Providence greatly improved in health. He was
then at an age when most men, after so many years of confining and
monotonous labor, would have felt disposed to pass the remaining days
in “the still air of delightful studies.” But if such a temptation as-
sailed Professor Chace, he resisted it manfully and successfully. He
was very soon appointed a member, and a little later chairman, of the
GEOR GE I DE CHA CE. 47
State Board of Charities and Corrections, an office which he held for
nearly ten years. During the same period he was a trustee for the
Butler Hospital for the Insane, and President of the Rhode Island
Hospital. As has been well said: “To the promotion of the great in-
terests of all these institutions he gave himself with zeal and devotion,
occupied in thought and action with beneficent and Christian measures
for the cure of the sick and the care of the insane and the reformation
of the vicious.”
But what more immediately concerns us relates to his labors as chair-
man of the Rhode Island State Board of Charities and Corrections.
That the penal and correctional institutions of that enlightened, pro-
gressive little commonwealth have reached such a praiseworthy condi-
tion of excellence is largely due to the intelligent zeal with which Pro-
fessor Chace devoted himself to this form of philanthropic effort.
His active mind could not long be contented with methods which had
nothing to justify their existence but the fact that they survived. In-
deed, for a man of his years, he was singularly hospitable to new ideas
if they gave fair or reasonable promise of good results. He sought in-
formation in all directions, deferring with characteristic modesty to the
opinions of those who had been longer in this field of labor than him-
self, but taking nothing for granted which did not commend itself to
his own deliberate judgment. He was thoroughly humane, without
ever being betrayed into merely sentimental sympathy with the wrong-
doer. In his view, the whole duty of society was not discharged by se-
cluding the offender from contact with his fellows during a fixed term of
imprisonment. He believed that reformation and imprisonment should
go hand in hand; that the inmate of a prison or jail should be encour-
aged in every legitimate way to reënter the ranks of society as a re-
claimed man. To this end he welcomed every available form of useful
labor, every practicable scheme of instruction, the religious services of
the chaplain, the faithful work of the Sabbath-school teacher. He
held that these were all important factors in the work of reformation,
elements of physical, mental, and moral discipline which would be in-
48 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
valuable to the prisoner, if wisely employed and honestly accepted. At
the same time, he never favored lavish expenditure. Guarding with
scrupulous fidelity every trust confided to his care, he did not consider
his official obligations fulfilled if he did not protect the interests of the
tax-payer. While he did not regard an annual balance in favor of
the State as the main thing to be aimed at by the board of control, he
held that the public had a right to demand the strictest economy in
prison management consistent with a wise system of prison reform.
He knew that this was impossible without diligent attention to de-
tails, and no small portion of his time was employed in regular and
careful inspection of every branch of the service.
He soon learned that the best subordinate officers are not too good
to be kept under the watchful eye of adequate supervision. Accord-
ingly, his visits to the institutions over which he presided were not only
frequent, but were felt to be much more than formal. Every official
was made aware that genuine worth would be appreciated and that no
neglect of duty would be overlooked. Friendly with all, but familiar
with none, he happily blended true dignity with kindly courtesy. He
never turned a deaf ear to a meritorious applicant for mercy, and he
was rarely deceived by spurious professions of reform. His intimate
friends often speak of the surprise with which they beheld this man, ha-
bituated for nearly half a century to the drill of the class-room, display
as much aptitude for the superintendence of penal and correctional in-
stitutions as if that had been his life work.
It came simply from his habit of doing with conscientious thorough-
ness, inspired and guided by a disciplined intellect, whatever service was
required at his hands.
Mr. Chairman, I am painfully conscious that this most imperfect
tribute does scant justice to my early instructor and my life long friend.
But he needs no commendation where he is known, and no memorial
within the just limits of an occasion like this would fitly introduce him
to a stranger. -
I beg leave to offer the following resolutions:-
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 49
Resolved, that this association desires to place on record its high
appreciation of the intelligent zeal, the untiring industry, and the un-
selfish devotion with which our late associate, Professor George Ide
Chace, L.L. D., consecrated the closing years of his valuable life to the
cause of prison reform.
Jºesolved, that our lamented friend has left an example worthy of
all imitation among educated men of the application of a carefully
trained mind to the solution of important problems in the science of
penology.
The resolutions were unanimously adopted.
Interwoven with the career thus sketched were other services
rendered the public from time to time during his life. These
were services in the form of public addresses or contributions to
our periodical literature. Allusion has already been made to
his lectures before the representatives of various manufacturing
interests. But in public address he met what would be judged
more exacting occasions. These were of two kinds; occasional
discourses and courses of lectures. He was a dignified and at-
tractive speaker, never affecting the orator, rather always speak-
ing as the teacher, and depending for effect on the force of
his reasoning and the legitimate power of a very pure, clear,
and, at times, chastely ornate style. He had, however, the ad-
vantage of impressive bearing, and if the manner of address
was far from studied oratory, it was attractive for its manly dig-
nity, its perfect sincerity, and, on fit occasion, solemn earnest-
ness of utterance. His oration before the Porter Rhetorical
Society of Andover Theological Seminary, in 1854, gave rise
to some discussion of the views advanced on the relation of
Divine Providence to natural law. He was entirely prepared
to encounter dissent from his views. This his catholic spirit
4
50 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
would readily tolerate. He was stung only when it was im-
plied that such views carried with them essentially disbelief in
the teachings of Scripture. It was with a just resentment that
he repelled any such imputation. In reply to one such attack,
alleging that “one for consistency's sake should renounce
Christianity before he uttered such a philosophy,” he wrote the
following spirited disclaimer: —
I cannot in silence suffer suspicion to be thus cast upon my earnest
faith in that system of revealed truth upon which rests all hope not
only of my own personal salvation, but of the salvation of the race;
and with which I believe all the highest and best interests of mankind
in this world to be most intimately connected. No man has a moral
right to cast such a suspicion. There is not a word in the discourse,
from the beginning to the end, to afford the slightest justification of it.
There is here no intention of raking over the ashes of a
buried controversy. All that is meant is to secure for his
memory — possibly a work of supererogation now — the rec-
ord that he believed his views to be in full harmony with the
Scriptures, truly interpreted, and that they were views accepted,
as he thought, by such Christian men of science as Professor
Hitchcock, the eminent geologist of Amherst College, and Pro-
fessor Dana, of Yale College. The discourse was, subsequent
to delivery, published. It was an unalloyed gratification to its
author that he received from Professor Dana a letter sympathiz-
ing with his views and admiring his discourse : —
NEW HAVEN, July 17, 1856.
MY DEAR SIR, -Your very acceptable letter was received some
weeks since. The first article of yours to which you alluded I had
seen, and the second one I immediately looked for and found. Both
I have much enjoyed, admiring your views and your mode of presenting
GE OR GE IDE CHA CE. 51
them. The Providence of God is a deep subject; and perhaps none
has received greater light from the progress of science than this. You
allude to one branch of the subject without dwelling upon it, — the in-
fluence over men and human events through action on the minds of men
by the Divine Spirit. By enlarging on Providence from this point of
view, you might make a valuable contribution to theological sci-
ence. . . . With much esteem, very truly yours,
JAMES D. DANA.
Apart from all debate as to the soundness of its views, there
was no question as to its ability and beauty as an occasional
discourse. The subject was one he had considered long and
deeply. Some of its passages have rare finish, and the whole
discussion shows with what profound interest he regarded the
problems in which modern science and Divine revelation are
both involved. -
Perhaps, however, the most successful of all his occasional
discourses was that delivered in 1866, commemorating the life
and services of President Wayland. Under that presidency
the greater part of his professional career had been passed.
Under it he had begun his career as teacher in the college.
He enjoyed Dr. Wayland's confidence and friendship. In turn,
Dr. Wayland leaned strongly on his counsels, was proud of his
successes. The relation between them was one of affectionate
esteem. The confidence of the one was met by the most de-
voted loyalty of the other. All Professor Chace’s heart was
thus enlisted in the commemorative discourse. It was a mas-
terly analysis of Dr. Wayland's powers, a well-weighed estimate
of his great services to education, philanthropy, and religion.
Its style was elevated, but all through the address the warmth
of his personal attachment, the glow of his admiration, kindled
52 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
his discussion. And the impassioned close was instantly recog-
nized by all who heard it as the long pent-up outburst of an
affection which had been gathering volume from the time in
which he had sat as a pupil at the feet of his great master to
the moment of its utterance.
In the various courses of lectures Professor Chace was called
on to deliver he certainly won high and deserved praise. A
successful and brilliant experimenter when experiment was
called for, gifted with the power to make abstruse questions
clear to common minds, capable also of leading the more culti-
vated and thoughtful into the higher relations of thought, his
services were often called into requisition. His more noted
courses of lectures were those before the Smithsonian Institu-
tion at Washington, D.C.; that before the Peabody Institute,
Baltimore ; a course in Boston ; and one before the Newton
Theological Seminary. The latter, never before published, is
appended to this memorial. At their close the faculty of the
seminary adopted the following minute, expressing their ap-
preciation of the services he had rendered : —
The faculty of the Newton Theological Institution feel constrained,
as individuals and as a body, to put on record their high appreciation
of the course of lectures delivered by Professor Chace. They are con-
fident that the lectures have been of great service to the students, en-
larging their knowledge in an important field of inquiry, quickening
insight to discover proofs of intelligence in the objects and laws of the
natural world, and confirming faith in the unity of the divine plan
which enfolds both nature and revelation. They are gratified that the
success of the course demonstrates the worth of this new line of in-
struction and the wisdom of instituting it. They unite in expressing
the desire that the lectures may in some way be given to the public,
and reach a larger audience.
GE OR GE I DE CHA CE. 53
These lectures show a sustained power of discussion as well
as the close and clear discrimination of a trained thinker.
They bring him vividly before us in the light in which he loved
best to stand, that of a scientific man endeavoring not so much
to harmonize science and religion as to show the provinces of
each, and that belief in the Divine revelation given us in the
Scriptures rests on rational grounds. It is a gratifying thought
that his latest public utterance, an address before the Rhode
Island Medical Society, in June, 1883, on “Theism from the
Physician's Standpoint,” shows him in the same attractive light.
Professor Chace’s contributions to periodical literature were
numerous, considering the demands which his varied and inces-
Sant labors as a professor made upon him. It is noticeable that
they are mainly devoted to the discussion of subjects not spe-
cifically scientific, but involving more or less questions in the-
ology or philosophy. His most valuable articles for the re-
views will be found in the “Bibliotheca Sacra.” They form
a connected series of discussions in natural theology, and were
contributed during the years 1848–50. He began the series
with an article on the “ Divine Agency in the Production of
Natural Phenomena” (Bib. Sac., May, 1848). This was fol-
lowed by one on “Spirit and the Constitution of Spiritual
Beings” (Bib. Sac., November, 1848). He furnished next an
article on the “Natural Proofs of the Immortality of the Soul’
(Bib. Sac., February, 1849). This, an elaborate and very acute
criticism of Bp. Butler's celebrated chapter in his “Analogy,”
will be recognized by his students as having been given them
during their study of the “Analogy" under him, and is the
fruit of long and patient thought. This article was followed
by one upon the “Dependence of the Mental Powers upon the
54 GEORG E IDE CHA CE.
Bodily Organization '' (Bib. Sac., August, 1849), a subject cog-
nate with the one he had just discussed.
The series ends with two articles, “On the Existence and
Natural Attributes of the Divine Being,” “The Moral Attri-
butes of the Divine Being ” (Bib. Sac., April and October,
1850). Of these articles Professor B. B. Edwards, then con-
ducting the “Bibliotheca Sacra,” wrote: “We esteem them,
and that is the opinion of all who speak of them, as among the
ablest and best written which we have ever had in our jour-
mal.” This is high praise, for Professor Edwards was a man of
high ideals in everything, and the journal was at that time pub-
lishing articles which gave it the highest rank among reviews of
its order.
A list of Professor Chace's more important contributions to
the reviews will be found appended to this sketch. Two of
them, that on the “Realm of Faith ” (Baptist Quarterly, Janu-
ary, 1871), and that reviewing Mr. Rowland G. Hazard’s able
work, “Man, a Creative First Cause ’’ (Andover Review, De-
cember, 1884), are reprinted in this volume. The lucid order
of all his discussions, the grasp of the subject, the clear, vigor-
ous, and polished style, qualities found in all his writings, show
the secret of his success in this department, a field in which ten
fail where one succeeds. Professor Chace was a master of Eng-
lish. His sentences are, in terseness and energy of expression,
models. His illustrations are felicitous, and when he uses orna-
ment it is chaste and rich. The passages which here and there
strike the reader for their beauty of thought and expression are
numerous, and yet no one can regard them as other than aids
to the enforcement of his views. The absolute and transparent
sincerity of the man is seen in the writing.
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 55
Any formal analysis and estimate of Professor Chace's intel-
lectual powers are needless, after such tributes from his col-
leagues and pupils as this sketch has embodied, and after the
enumeration of his labors and successes. But one point needs
any further notice. Coupled with qualities and habits of mind
fitting him for severe scientific reasoning and investigation
there was a love of literature, which he found time always to
gratify. It was his habit, after the severer toils of the day were
over, to read aloud to his wife from the best authors, or to be
read to by her. So they together traversed the pages of our
choice poets, essayists, and historians. With Tennyson and
Browning among modern poets he was specially familiar, while
Milton and Shakespeare were his delights among the older. To
the last, this companionship with our best authors was kept up,
and much of that finer element in his written style as well as in
his general culture was due to this familiarity with good letters.
Of Professor Chace's Christian character it may be said that
it was marked throughout by genuineness, depth, and catholicity.
He made a profession of his faith in the outset of his career
as teacher in the college, uniting himself with the First Baptist
Church in Providence, and remaining in its communion till his
death, his membership thus continuing for fifty years. The re-
ligious atmosphere which surrounded his earlier Christian experi-
ence was one peculiar to the time. Habits of severe and gloom-
breeding introspection, and a vigorous imposition of external
tests as marks of discipleship, too much predominated. But
the letters of Professor Chace to intimate friends at this period,
though too full of sacred personal experiences to be put under
the eyes of the public, show a simple, warm, sometimes almost
tearful love to his Saviour, which would seem strange to those
56 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
who thought mainly of his life as reserved, if not cold. It is
difficult to understand how the impression was created that he
was of skeptical tendency. Nothing in his correspondence shows
it. It is easy to misinterpret the working of a mind which asks
for grounds of belief. In the days of an unquestioning faith,
even to inquire seems disloyalty to the truth, and to doubt is to
side with the unbeliever. Professor Chace held with Sir William
Hamilton that doubt had its legitimate province. “We doubt
in order that we may believe ; we begin that we may not end in
doubt. We doubt once that we may believe always ; we re-
nounce authority that we may follow reason ; we surrender opin-
ions that we may obtain knowledge. We must be protestants,
<not infidels, in philosophy.” He subjected his beliefs to care-
ful examination, but from the beginning to the end of his career
he was a sincere and full believer in the great truths of the
revealed word of God.
He fought his doubts and gathered strength,
He would not make his judgment blind ;
He faced the spectres of the mind,
And laid them : thus he came at length
To find a stronger faith his own
And Power was with him in the night
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,
But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinai’s peaks of old
While Israel made them gods of gold,
Although the trumpet blew so loud.
There was also in his piety an emotional element, not indeed
1 See Sir William Hamilton's Lectures on Metaphysics, Am. ed. p. 64.
GE OR GE I DE CHA CE. 57
easily stirred, never in fact roused by mere appeals, but which
on fit occasion and in the view of the great truths of religion,
natural or revealed, was sure to manifest itself. In his letters
there are found many and touching expressions of his gratitude
to God. His scientific investigations leading him up to these
high thoughts of God, often left him the grateful worshipper
where he had begun as the scientific investigator. And in all
the later labors of charity which he undertook, sympathy — all
the deeper because so genuine — was an unfailing stimulus to
their performance. This emotional side may have been not
often shown, but those who knew him intimately, knew was not
wanting in him. It was mostly known, indeed, in the sacred
privacies of his own home. And yet on occasions it could not
hide itself away. An instance of what depth and tenderness
were in his emotional nature is given in the following letter
to his sister, describing a scene in church of which he had
been witness : —
PROVIDENCE, June 9, 1861.
MY DEAR SISTER, -I have been present to-day at one of the most
impressive scenes which it has ever been my lot to witness. Our sec-
ond regiment of troops leave this week for the seat of war. This
morning they attended worship at our church. They occupied the
whole body of the church. The Governor, together with his staff of
high officers, was with them. The flag of our country floated from the
spire of the church, and on the inside of the church, the pulpit and the
wall on either side of the pulpit was covered with flags. Our pastor
preached a most faithful and earnest discourse, made more solemn by
the thought that many present were probably listening for the last time
to the preached word of God in the Christian sanctuary. The text was
from Isaiah 52d chapter, 11th and 12th verses: “Be ye clean, that
bear the vessels of the Lord. For ye shall not go out with haste, nor
58 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
go by flight; for the Lord will go before you; and the God of Israel
will be your rearward.” The discourse will probably be printed, in
which case I will send you a copy. Some portions of it were very
moving. Dr. Wayland made the opening prayer. It was a sublime lift-
ing up to the throne of grace of the whole regiment together with the
holy cause in defense of which they were about to offer up, if need be,
their lives. I am not so easily moved as I once was, and yet the tears
ran in streams down my cheeks during the whole prayer.
The catholicity which marked his religious life is one of its
conspicuous traits. He was a Baptist by conviction, and he was
always loyal to his church. His devotion to it increased with
his years. But he was in the fullest fellowship with all true
believers. No belief of his was any bar to the heartiest apprecia-
tion of all true churches of our Lord Jesus Christ. In a letter
to his sister written from Geneva, 1872, he makes this striking
remark: “I have been in communities Protestant and Catho-
lic, of every variety of faith and sect, without perceiving those
differences of character which we are accustomed to associate
with differences of belief. I am persuaded that the church con-
victions of men leave the deeper elements of character less al-
tered than we suppose.”
There were forms of Christian service also in which he was
ever ready to engage. Repeatedly during his busiest profes-
sional career he gave his time to the instruction of Bible
classes. These were sometimes formed of students from the
college, sometimes of young and middle-aged business men.
They were held in connection with the Sunday-school of the
First Baptist Church. The book of Scripture he chose to teach
was the Book of Proverbs. He regarded its ethics as the
soundest and timeliest practical instruction. It was his delight
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 59
to find the same root for Hebrew and for Christian ethics in the
unchangeable laws of right. One of his pupils writes in refer-
ence to these Bible classes: “Among our college note-books
especially do we value the one in which are recorded the rich
practical thoughts which Sunday after Sunday were brought to
our notice in these lessons, so full of the wisdom of Solomon.”
During the year 1851–52 he was superintendent of the First
Baptist Sunday-school, a post he resigned only because his la-
bors at that time in other directions had become too much for
his strength. It is eminently characteristic of him that, as his
carefully written report shows, his first aim in assuming the of
fice was “to elevate the instruction of the school, and give to
it unity of aim and character and spirit.” He sought accord-
ingly “means of awakening a deeper interest in the study of
the Bible, and of imparting larger and more comprehensive and
more affecting views of Christian truth.” In the same line of
work he was accustomed to give lectures to companies of stu-
dents or to congregations, in which the relations of science and
religion were discussed. One such course, followed by large au-
diences, was given at the Central Baptist Church in the winter
and spring of 1869. The class of 1870 in Brown University
sent him a petition for a “series of Sunday afternoon lectures
concerning the relations existing between science and revealed
religion,” and the petition states in its preamble that it had been
“his custom of late to favor the senior class with a series of
Sunday afternoon lectures.”
Nothing could better illustrate the spirit by which all his
Christian work was prompted than an address given before the
Women’s City Missionary Society of the city of Providence, No-
vember 10, 1879. The address itself is one of great force and
60 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
beauty; but an emphasis is added to the whole from the fact
that his labors in the same direction had chastened his spirit,
and that the keen practical vision which was so quick to see the
wiser methods of reformatory effort was suffused with a tender .
and gracious Christian compassion. There is one portion of the
address which may well stand as the embodiment of his later
Christian services. And those who love and cherish his memory
will gladly see it reproduced in this memorial, as the medium
through which they may look to contemplate the life of this
gifted man of science, this beloved and honored teacher : —
I have been asked for suggestions as to the best means of reaching
the classes for whose benefit your missions are especially intended.
Were my experience in laboring for the good of others far greater than
it has been, I should hardly venture to indicate any change in methods
of which the wisdom, in your hands, has been strikingly vindicated.
The work of making men better is found by all who have tried no
easy task. The labors of philanthropy, in whatever direction, are of all
labors the most discouraging. “Set thyself to do good,” says the East-
ern sage, “and thou shalt have sweet moments and bitter hours.” It
is everywhere and under all circumstances up-hill work; and too often,
when we hope we have succeeded in helping an erring brother to attain
a higher moral footing, like the stone of the fabled Sisyphus he de-
scends with a bound to the level from which he started. In the strug-
gle to overcome the evil in the world by natural forces, the odds are
greatly against us. Depraved and selfish natures, low desires clam-
orous for gratification, vicious tastes and habits constantly gaining
strength from indulgence, with a perpetual environment of tempta-
tions, are to be contended with. In this struggle, mere physical ap-
pliances are unavailing. They may for a time restrain the evil pro-
pensities, but they have no power to cure them. Statesmanship has
labored for thousands of years at the dark problem, but has found no
solution. Its wisest laws and its best institutions have served only to
GEOI: GE I DE CHA CE. 61
abate somewhat the evils springing from man's corrupt nature. Phi-
losophy stands appalled at the magnitude of these evils, and confesses
herself unequal to grappling with them. There is only one remedy.
That remedy is the quickening of the moral sentiments which lie dor-
mant in every human bosom. The final battle between good and evil
is to be fought in individual souls. It is regenerated men and women
that are to regenerate society and the world.
It becomes, then, a question of the highest importance how the moral
energies slumbering in every soul can be best aroused and brought
into conflict with the hitherto controlling forces of evil, and a victory
and permanent control over the latter be gained; how a worldly char-
acter, moulded by the requirements of interest, can be made to give
place to one of nobler type, ever prompting its possessor to works of
beneficence and charity.
So far as our instrumentality is concerned, the question seems to me
not a difficult one to answer. We must bring ourselves into the closest
possible relation with those whom we seek to benefit. Our moral im-
pulses must quicken theirs; our characters must help to form and ele-
vate theirs. It is useless to attempt awakening in others sentiments
we do not ourselves feel, or imparting to them ideals which we do not
in our daily lives embody and exemplify. It is not the sermon, but
the man back of the sermon, that reaches the hearts and consciences of
his hearers. It is not eloquence of speech that gives power to the ex-
hortations of the Christian brother, but his known character and life.
Unless these be in harmony with his words, the latter fall powerless
upon the ear of the listener, or awaken in him only disgust. Pure,
genuine feeling is the most persuasive of exhorters. A noble Christian
character is the most eloquent of preachers. -
I have said the closer we place ourselves to those whom we would
make better, the greater will be our influence over them. For the full-
est effect, it should be mind to mind, heart to heart, soul to soul.
When the prophet would impart of his own life to the dead son of the
Shunamite, he stretched himself upon the child, and put his mouth
62 GEORGE I DE CIIA CE.
upon his mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his
hands. We have in this a symbol of the relationship most favorable
to the impartation of spiritual life; or, to borrow another illustration
from the Scriptures, the leaven must be diffused through the mass, in
contact with every part of it, in order that the whole lump be leavened.
Its modifying power is strictly limited to that which it touches.
There are some who, in addition to an abounding Christian charity,
possess a rare spiritual tact by which they feel their way into the
depths of the soul, and there touch with healing finger the springs of
thought and action. Although this God-given power is denied to most
of us, genuine love to our neighbor and an earnest desire to do him
good, with a proper regard to propriety of manner and occasion, will
open the way to his better feelings and bring him within the sphere
of our Christian influence. No one, of however humble abilities, need
fear that his efforts, if put forth for the Master and in his spirit, will
be in vain. The water that is spilt upon the ground, and cannot be
gathered up, is not wholly lost. It in due time makes the earth
greener.
But it is not enough that the moral sentiments be wakened and
brought into an active state. They must be strengthened and fortified
against the temptations of interest and the assaults of appetite and pas-
sion by assiduous culture. The Christian care, instruction, and over-
sight of those who have commenced a new life, the shielding of them
from the dangers of evil companionship, is of the greatest importance.
It cannot be neglected without imminent peril to the good work begun.
The seed that fell by the wayside, had the fowls been kept away from
it, might have struck root into the hard and trodden earth, and in due
time brought forth fruit. If the soil of the stony ground had been
deepened by culture, the seed that sprung upon it so quickly would not
as quickly have withered away.
I should be unjust to them, and fail in my duty to you, if I omitted
to say there is another side to the picture. Large numbers even of
those who by their errors and indiscretions have exposed themselves to
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. . 63
the law, and been committed to the guardianship and keeping of the
State, when removed from the temptations which Society places around
them, are found to be kind-hearted, faithful to their obligations, and
ready when opportunity offers to help others. They are by nature
weak rather than bad. They are quite as much the victims of society
as of their own vicious appetites and desires. I have sometimes thought
that if our Saviour was now on earth He would find among these his
chosen field of labor, – that turning from the proud Pharisee, from
those who cry Lord, Lord, who prophesy in his name and in his name
do many wonderful works, He would seek among these humble and
erring ones his lost sheep, — that He would hunt in this, to the human
eye, unpromising ground, for the lost pieces of silver.
The life thus commemorated ended April 29, 1885. The
end came after months of patient waiting, full of Christian
calmness, and sacred, in view of the anticipated departure, with
affections that grew only more tender and blessed to the end.
He had been told in the summer before that a mortal disease
was upon him. Friends could only note in him a shade more
of gravity, subduing his habitual cheerfulness into quiet resig-
nation. It was never his characteristic to dwell on the past.
In active life, he was wont far more to be thinking of the fu-
ture, what more he might do, how life could be brought on-
ward into nobler fruitage. And so he fixed his eye on the
great immortality. His faith in Jesus Christ imparted abiding
and sustaining hopes. Together with her, who had been for
many years the gracious and stimulating helper of his labors by
her unfailing sympathies and truest counsels; who had made
his home the centre of his being; with whom he had traversed
much of our best literature, and whose life had been to him the
most prized of earthly blessings, he loved to repeat these lines
of Mrs. Barbauld : —
64 GEORGE I DE CHA CE.
Life We’ve been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather :
'T is hard to part when friends are dear ;
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh; a tear ;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time,
Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good-Morming.
The last hours were hours of delirium. But through this
the religious spirit was seen in the broken prayers, so simple,
yet so touching; and once the face was lighted up with an
unearthly glow, as if foregleams of the blessed immortality
had been vouchsafed the dying sufferer. All was serenity
and perfect peace in that hour when his spirit returned to
God who gave it. The funeral services were held in the
First Baptist Meeting-house, at eleven o’clock, on the Satur-
day morning following. The service was simple — in strict
accordance with the wishes of the dead ; his pastor, the Rev.
T. Edwin Brown, D. D., reading the customary Scripture les-
son, and offering an impressive prayer. The hymns, “Abide
with me,” and, “Lead, kindly light,” were sung by the choir.
The mortal remains were taken to Swan Point Cemetery for
interment. There they rest, near the city he loved so much,
and in which, for more than half a century, he had lived and
labored.
The tidings of his death carried grief into a wide circle.
The city of Providence felt it not only as a public loss, but
to many of its circles the loss was keenly personal. The city
journals all gave utterance to the general sorrow. The relig-
ious and secular press of other cities, the journals of education,
all united in the tribute to his memory, as of one who had
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 65
brightened and blessed life for many, who had been a faithful
steward of God’s gifts, and in whom life, in the blending of
scholarly acquirements with Christian faith, had reached rare
completeness and fullness. Every institution with which he had
been connected, from the college where he had so long labored
to the hospital he had so devotedly cared for, passed resolutions
of respect to his memory. And when the annual Commence-
ment of the college came, at which for so many years his
figure had been among the most conspicuous, eagerly sought for
by his old pupils, and the alumni came together at their annual
meeting, the one thought weighing on all hearts was that Pro-
fessor Chace had gone from them. The deep sense of bereave-
ment was only quickened when the announcement came that he
had given new proof of his unfaltering love for the college he
had served so long and so brilliantly by a bequest securing
two scholarships, one of $4,000 and the other of $5,000 in
value, to be awarded by the faculty. The sense of his gener-
osity, as well as of his thoughtful devotion to the institution,
only made the grief over his departure more poignant. The
deep feeling of the alumni found expression in addresses, two
of which are here given : —
Professor John L. Lincoln offered the following tribute of respect
to the late Professor George I. Chace, which was ordered to be entered
on the minutes of the meeting : —
The members of the Alumni Association, assembled at their annual
reunion, desire to express their deep regret at the death of George
Ide Chace, a graduate of the class of 1830, and a teacher in the uni-
versity for more than forty years. Some of our number remember
him with love as a fellow-student, very many with profound respect
and gratitude as an instructor, and all of us with admiration and
5
66 GEORGE I DE CHA CE.
pride as an ever dutiful and honored son of our common Alma Mater.
The promise which he gave in youth, by his high rank as a student
and a scholar in his under-graduate course, was amply fulfilled by the
numerous and eminently successful and useful services which he ren-
dered in manhood and age, both within and without the walls of the uni-
versity. In looking back over his brilliant career as a college teacher,
we observe as one of its signal distinctions the variety and diversity
of the departments in which he gave instruction, and also their great
value as means of education. Beginning with mathematics and me-
chanical philosophy, he was afterwards, for more than thirty years, a
professor in different departments of physical science; and finally, in
obedience to the call of the university, at a critical period of its his-
tory, he gave himself to the teaching of metaphysics and ethics. His
rare ability in all these sciences, both in the investigation and in the
communication of truth; his clearness and fullness of comprehension
in the statement of principles, and his skill and aptness in their illus-
tration; the stimulating influence of his instructions towards the pur-
suit and acquisition of sound knowledge, and their moulding moral
force in producing right habits of thinking and noble forms of char-
acter, —all these will ever be cherished by his pupils among the choic-
est memories of their college education, and be treasured in the history
of our university among the best elements of its fame and usefulness.
And while we thus recall, as alumni of this university, the useful
services of Professor Chace's long professional career, we would not
forget the new course of service, no less useful, on which he entered
at the completion of that career. He might reasonably have then
sought a studious retirement, where he might spend his declining years
in meditation upon the elevated themes of philosophy and religion so
familiar to him by nature and by habit. But so strong were his ten-
dencies to useful action, he saw so keenly the need of such action in
the world, the good that imperatively needed to be done and the evil
to be undone, that he then gave himself with fresh zeal and devotion
to the promotion of the great interests of philanthropy, morality, and
GEORGE IDE CHA CE. 67
religion, in connection with charitable and public institutions in Rhode
Island. This feature of Professor Chace's life and character reminds
one of the words of a Latin poet, said of a great Roman, who was a
man alike of action and of thought : — Q
“Nil actum credens, dumquid superesset agendum.”
So it was with Professor Chace, that he thought “nothing done so
long as anything remained to be done.” So was it, also, with him as
a Christian man, that with the aim and spirit of a life to be lived not
for self, but for others, he gave his best thoughts and efforts to wise
and beneficent measures for the cure of the sick, for the care of the
insane, the instruction of the ignorant, and the reformation of the
vicious. Such was the end that crowned the work of his life.
The alumni, desiring to preserve his memory, direct that this min-
ute be entered upon their records; also that a copy of it be sent to
Mrs. Chace.
Colonel William Goddard then addressed the Alumni as
follows: —
Any tribute of respect to the memory of Professor Chace would
command my warm approval. But I think it is peculiarly fitting
that the alumni of Brown University should confess their obligations
to this great teacher, and record their high respect for his memory.
While in all the relations of life his character and services must
challenge our admiration, it was within these college walls that this
good tree brought forth its best fruit. Here for forty years he
worked with unremitting zeal, teaching and testifying the value of lib-
eral studies and of exact scientific investigations, and patiently strug-
gling with the dullness of apprehension and the undeveloped faculties
of generations of his pupils. And what a work it was He imparted
instruction in more branches of learning than any teacher I ever
knew, and his knowledge of each was accurate. He impressed his
pupils with the importance of thorough preparation by study, but he
had the gift, possessed only by the really great teachers, of developing
68 GEORGE IDE CHA CE.
their powers of reasoning and of disclosing to them the undiscovered
paths of original investigation. And he taught them what may be
done with life by those who know how to employ it. I do not think.
Professor Chace was endowed with what is called personal magnetism.
His manners were constrained and sometimes even severe. But no
student who came in contact with him ever doubted the warmth of his
heart and the justness of his character any more than he questioned
his intellectual powers. His hold upon his pupils was therefore due
to no fascination of manners, to no merely artificial gifts. It was
founded upon faith in the man, and it was enforced by the range and
acuteness of an intellect whose power has never, in my judgment,
been fully estimated. His pupils were content to lean upon his strong
arm as he upheld the torch which illumined the dark mines of sci-
ence, and they listened with eagerness and rapture to the voice that
made clear the mysteries of metaphysical studies and declared to them
the eternal verities of Christian philosophy. And so to-day the grad-
uates of the old college, in whose service he spent so much of his
honorable life, pause amid these festal scenes to recall with grateful
hearts all that this illustrious teacher has done, and in broken accents
to speak once more of their love and veneration for him. His toil
was long — let us who enjoy its fruits hold his name and services in
perpetual remembrance.
Mr. President, a less magnanimous man than Professor Chace might
have grieved over the treatment he received from the government of
the college after he ceased to be one of its officers of instruction. It
is to the lasting discredit of the corporation that they constantly
refused to admit this man to any part in the government of the uni-
versity for whose highest interest he had done so much, and whose
welfare was always an object of his deepest concern. But Professor
Chace knew how to distinguish between the college and its govern-
ment; between catholic and comprehensive aims and purposes, and
the narrowness of sect and petty individual jealousies. He never
faltered in his love for the old college, happy in the thought that
GEORGE I DE CHA CE. 69
“the boys would stand by him.” The kindly voice of our great
teacher is hushed forever ; the hand which guided us through the
paths of learning is stiffened in death; but the boys stand by his
memory as he stood by us, when “the night was dark and we were far
from home.”
The reward of a teacher is found, most of all, in the grati-
tude and veneration of his pupils. In days of student-life
they may not always fully appreciate his worth. But in after
years, when the perception of what worth was in the teacher
and his teachings becomes more clear and ripened powers en-
able a truer estimate, then the tribute surely comes. It is the
high meed of praise due Professor Chace that the tribute laid
on his honored grave, in the reverent and affectionate esteem of
the long line of his pupils, began in college days, only to grow
deeper, stronger, and purer throughout life.
LIST OF CONTRIBUTIONS TO REVIEWS.
OF THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MENTAL PoweRS UPON THE BODILY ORGA-
NIZATION. Bibliotheca Sacra, August, 1849, pp. 534–558.
OF THE NATURAL PROOFS OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. Bibliotheca.
Sacra, February, 1849, pp. 48–75.
Bow EN's LECTURES. (Metaphysical and Ethical Science and the Evidences
of Religion.) The Christian Review, January, 1850, pp. 78–94.
OF THE EXISTENCE AND NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DIVINE BEING.
Bibliotheca Sacra, April, 1850, pp. 328-352.
OF THE DIVINE AGENCY IN THE PRODUCTION OF MATERIAL PHENOMENA.
Bibliotheca Sacra, May, 1848, pp. 342–357.
OF SPIRIT AND THE CONSTITUTION OF SPIRITUAL BEINGs. Bibliotheca.
Sacra, November, 1848, pp. 633–650.
OF THE MORAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DIVINE BEING. Bibliotheca. Sacra,
October, 1850, pp. 668–696.
ORIGIN OF THE HUMAN RACE. The Christian Review, April, 1851, pp.
226–244.
SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON's DISCUSSIONs. (Philosophy and Literature.)
The Christian Review, January, 1854, pp. 39–72.
THE PERSISTENCE OF PHYSICAL LAws. North American Review, July,
1855, pp. 159–194.
THE CAUSAL JUDGMENT. The Baptist Quarterly, April, 1869, pp. 157–
167.
THE REALM OF FAITH. The Baptist Quarterly, January, 1871, pp. 42–57.
REVIEW OF ROWLAND G. HAZARD’s “MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.”
Andover Review, December 1884. ge
LECTURES AND ESSAYS.
TEIE EXISTENCE OF GOD.1
LECTURE I.
THE argument for an intelligent Author of nature, from the
indications of design in the world around us, though not wholly
discredited, has been held in much less esteem of late years
than formerly. Several causes have contributed to this. In
the first place, the physical sciences, while they have vastly en-
larged our conceptions of the material universe, and énabled us
to trace back, step by step, a multitude of phenomena to the
sources from which they immediately spring, discover in these
sources no indications of a personal intelligence or will. All
that science reveals is a mysterious and inscrutable energy, in-
separable from matter, and determined in its manifestations
solely by physical conditions. When these conditions are sup-
plied, the manifestation takes place, no matter what the attend-
ant circumstances or the immediate results; as well for evil as
for good; as readily for destroying life as for saving it. The
power awakened is heedless of all moral distinctions, and blind
to the consequences of its own action. This absence of any
appearance of will or purpose in the activities of nature has led
men of science to seek an explanation of her adaptations and
harmonies in theories of spontaneous evolution. Assuming the
eternity of matter and force, they have attempted from these
1 This course of lectures was delivered before the Faculty and Students of the
Newton Theological Institution in the winter of 1876.
74 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
data alone to solve the problem of the universe. The whole
world, organic and inorganic, has been put under contribution
for analogies and facts in support of some of these theories.
The comparatively recent doctrine of the conservation of energy,
which makes force, like matter, indestructible, however far from
being established, has been pressed into their service. Popular-
ized and brought to a level with all understandings, the idea of
creation as a mere series of developments has been disseminated
through lectures, through periodicals, and through books, until
the universal mind has become affected by it, and men who by
no means accept the teaching are inclined to regard with less
favor the argument of Paley and Butler, and, indeed, all rea-
soning from what are called final causes. They seek other war-
rant for their belief in an intelligent author and moral governor
of the universe.
In the second place, the many and confessedly great difficul-
ties attendant upon every form of theism ; the origin and con-
tinued existence of moral and physical evil, and the extent to
which they cast their dark shadow over human society, des-
tined, as most creeds teach us, not gradually to melt away and
at length disappear, but to stretch onward to another world,
there only to become darker and more appalling ; the part
which chance seems to play in human affairs; the irregulari-
ties and disorders everywhere apparent, virtue overborne and
vice prosperous, merit neglected and charlatanry of every kind
rewarded; and, I may add, the dumbness of oracles and the
silence of the grave, — these have driven minds of a certain
cast, in which feeling and sentiment predominate over the log-
ical faculty, from the beliefs of the race into a vague, dreamy
pantheism. Without attempting its correlation with actual phe-
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 75
nomena, they imagine through all nature a certain mysterious
energy, impersonal and unconscious, ever welling up out of the
bosom of what we call matter, and filling all around with its
myriad creations. These creations, after a transient and merely
phenomenal existence, sink back to the source from which they
came. Man, the highest of them, is but a bubble on a vast
ocean. The bubble breaks, and the tiny drops mingle with the
mass of waters, again to be thrown up at some other point with
a form equally evanescent. This species of mystic and un-
formulated pantheism, entirely unlike that of Spinoza, which,
though resting upon an insecure foundation, was faultlessly log-
ical in structure, has found its way, to a large extent, into mod-
ern literature, — remarkably in contrast in this respect with that
of the Elizabethan age, – and is through this exerting upon
multitudes its seductive and enervating influence. Its very
vagueness makes it only the more dangerous. If without the
veil of sentiment, which is thrown over it, it were clearly and
nakedly presented, it would lose all its attractions. The de-
mands of neither head nor heart would be satisfied by it. It
is through the power of imagery and the charms of language
that the subtle poison finds its way to the soul. With those
who have come under its palsying effect, reasoning of any kind
is rarely of much avail. But argument from design, the force
of which is not admitted, would seem in their case to be espe-
cially inappropriate.
In the third place, on account of the difficulties met in prov-
ing the existence of a personal God from the works of creation,
many devout thinkers have turned from the outward world to
the mind itself, to reach through this, if possible, the same
result by a shorter and more direct method; to find a sure basis
76 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
for their belief, not in argument, but in immediate intuitions,
in the ideas of the reason, in the affirmations of the intelli-
gence, in the sense of duty, in the feeling of dependence, in
the impulse to worship, — in a word, in what has been called
the God-consciousness of the soul, underlying and giving sup-
port to all the different faiths which have swayed mankind.
While not disposed to undervalue these inner testimonies to
the sublimest as well as the most important of truths, and be-
lieving fully that the mind is constituted in harmony with it,
I am still inclined to think that the most direct and sure way of
arriving at a knowledge of the being and attributes of God is
through His works. We cannot in any proper sense be said to
be conscious of His existence. Our assurance of the fact must
come from the manifestations which He has made of Himself.
We must learn from these, if at all, his character. A priori
reasoning has here no place. Neither can we pass, by inference,
from mere ideas in the mind to corresponding outward realities.
Unless the Creator has left the marks of his hand upon the
things which He has made, without a direct revelation we must
forever remain in ignorance of Him. The signs of intelligence
as well as of power, of design and purpose visible in every
part of creation, must furnish the clue to a knowledge of its
author. Nor need we fear mistake or deception in following it.
It is in the direction of the natural and habitual movement of
the rational faculty. The process is similar to that by which
we become acquainted with the characters of our fellow-men.
The inferences involved, though not, perhaps, so immediate, are
of the same nature and equally legitimate.
Nor is the argument for the divine existence from the indi-
cations of mind in the world around us weakened or in any
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 77
manner affected by recent discoveries in science. These, by ex-
tending the area of our knowledge, have only enlarged the
premises from which it derives its conclusion. Science has noth-
ing to do with the origin of phenomena. Beyond their mere
observation and classification, its office is strictly limited to the
ascertainment of the conditions and order of their occurrence.
It has no line long enough to fathom the source from which a
single phenomenon arises. Its want of knowledge here is abso-
lute. The hypothesis of material atoms and of attraction and
repulsion, energies proceeding from them, by which it seeks to
supply this want, is a pure figment of the imagination. The
origin and nature of the forces which appear in matter are as
inscrutable to science as the thoughts of the Infinite One. All
that can be said is that they emerge, if not from absolute
points, from spheres so inconceivably minute that the most pow-
erful microscope utterly fails to disclose them. The intimate
movements of the atoms, if such they be, upon which all out-
ward visible changes are dependent, are hidden from human
view by an impenetrable veil. The continuous efforts of the
most powerful intellects for forty centuries have failed to lift a
single corner of it. The realm beneath that veil will continue
to be, as heretofore, a region of conjecture and hypothesis; and
every adequate hypothesis will include an insoluble mystery, -
the emergence of force which, whether from something or from
nothing, is as unthinkable as creation. In truth, the explana-
tory power of the hypothesis depends upon the nucleus of su-
pernaturalism, which it enfolds. God is embosomed in it. The
mere sciolist does not perceive this. But men of deeper insight,
such as the Tyndalls, the Huxleys, and the Spencers, are com-
pelled to acknowledge it, though in language less explicit than
could be desired.
78 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
The only way in which modern investigation has influenced,
or can be imagined hereafter, however far it may be carried, to
influence natural theology, is in furnishing ampler, better, and
better assorted materials for the construction of the science.
The foundations upon which the science rests are quite out of
its reach. Should any of the theories of evolution on which
minds of a speculative tendency have been at work for so many
centuries ever be established, they will come in merely as illus-
trations of the mode of the divine working.
Nor is the argument from design weakened or neutralized by
the reveries of a bewildered and bewildering pantheism. On
the contrary, it cuts right through the mist and haze, and opens
to view the clear azure beyond. If there is anything that will
rouse the mystic dreamer to a right, manly, and vigorous use of
his reasoning faculties, it is to confront him on the one hand
with the evidences of design in nature, and on the other with
the mighty power within or behind nature, ceaselessly carrying
forward, through her vast machinery, the beneficent ends so
manifestly had in view. If, when thus brought face to face
with the power of God and the certified works of God, his
dreams do not dissolve, nothing, it would seem, short of the
visible presence of the Being whose existence he refuses to
admit would be sufficient to dispel them.
I am persuaded that theism has lost ground in suffering it-
self to be drawn away from the old beaten track marked out so
long ago by Hebrew prophets and Grecian sages, into new and
more direct paths supposed to lead to the same end. By no other
road can the mind arrive at such assurance of a personal Deity.
In no other way can it hope to learn the attributes of that
Deity. It is through final, and not through efficient, causes
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 79
that the divine character is revealed. It is by studying these,
and these alone, that we become acquainted with it. All other
proposed ways, whether starting from the data of consciousness,
or from outward, observed phenomena, if strictly followed, con-
duct us only to “an unknown and inscrutable reality lying be-
hind appearances,” to borrow the language of Herbert Spencer,
or, in the bolder and franker words of Mr. Tyndall, to a recog-
nition in “that matter which we in our ignorance have hitherto
5
covered with opprobrium ” of “the promise and potency of
every form and quality of life.” I assume, in saying this, that
the validity of the causal intuition is admitted. If it is not, if
the authority of this be rejected, then there remains only the
idealism of Hume or the phenomenalism of Compte. The surest
defense against any of the forms of unbelief is a solid wall of
theism, having its foundation in the evidences of thought and
purpose in nature, and buttressed and coped by the truths of
revelation. Such a theism, while furnishing efficient correctives
for the vagaries of the imagination and intellect, would also ad-
minister deserved rebuke to the bitterness of sects and the nar-
rowness of creeds. A broader and more beneficent light would
shine from it upon all God’s creatures. In that light many sup-
posed difficulties would vanish. I propose, therefore, briefly to
state and examine the argument for the divine existence from
the indications of intelligence and design in the outward world,
and see whether it have indeed lost its claim to our respect and
confidence, or whether it still remains intact alike in its prem-
ises, in its reasoning, and in the conclusion to which it conducts
us; nay, whether that conclusion be not supported and con-
firmed by all collateral testimonies. Something of this kind, if
I mistake not, is demanded by the pressure and drift of the
80 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
times. The air is heavy with unbelief. It is not merely a
questioning of scriptural or traditional dogma. The doubt ex-
tends to the foundations of religious faith. When men eminent
in science tell us that everything lying beyond the sphere of
the senses is but “lunar politics,” of which we know nothing
and can know nothing, and about which it is a waste of time to
speculate ; when the astronomer refuses to admit the existence
of God because he cannot with his telescope see Him rolling the
spheres through space; and the chemist withholds his assent to
the reality of spirit because he cannot precipitate it in a beaker
glass, or obtain it as a residue in an evaporating dish, or collect
it as a distillate in an alembic, it does not become the Christian
theist to keep silence. Beliefs more precious to him than life,
which impart to existence its dignity and worth; beliefs more
important to the welfare of mankind than all that science has
achieved, or ever can achieve; beliefs essential to the continu-
ance and safety of organized society, are ruthlessly attacked, and
it behooves him to appear in their defense, and with all sincer-
ity and truthfulness show the grounds of the faith that is in
him.
NATURE OF THE ARGUMENT.
The argument for an intelligent Creator from the indications
of design in the outward world rests primarily on the causal
judgment, — one of the clearest affirmations of the intelligence.
Ea: nihilo, nihil fit. Nothing can come into existence of itself.
Events do not happen. For every change, wherever or when-
ever occurring, there must be a cause or causes adequate to pro-
duce it. The requirement of adequacy, in respect to both na-
ture and efficiency, is included in the judgment, and is as
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 81
absolute as the requirement of cause. If the change observed
have manifest relation to something beyond as an end, we as-
cribe intelligence to the source from which it proceeds. If the
end is perceived to be worthy and good, the evidence of intelli-
gence becomes clearer, and is less open to question. As intelli-
gence can be conceived to manifest itself in action only through
will, we ascribe this also to the cause producing the change.
If a large number of specially adopted movements or changes
look to the same end, the inference of power back of them, act-
ing under the guidance of intelligence and by direction of will,
is proportionally strengthened.
If many ends, diverse in character, but all worthy, are reached
each by appropriate means, we have there the strongest assur-
ance possible of the concurrence of intelligence and will, as well
as power in securing them.
If these ends appear in turn as means to high ends, and these
to yet higher, until they are all at length merged in the single
end of ministry to happiness, we are then led by the causal judg-
ment to ascribe benevolence as well as power, intelligence, and
will to the author of the contrivances. Benevolence is an at-
tribute of character. Its manifestation is evidence of character.
We have then in the author of the supposed contrivance all the
attributes essential to personality. A being endowed with in-
telligence and possessing will, power, and character, is a person
in the fullest sense of the word.
It is immaterial to the argument in what manner the cause
acts, – whether mediately or immediately, whether during each
successive moment of time or once for all time. It is the re-
sult of the action, objects accomplished by it, that disclose the
character of the actor. Words do not express ideas less clearly
6
82 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
on account of the complex apparatus of brain, nerves, and mus-
cles intervening between the thought and its vocal sign. It is
only when our attention is called to the subject that we think
of the interposed mechanisms. A constitution of government
whose wise provisions continue to yield their beneficent fruits
through many successive generations affords evidence of as
large an intelligence and humanity as a work whose benefits are
more immediate.
If the end is not reached directly, but by the use of means and
instrumentalities, the indications of mind are not the less clear
on this account. On the contrary, we have in the devices for
securing the end proof of mind in higher and more prolonged
action. Remoteness of end and complexity in the means em-
ployed for attaining it suppose a corresponding extent of con-
trivance and reach of design. An article for use or wear, as a
spade or a boot, when made by hand, is proof of intelligence
and purpose. But it is evidence of a higher degree of intelli-
gence and of a larger purpose when it is the rapid and contin-
uous product of ingeniously constructed machinery.
The numerous discoveries and inventions by which natural
forces have been brought under human control, and the still
more numerous contrivances by which these forces, when thus
'under control, have been made so largely tributary to the well-
being of society and the progress of the race, are among the
highest evidences of mind as well as the noblest proof of its dig-
nity and worth afforded by modern times. Should we imagine
discovery and invention still to go forward, until at length the
whole realm of nature should be brought under the dominion of
man, and all her agents be made subservient to his uses, and the
burden of toil be finally lifted from human shoulders, no loftier
conception of the achievement of mere intellect could be formed.
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 83
Were such an imagined state of things to be realized, I may
here remark, and were a being of a lower order of intelligence to
be admitted to the scene, seeing everything that could gratify
the desire of man spontaneously produced and delivered to his
hand, he would naturally seek an explanation of the wonderful
phenomenon. Finding only shafts and wheels and arms and
levers in rapid movement, the point where the power was ap-
plied being hidden from sight, he might suppose they contained
within themselves the cause of their motions. If the period of
observation were brief, so that no change was noticed in the ma-
chinery or in its working, he might come to the conclusion that
it had always existed and always been in operation; or if signs
of former changes were discovered incompatible with this hy-
pothesis, he might suppose that it was self-formed as well as
self-acting. Would this be more remarkable than the analogous
conclusion reached by men who are no mean thinkers touching
the works of God 2
The kind of reasoning whose nature and validity I have en-
deavored to show is so familiar to us, we are so constantly
practicing it, the steps in it are so short and so rapidly taken,
that we are scarcely aware that it is reasoning. We mistake
mere logical deductions for immediate perceptions. In fact, how-
ever, mind is never an object of direct apprehension. Its exist-
ence is only inferred from signs. These may be directly exhib-
ited by the being himself, or they may appear in his works. In
either case the knowledge derived from them is inferential, and
inferential only. The human mind is no more seen, is no more
an object of sense, than that mighty Intelligence the overshad-
owings of whose power in nature fill us with awe when we con-
template them. It is from these everywhere present manifesta-
84 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD,
tions of duty that the plain, unlettered man and the intelligent
Savage even unconsciously draw their simple but sublime con-
clusion.
Upon those who reject the authority of the causal judgment
—fortunately their number is small, it is hardly necessary to say
— this kind of reasoning, when extended beyond the boundaries
of experience, can have little or no influence. For them theol-
ogy as a science is impossible. Like philosophy it derives its
support from an intuition, to which this restricted class of
thinkers deny a place in the intelligence.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.
Dr. Paley, in seeking for proofs of an intelligent Creator,
extends his survey over the whole of organic and inorganic
nature. Everywhere he finds the indications of design. These
are most striking, however (and the evidence here comes home
most strongly to us) in the structures of plants and animals.
Among these structures, the human eye and ear naturally hold
a prominent place in his argument. In no part of our organiza-
tion is the evidence of contrivance and purpose clearer. In no
part do we discover the signs of an intelligence more completely
human. The eye is an optical instrument, as truly so as the
microscope or telescope, or the camera obscura, which it more
nearly resembles. It acts upon light in the same manner, and
like that forms in its dark chamber an exact image or picture
of whatever is before it with a knowledge of the end to be at-
tained ; and with the right materials and suitable instruments
at our command, we should have constructed a similar organ.
In like manner the ear is merely an acoustic instrument. It is
formed on principles which we perfectly understand, and which
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 85
we ourselves embody in analogous structures. The mechanism
of the brain and nervous system comes much less within our
comprehension. We have little knowledge of their structure,
and still less knowledge of the endowments by which they are
fitted to perform their important functions. Did we under-
stand the way in which the nerves on the one hand transmit to
the sensorium impressions received from without, and on the
other convey the mandates of the will to the muscles, we should
undoubtedly have proof of a much larger intelligence and a
higher and wider range of contrivance than is witnessed in any
of the merely mechanical parts of the body. Did we compre-
hend the functions of the brain, could we look in upon it,
and see how it ministers to sensation, to perception, to thought,
to feeling, and to will, we should perceive in this wonderful
structure which bridges the impassable gulf separating matter
from spirit and establishes a way for intercourse between them,
evidence of knowledge, skill, and inventive resource, in the
presence of which the signs of intelligence in other parts re-
ferred to would fade into dimness and obscurity.
But it is not from the eye, or the ear, or the heart, or the
hand, or the brain, or from any other of the organs or members
of the body, or from all of them united and built up into the
perfect man, that we gain, as I think, our strongest impres-
sions of the exhaustless resources of the divine contrivance, but
from the vast system of terrestrial machinery, deriving its mo-
tive power from the sun, by which, through specially devised
attachments, eyes and ears and hearts and hands and brains
are continually being formed, and through whose ceaseless
working human beings, complete in all their parts, and innu-
merable other beings, animal and vegetable, equally perfect, are
every moment coming by countless myriads into existence.
86 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
The ordinary nail, by its manifest adaptation to a special use,
affords evidence of thought and purpose on the part of the in-
ventor; but how much more the nail-machine, on one side
craunching with its steel jaws the bars of iron presented to it,
and on the other delivering in a continuous stream the finished
product. The invention of the screw followed that of the nail.
It supposes more thought and a higher degree of intelligence.
But how little of mind does this show in comparison with the
machinery of the screw factory, at one of whose doors enter
coils of rusty wire, while at the other passes out, untouched by
hand, the completed manufacture. The textile coverings with
which we protect and adorn ourselves were not invented at
once. It is only through many successive improvements, each
the product of thought, that they have become what they are.
We cannot look upon them without realizing this. But how
much more strongly are we impressed with the power of mind
when we go through one of the ten thousand mills which are
flooding the world with their diverse and beautiful fabrics. So
it is in nature. Our profoundest impressions of exhaustlessness
in power of contrivance do not come from mere organized struc-
tures, however replete with evidences of thought and purpose
they may be, but from the combination of agencies and instru-
mentalities by which, out of materials the most unpromising,
their production is everywhere going forward. By processes
to us wholly inscrutable, air, water, and earth are transmuted
into the substance of wood and bark, leaf and flower ; of bone
and muscle, nerve and sinew. In ways which we do not un-
derstand, and by agencies of which we are profoundly ignorant,
the products of this subtle alchemy are wrought into vegetable
and animal organs; and these in like manner are built into the
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD, 87
structures of the innumerable and endlessly diversified beings
by which our globe is tenanted. Well might the preacher de-
rive his most striking illustration of the marvelous and incom-
prehensible ways of the divine working from “how the bones
do grow in the womb of her that is with child.” In that cham-
ber of mystery and power are wrought miracles as great as any
of those which two thousand years ago made the shores of the
Galilean lake immortal. Every living thing has its origin in
darkness and mystery to the human eye and mind equally pro-
found. - -
But may we not find an explanation of all the terrestrial phe-
nomena, it will be asked, in the properties of matter 2 May not
“the promise and potency of every form and quality of life"
be discovered in the primordial constituents of being 2 May we
not suppose these in proper collocation to have evolved by their
interaction the entire system of things with which we find our-
selves connected 2 Has not time been long enough 2 Are not
the energies revealed in matter sufficiently enduring and suffi-
ciently obedient to law 2
Waiving the grave difficulties attending this hypothesis, and
passing over the very slender foundation upon which it rests,
let us entertain it for a moment and see what bearing it has
upon our argument. Does it enable us to dispense with intelli-
gence 2 Does the hypothesis do anything more than carry to
a point further back the application of its directive power?
Would the proper endowment and placing of the primordial
atoms require no thought — an endowment and placing such
that, by their definitely regulated interaction continued on
through the cosmic ages, they should in the end of time achieve
the marvels of life and intelligence which we behold around us?
º
88 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
To infuse the required energy into the nebulous matter and
start movements, which, traveling down the eons of eternity,
shall at length, organization of system and planet completed,
converge, and, by and by, meeting in an eye or heart or hand
or brain, shall secure to it its wonderful endowments: would
this demand no effort of mind 2 On the contrary, would it not
suppose an intelligence which, flashing along the lines of ante-
cedent and consequent, should take in at a glance all the possi-
bilities offered by original chaos of atoms? Should the so-
called development.hypothesis be ever established on the basis
of observation and induction, which I deem highly improbable,
it could lead us legitimately only to sublime conceptions of the
attributes of Deity. Instead of embarrassing theism, it would
assist in removing difficulties attending it. It would explain,
for instance, in a satisfactory manner the origin of certain ex-
isting forms of life, which it is not easy to imagine God could
have taken pleasure in directly creating. If the argument for
the divine existence derived from this wider and more profound
view of nature be less convincing than the argument from spe-
cial structures, it is because the mind, overwhelmed and para-
lyzed by the vastness of the premises, moves with enfeebled
energy to the conclusion. A larger and stronger intelligence
would arrive at the truth with as much certainty, and hold it
with as firm a grasp.
The doctrine of evolution, though in itself perfectly compati-
ble with a sublime theism, when grafted upon the hypothesis of
the eternity of matter becomes the very stronghold of material-
ism. In fact, the two hypotheses united constitute materialism,
and the only form of it that an intelligent man can entertain.
In this form it is not unfrequent among men of science, and
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 89
there are perhaps few thoughtful persons who have not, at mo-
ments when faith was weak, felt its depressing influences. Why
not suppose, it is said, the material atoms to be self-existent, and
by interactions dependent upon their inherent energies to have
organized the universe? Why suppose an eternal, self-existent
Being, who has created and endowed these atoms, and assigned
to each its place and work? Is not the first the simpler hy-
pothesis 2 Does it not involve less that is incomprehensible and
unimaginable 2 Does it not explain equally well the phenom-
ena? Is it not wholly relieved of the moral difficulties with
which theism has always been pressed ? Are we not therefore
bound in reason to prefer it 2
This view of nature, which lies at the bottom of so much of
the unbelief of our times, may assume either a materialistic or
pantheistic phase, according to the nature attributed to the
primary constituents of being. I shall not enter upon an exam-
ination of it at the present time, but shall make it the special
subject of my next lecture. I will only say now, that the hy-
pothesis, even in its lowest and materialistic form, if it were
philosophically admissible, which I believe it is not, and if it
were compatible with observed phenomena and the received doc-
trines of science, which I hope to show it is not, would by no
means preclude the supposition of a mighty intelligence pervad-
ing every part of the universe — an intelligence not preceding
and determining the organization of the universe, but developed
through that organization. If, in the case of ourselves, as this
class of philosophers inform us, molecular agitations and neu-
ral tremors appear in consciousness, as sensations, perceptions,
thought, feeling, purpose, and will, why may we not suppose
the universal restlessness of matter, the intense movements by
90 TIIE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
which its particles are everywhere agitated, the inconceivably
rapid vibrations which are ceaselessly coursing its huge and ag-
gregated masses, why may we not suppose these vast and rhyth-
mic movements, extending through all nature, to give being to
an Infinite and Supreme Mind endowed with the attribute of
omniscience? Will it be said that it is only in nerve substance
that molecular movements evolve thought 2 Is there any war-
rant for such an assumption ? Would it not be a species of
anthropomorphism grosser than ever has been charged upon
theism 2 -
The conclusions thus' far reached are, that in establishing
the existence of a personal God, we must rely chiefly upon the
evidence of design in nature. \
That arguments derived from other sources are only accessory
and corroborative.
That the discoveries of modern science have not undermined
the teleological argument, but, on the contrary, have laid a
broader and deeper foundation for it, and have, moreover, fur-
nished ampler, better, and better-assorted materials for its con-
struction.
That the argument rests primarily upon the causal judgment.
That all its inferences have the warrant of that judgment,
and that they do not differ at all in kind from inferences upon
which we are continually acting in the ordinary affairs of life.
That the intelligence and design manifested in the structure
of the animal organs is so entirely human in character, that we
not only understand perfectly many of these organs, but our-
selves construct instruments closely resembling them in princi-
ple and in purpose.
That it is not in the eye or ear or heart or brain, or in any of
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 91
the animal organs, or in the entire animal structure, that we
witness the most impressive exhibitions of intelligence and
design, but in the adjustments of that vast system of machinery
by which, out of materials the most unpromising, eyes and ears
and hearts and brains are everywhere being formed and built
into the structure of the living animal.
That the development hypothesis, supposing it were to be
established, would not enable us to dispense with intelligence,
but only carry to a point further back the application of its
directive power. And, finally, -
That even materialism, consistently carried out, does not pre-
clude the supposition of a mighty Intelligence pervading every
part of the universe.
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF THE DEVELOP-
MENT HYPOTHESIS.
LECTURE II.
IN my former lecture I expressed the belief that the doctrine
of evolution was by itself compatible with the loftiest theism,
and that should it ever be established on a solid basis, which
I thought highly improbable, it could legitimately conduct us
only to sublime conceptions of the mode of the divine work-
ing. But when associated with another and quite different
hypothesis — that of the eternal and independent existence of
matter — it becomes the main pillar and chief support of mate-
rialism. It is in this association, and only in this, that I pro-
pose in the present lecture to consider it.
The doctrine of evolution being admitted, matter and force,
it is said, are all that is required for solving the problem of the
universe. Why not suppose matter and force, or rather matter
embosoming force, to be eternal? Is not this in all respects
preferable to the difficult and hardly conceivable hypothesis of
its creation ? Is it not simpler? Does it not account equally
well for all the phenomena? Does it not escape the difficulties
and embarrassments which attend the supposition of an intelli-
gent Author and moral Governor of the world 2
In examining this hypothesis, which from its imagined sim-
plicity is so seductive to merely theoretic minds, and which in
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM. OF DEVELOPMENT, 93
one form or another has always found advocates, I shall inquire
first, Is it philosophically admissible 2 Secondly, Is it in ac-
cordance with observed phenomena and the received doctrines
of science? -
Before we can answer these inquiries, we must know what
the hypothesis includes ; what other subordinate hypotheses are
infolded in it. On a very slight examination, the following
contents will, I think, be distinctly recognized : —
1. The eternity and self-existence of matter.
2. The evolution of the existing order of things through
the long-continued interaction of its primary molecules; and
through that alone.
3. The production of mind by certain groupings of these
same molecules, and the awakening of thought and feeling by
their interaction while thus associated.
Let us see what is included in the first of these hypotheses —
the eternity and self-existence of matter. What is matter 2 Of
what does it consist? What is the nature of its primary con-
stituents, or the molecules of which it is supposed to be built
up 2 What are these molecules so marvelously endowed ? What
is their intimate constitution ?
For a very long time physicists were content to regard them
as simple unities, or atoms, as they were called, supposed to be
indestructible and unalterable. This view of their constitution
answered all the demands made upon them in explaining the
known facts of science. It, moreover, seemed to be supported
and confirmed by laws regulating their combination, which were
discovered by Mr. Dalton, near the beginning of the present
century. Since that time, until very recently, the atomic theory
has been accepted as an established doctrine, has held a promi-
94 THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
nent place in all treatises on chemistry and physics. Within a
few years past, however, facts have been brought to light which,
refusing explanation on that theory, demand a radical change
in our ideas of the elementary constituents of bodies. Under
the brilliant light cast upon them by the spectroscope, - that
newest instrument of investigation which has already done so
much for the enlargement of our knowledge, – under the bril-
liant light of the spectroscope, the hitherto supposed atoms
expand into clusters of worlds. Each little world, held in its
place by an exact balance of forces, has its own separate and dis-
tinct movements, while it partakes of the more general motions
of the system to which it belongs. The constitution of one of
these molecules is shown by the lines in the spectrum obtained
by passing the light emitted by the substance when intensely
heated, and in the state of a vapor or gas, through a succession
of prisms. The number of lines in the spectrum indicates the
number of separate parts contained in the molecule, and the
position and color of the lines, the tensions at which the parts
are severally held by the forces pervading and animating the
minute structure. The molecules of the same elementary sub-
stance give always the same number of lines, of the same colors,
and occupying the same positions in the spectrum. The mole-
cules of different elementary substances give different systems of
colored lines, indicating corresponding differences in constitu-
tion, — that is in the number and tension of their component
parts. Each one of the elements has its own characteristic spec-
trum. Nitrogen, oxygen, and iron give each a great number of
separate lines of nearly all the colors of the solar spectrum, indi-
cating a remarkable degree of complexity in the constitution of
their molecules. Hydrogen gives a much smaller number of
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 95
orange and blue lines, while sodium gives a single yellow line.
This, however, under a high refractive force, opens into two
closely approximated and parallel lines, the color remaining the
Sal Iſle.
It is on the identity of the spectra given by the molecules of
the same substance that spectral analysis is based, a mode of
research by which the physicist not only detects the minutest
portion of any of the elements, in air, earth, or water, but ex-
plores the realms of space, and finds in other worlds and suns
than our own the same elements, with molecules constituted in
precisely the same manner. Hydrogen and the vapors of iron,
manganese, nickel, chromium, potassium, sodium, calcium, and
magnesium in the sun Water in several of the planets
Hydrogen, bismuth, antimony, sodium, magnesium, and mercury
in the fixed stars; and in the scarcely discernible nebulae, hang-
ing upon the outskirts of creation, and not yet shaped into
worlds, hydrogen, the omnipresent element, and associated with
it nitrogen How wonderful these facts and how much more
wonderful that man on his little planet should have been able
to discover them This vast extension of our knowledge, af-
fording ground for the presumption of unity of composition and
structure throughout the entire universe, confers upon the pri-
mary constituents of matter an interest not before possessed by
them. These elementary molecules, so complex in structure,
embodying forces so inscrutable and yet so obedient to law,
presenting differences of constitution in the different kinds of
matter, but in the same kind always in precisely the same way,
and brought to exactly the same weight and same measure,
whence are they 2 Under what conditions have they been
formed 2 These infinitesimal structures, so minute as to be be-
96 THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
yond the reach of the most powerful microscope, and yet con-
taining each within itself a subtle mechanism ; these prepared
materials and instruments ready for the worlds, how have they
come into existence 2 Chance will not account for them. The
law of the survival of the fittest, supposed to have exerted so
powerful an influence in the organic world, can have had no
part in their production. They must have been formed under
the guidance of mind, or have had no beginning. Either a
Being eternal and self-existent must have specially prepared
them with all their adaptations for the sublime end of building
up a universe, and peopling it with moral intelligences, or else
they must have always existed without object or purpose, not
merely in countless myriads, but in numbers immeasurably sur-
passing the possibilities of thought; and although individually
separate and distinct, yet so correlated, that by their interaction
continued through a past eternity, they have evolved along with
innumerable other and vastly larger worlds the little one which
we inhabit, with its exhaustless provisions for the support of life
and its teeming population. Such is the dilemma in which we
are placed. Can we for a moment hesitate which horn to take?
Does it admit of question which of the two hypotheses is the
simpler, the more philosophical, or the more in consonance with
every part of our nature, rational, moral, and religious?
But we have just entered upon the embarrassments which en-
viron the materialist. The present system of things bears evi-
dent marks of transitoriness. It has had a beginning in time,
and unless sustained by a power from without it will come to
an end in time. The signs of growth or decay, or of both
growth and decay, are visible in every part of it. Many such
systems might have come successively into existence, and have
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 97
run one after another their courses, and yet have hardly
touched the resources of a past eternity.
Two sides are presented by every true picture of the uni-
verse. With one of these sides the public has been made fa-
miliar by the astronomer and the geologist. Emergence from
chaos, organization, growth, development, these are the charac:
teristics of the familiar side. On the other side are equally un-
mistakable indications of decline, waste, decay, and final disso-
lution. These two sides belong as truly to a portrait of nature
as she sits to us, as to a picture of human life. To be satisfied
of this, we have only to glance at two or three well-known facts.
The earth is dependent upon the sun for its productive pow-
ers. Without a constant supply of heat and light from that
central orb, all the activities on its surface would quickly cease.
It is the sun that lifts the watery vapor from the ocean to be
formed in the upper air into clouds, which are borne by the
winds, the sun's carriers, over island and continent, dispensing
in fertilizing showers their wealth of water. It is the sun that
opens the soil to the genial influences of spring, and quickens
into life and growth the innumerable organisms held in its
bosom. It is the sun, working in the microscopic laboratories
of the plant, that enables it to effect transformations so marvel-
lous to perform before our eyes, and under our hands the mir-
acle of turning stones into bread. Water power, wind power,
steam power, electric power, animal power, all these arc but
altered forms of sun power. It is that which keeps in motion
the whole terrestrial machinery. Let the pulses of solar energy
no longer reach our planet, and the animated scene of which it
is now the theatre would shortly disappear. In a stillness and
silence more profound than that of death, it would roll a ten-
antless ball through space.
7
98 THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
But a very small part of the sun's rays are intercepted by the
earth. An incomparably larger portion continue their course
unobstructed and without utilization till they are lost in the in-
finite depths of ether. To a thoughtful mind there are few
things more impressive than this amazing and ceaseless waste of
solar energy. It is not of a day or a year. It has continued
through all past time. During the entire lapse of the geologic
ages enough of sun power has been each moment expended in
merely awaking ethereal undulations, to clothe with verdure and
beauty, and fill with life, more than two billion such worlds as
ours. The other suns of our firmament are wasting in like
manner their stores of energy. Some of them are believed to
be at present hotter than our own. Others have already de-
clined to an inferior temperature. These differences are so
marked that astronomers have made them the basis of classifica-
tion. They tell us which of the myriad suns are the oldest and
furthest spent, and which have come most recently from the
glowing forge of the almighty Artificer. They are all, how-
ever, lavishly spending the primordial forces with which they
were stored, and it is only a matter of time when the hottest of
them, if no higher power intervene, shall have exerted the last
ethereal wave, and sunk to the temperature of surrounding
space. When this condition of equilibrium shall have become
universal change will cease; for change is everywhere born of
the conflict of unequal forces. The motive power of the uni-
verse will have been spent. Nature, like a clock, has run down
and stopped. Like a clock, it must be wound up anew before it
will start again. The fires under the boiler have gone out, and
the engine has ceased to move. They must be rekindled, or it
will remain permanently at rest. Were matter eternal, however
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 99
unequally we may suppose the forces connected with it to have
been originally distributed, they must, long ages before the
commencement of the present order of things, have lost their ca-
pacity for work by coming to a state of equilibrium. When this
passive state had once been reached, it would have continued
forever. Only a power above nature could redistribute the
forces, and enable them again to do work.
Let it not be supposed that the view here set forth is at vari-
ance with the doctrine of the conservation of energy. On the
contrary, it fully recognizes that doctrine. The decline of tem-
perature experienced by the suns of our firmament is not owing
to the destruction of any part of the forces originally impris-
oned within these. These forces are, and have been from the
beginning, continually escaping. They still exist, but have lost
their capacity for work. They are no longer available for cos-
mic purposes. They have passed from the orbs into which they
were gathered, and are now traversing in ethereal waves the
heights and depths of space, or rippling, if such there exist, on
its far-distant shores. Their tendency still is to diffusion and
equalization. They have no power to gather themselves up and
return to the bodies from which they emanated. As well might
the weight of the run-down clock regain without aid its previous
working position ; or the exhausted and scattered steam reën-
ter the cylinder, and drive anew the piston. For gathering up
and restoring to these suns their lost energy, an almighty Hand
is demanded; and without such restoration their days are num-
bered.
It has been suggested that the decaying fires of our sun may
be from time to time rekindled, by the planets one after another
plunging in upon it. This, however, would only prolong the
100 THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DE VE LOPMENT.
period of its activity. The end would be the same. The last
planet would at length impart, by its shock, the last addition
of heat, and the process of refrigeration would from that time
go on without interruption.
Another suggestion has been made which is worthy of con-
sideration only on account of the respectable source from which
it comes. Mr. Herbert Spencer supposes that the heat evolved
by the impact of the planets upon the sun, as they shall be suc-
cessively drawn in and absorbed by it, may be sufficient to bring
all the matter in our system into a nebulous condition, and thus
make way for the emergence of a new system out of the ruins
of the old. This new system, after having run its orderly
course, he supposes to furnish in like manner by its final dis-
ruption the material for a third system ; and so on indefinitely.
How Mr. Spencer could have been drawn into an hypothesis so
extravagant, looking backwards as well as forwards, it is not easy
to imagine. Any well-instructed physicist would have informed
him that the heat evolved by the supposed collision would at
most be only sufficient to throw the planets back to their primi-
tive orbits, without any rise of temperature either in the sun or
in themselves. To bring the matter belonging to our system
into its original nebulous condition, there must be added to this
all the heat that has exhaled from it, from the time when it first
floated as a glowing cloud in space down to the present hour,
and all the heat that will hereafter exhale from its different
members until the moment of the supposed impact of the last
planet. There is not a fact or analogy even suggesting the
return, by natural causes, of this enormous amount of escaped
heat to the bodies with which it was originally associated. Such
a return would be in direct opposition to the law of diffusion
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 101
governing the movements of caloric, and, as already stated,
would require the interposition of Supernatural agencies. When
this theory of the universe was first proposed by the celebrated
Kant, the law of equivalency governing the conversion of force
into heat, and of heat again into force, was not known. Had
he been aware of the existence of this law, he could hardly have
entertained so wild a supposition. The fundamental hypothesis
of materialism is therefore untenable. It does not explain in
a satisfactory manner any of the phenomena of nature, and is
quite incompatible with some of the most marked and strik-
ing of these phenomena. The universe has had a beginning,
and, unless sustained by a power without itself, will come to
an end. It is therefore not eternal. The universe was not
built up by natural forces out of the ruins of one which pre-
ceded it. Neither can it furnish in its dissolution material for
the construction, under natural laws, of another to succeed it.
It is, therefore, not one of an eternal series of universes. It
must then have come into existence through supernatural
agency; or, in other words, by the fiat of an almighty and om-
miscient Creator.
But we have not done with our subject. Other difficulties
of scarcely less magnitude than those already encountered lie in
the path of consistent, philosophic materialism. I will advert to
three of them only : (1) the transition from inorganic nature to
the living structures of plants and animals; (2) the passage from
the lower and simpler to the higher and more complex types of
organized life; (3) the leap from extension to thought, or from
mere material properties to the endowments of mind. Of the
second of these difficulties we have Mr. Darwin's proposed solu-
tion. Of the first and third nothing approaching the character
102 THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DE P'E LOPMENT".
of a scientific explanation has been attempted. He would be
a bold man who, in this last half of the nineteenth century,
should undertake to show how the molecules of inorganic mat-
ter, under no other guidance than their own affinities, may in
the beginning have come together and united so as to form liv-
ing plants and animals. The most that any one could do would
be to assert the possibility of this, without being able to adduce
a single fact in support of the assertion. The supposed cases
of spontaneous generation which once gave plausibility to such
an hypothesis, under the sharper scrutiny of modern investiga-
tion aided by the microscope, have one after another resolved
themselves into instances of ordinary and normal reproduction.
After a full history of these cases, and of the investigations to
which they have led, Mr. Huxley in his Address before the
British Association for the Advancement of Science, September,
1870, comes to the conclusion that they do not any of them
afford evidence that “the molecules of dead matter, for no valid
or intelligible reason that is assigned, are able to arrange them-
selves into living bodies exactly such as can be demonstrated to
be frequently produced in another way.” “But although I can-
not express this conviction of mine too strongly,” he adds, “I
must carefully guard myself against the supposition that I in-
tend to suggest that no such thing as abiogenesis” — the pro-
duction of living matter by matter without life — “ has ever
taken place in the past.” “If it were given me to look beyond
the abyss of geologically recorded time, to the still more remote
period when the earth was passing through physical and chem-
ical conditions which it can no more see again than a man can
recall his infancy, I should expect to be a witness of the evo-
lution of living protoplasm from non-living matter. I should
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 103
expect to see it appear under forms of great simplicity, endowed,
like existing fungi, with the power of determining the formation
of new protoplasm from such matters as ammonium carbonates,
oxalates and tartrates, alkaline and earthy phosphates, and water
without the aid of light.” To this belief he is led, as he in-
forms us, by “analogical reasoning,” although he acknowledges
he has no right to call “it anything but an act of philosophic
faith.” It is to be regretted that he does not state the facts upon
which his analogical reasoning is based ; for after the conces-
sions he makes, it is certainly not easy to imagine them. He
supposes that at some unknown epoch in the past history of our
planet, under conditions equally unknown, but presumed to be
very unlike any now existing, a certain specific event happened
through the action of natural causes alone, to the production of
which the known laws of matter are wholly inadequate. He
further admits that nothing like it has ever come within the
range of human experience. How he founds upon analogy a
belief so remarkable is beyond my comprehension. Could he
point to actual and admitted instances of spontaneous genera-
tion, or did we know that life was introduced by this method to
any of the other planets, he might then reason by analogy to
the mode of its introduction to our own ; but without some
such knowledge I see no basis whatever for analogical rea-
soning. The origin of life, except through supernatural agency,
is still an unsolved and, as I believe, an insoluble problem.
Among other desperate hypotheses, its importation from a for-
eign source on the fragment of a disrupted world has been sug-
gested. This, however, would not explain its origin, but only
carry it farther back.
Mr. Darwin does not attempt to solve the difficult problem,
104 THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
but, assuming the existence of a few of the simplest forms of life,
he endeavors to show how from these under the operation of
natural laws may have sprung the entire population of the globe.
This is not quite satisfactory to Mr. Tyndall, who thinks little is
gained to science by tracing the existing species of plants and
animals back to a few primitive types, if for the origin of these
we are obliged to have recourse to supernatural agency, the bête
noir of his school of philosophers. We might as well, he says,
suppose the intervention of such agency in the production of
every new species. In making this criticism, Mr. Tyndall seems
to overlook the important fact that Mr. Darwin's principles do
not touch the origin of life, but relate exclusively to the modifi-
cations which it has undergone since its first appearance on the
earth. Atavism, the law of variation, and the selective power
of environments, or external conditions, are the key to his system.
Atavism moulds the offspring upon the parental type. The law
of variation arranges minor details, so that the offspring always
differ more or less from the parents, and also more or less from
one another. When the peculiarities of the individual are such
as to adapt it more perfectly to its surroundings, the posterity
to which they are bequeathed will be perpetuated, and a sub-
Ordinate variety or species will be established. If, on the other
hand, the peculiarities of the individual are such as tend to un-
fit it for its habitat, and consequently lessen its chances of suc-
cess in the struggle for existence, the posterity to which they
are transmitted will grow weaker with every generation, and the
variety marked by these disadvantageous peculiarities will finally
die out. By this selection of the fittest, which has been going
on under natural laws from the beginning, Mr. Darwin sup-
poses the earth to have been provided at all periods of its exist-
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT, 105
ence with appropriate inhabitants. That the causes assumed are
real, and their tendency is in the direction indicated, must, I
think, be admitted. But their adequacy to produce the amaz-
ing results ascribed to them, however long in operation, there
is great reason to doubt. It is certainly very far from having
been proved. Although man has for many centuries availed
himself of these laws in his efforts to produce improved varieties
of the domesticated plants and animals, he has not been able
to originate a single new species, or a variety so far removed from
the ancestral type as to bear any of the crucial tests of species.
Until this is done, evolution by natural selection, although a
great advance upon any of the development theories that have
preceded it, must be regarded merely as a working hypothesis,
destined to work its way either into science, or, what is more
probable, out of it, as ninety-nine out of every hundred such
hypotheses have hitherto done.
One of the strongest grounds of objection to Mr. Darwin's
theory is its want of accordance with the recorded facts of
geology. This was early pointed out by Agassiz. By the
requirements of the theory, life on the earth must have slowly
advanced by insensible movements from the lowest to the high-
est types. The rocks, however, do not show this. As we rise
through the successive strata, we do not observe one species of
plant or animal graduating into another ; but the first species
continues unchanged, until it by and by gives place to the next
above it, which from the beginning is perfectly distinct and
well marked. Intermediate varieties interposed between two
successive species are nowhere found. Life has, to all appear-
ance, ascended by steps, and not continuously on an inclined
plane. In reply it is said that intermediate varieties may have
106 THIE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
once existed, and have afterwards been destroyed by denuding
agencies which are known to have swept away such vast bodies
of strata. The answer, however, is strained, and can hardly be
deemed satisfactory by those who offer it. If there were ever
connecting links between the fossil species, it is certainly re-
markable that not one of them should have been preserved and
come down to us in the existing formations.
Should the Darwinian hypothesis ever attain to the position
of a received doctrine, it will not, as I have already more than
once said, do away with the necessity of intelligence for the
adjustment of organic to inorganic nature: but only carry its
exercise back to the ordaining of the laws under which the in-
numerable adaptations have arisen.
I have said that he must be a bold man who should under-
take to show how the molecules of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen,
and carbon, under no other guidance than their own affinities,
may in the beginning have come together and united so as to
form the living structures of plants and animals. But a much
bolder man would be required for the task of explaining how
the molecules of these same elements can, under any conditions,
or in any relations, acquire the power of feeling, thought, and
will, and thus pass by virtue of mere collocation from the domain
of matter to the realm of mind. Neither these substances nor
any of their known compounds have ever shown the slightest
ovidence of sensibility, although they have been subjected for a
whole century to the tortures of the laboratory. Their action
is determined, not by the presentation of motive, but by the
supply of the proper physical conditions. When these are pres-
ont it takes place, no matter what the consequence may be.
The supposition of will and a contemplated end determining
THE MATERIA DISTIC FORM OF DE VELOPMENT. 107
their action is as completely negatived by the experiments of
the laboratory as their possession of sensibility. To say, in op-
position alike to the conclusions of the chemist and the physicist,
that the elementary molecules of matter may, for aught we
know to the contrary, be endowed with a latent sensibility and
will only requiring organic conditions for their manifestation,
is to seek refuge in our ignorance, which neither facts nor anal-
ogies justify, and which, in the circumstances, can hardly be
regarded as honest. The phenomena of mind and matter not
only have nothing in common, but are so unlike as to render
comparison between them impossible. Why, then, refer them
to the same essence 2 What reason for assuming that they
have a common substratum ? If the phenomena be so unlike,
why should not the noumena be equally unlike 2 Why not
refer the two groups of phenomena to two distinct essences,
differing in their nature as they differ in their manifestations?
Does not a true philosophy require this? But it is said that we
must not multiply causes unnecessarily. Matter is in the field.
We are certain of its existence. If from its known powers we
can account for the activities of mind, without invoking other
aid, we are bound to do so. But do we know matter any better
than we know mind? Have not as many philosophers attempted
to solve the problem of the universe on the supposition of mind
alone as on a purely material hypothesis? Are we not abso-
lutely ignorant of the essence of both rhatter and mind? Have
we any other warrant for supposing their existence but the
causal judgment 2 and does not this require that the essence
should be in the strictest relation to the manifestation of a na-
ture exactly fitted for producing it 2 When the manifestations
are totally unlike, so as to exclude the possibility of comparison,
108 THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
is it not a violation of one of the plainest dictates of the reason
to refer them, without evidence of the fact, to the same essence?
The teachings of analogy are, moreover, in perfect accordance
with the requirements of the principle of causality. The prog-
ress of knowledge during the past century, while it has tended
to the unification of laws, has tended equally to the multiplica-
tion of substances. Instead of four elements, as in the time
of Aristotle, we now reckon more than threescore. Several
have been recently added to those previously known, by the
spectroscope. Not limited in its explorations to our planet, this
"marvelous instrument, reaching out to the sun and stellar
worlds, discovers in these distant orbs substances not known to
exist on the earth. Besides the different kinds of matter
brought to light by modern research, physicists infer the exist-
ence of a substance incomparably rarer and more subtle than
any known form of matter. This substance is supposed to fill,
if not the entire void of space, that finite portion of it which
is occupied by the material universe. It is not affected by grav-
ity, and gives no evidence of any of the attractions by which
ordinary matter is animated. It is so tenuous that the planets
in their revolutions about the sun experience no appreciable re-
sistance from it. Motion is propagated through it with the ve-
locity of light. Many billions of its delicate pulses beat upon
the retina of the eye every second, having proceeded from the
Sun with a rate of motion which would carry them eight times
round the earth during the same brief period. If the physicist
is obliged to hypothecate a substance so unlike any kind of mat-
ter to account for the phenomena of light and heat, surely we
may be pardoned for failing to see an adequate explanation of
thought, feeling, and will in the reactions of phosphorus and
THE MA TERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 109
the four organic elements. Why not suppose the powers of
mind to inhere in a substance or essence as much more subtle
than the ethereal medium of light and heat as that is than the
earth under our feet?
But, it is said, we never witness any exhibition of mental phe-
nomena except in connection with matter. So our knowledge
of this pulsating ether, embosoming all worlds, is gained wholly
through matter, upon which it acts, and by which it is acted
upon. We have no facilities for directly apprehending it, more
than we have for directly apprehending spirit. We learn the
existence of both in the same way, - through their material
manifestations.
Again, it is said, the powers of the mind are in the closest
relationship with the brain : that when this is stimulated the
mental activities are quickened, and when it is paralyzed they
cease altogether; that mere pressure upon certain parts of the
brain is sufficient to destroy consciousness. The fact being ad-
mitted, does it prove anything more than that, under our present
constitution, the mind is dependent in the exercise of its powers
upon the brain 2 Do the discoveries of the modern physiologist
do more than specialize this dependence? Do any of them
show, or tend to show, that the brain thinks, or that thought is
a secretion of the brain, or in any way a functional product of
that organ 2 Do they furnish any new data upon which to
build such a theory? Do we at the present hour know any more
of the actual relation of the mind to its material organ than
was known two thousand years ago? Is not the gulf between
molecular movements and neural tremors, on the one hand, and
the apprehension of truth and the sense of duty, on the other,
impossible in thought even,_as absolutely so now as it was in the
110 THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
time of Plato ? This is admitted by Mr. Tyndall in his imagined
interview with Bishop Butler. But he attempts to offset it by
an equal difficulty which he supposes to be connected with
Bishop Butler's teaching. Had the bishop really been present,
he would quickly have enlightened the savant on this point. He
would have said, “Mr. Tyndall, I do not suppose, as you seem
to imagine, the powers of mind to be independent, detached
from all substance, and resting upon nothing. On the con-
trary, I believe them to be connected with an essence incompara-
bly more subtle than any kind of matter, — a substance compos-
ite and organized it may be, but with parts so firmly united that
the dissolution of the body has no effect upon it.” To this re-
ply of the bishop I do not see how the accomplished professor,
on his own principles, could make answer.
Although we have no evidence, it may be further said that
the brain actually perceives and thinks, and can hardly suppose
it, yet, after all, perception and thought may be in some way
the products of its action. It would be interesting and instruc-
tive to examine some of the attempts that have been made to
construct a material theory of the mental phenomena, and see
with what success they have been attended ; and to no effort of
this kind could we better turn than to the recent work of G. H.
Lewes, on the problems of life and mind. Though as yet incom-
plete, the volume published will well repay a perusal. Like all
his writings, the work discloses an unrivaled power of con-
veying with rare beauty of expression and imagery every con-
ceivable form and shade of thought. It is from such a pen, if
from any, that we should expect an intelligible explanation of
the dynamics of the brain in the evolution of the mental pro-
cesses. In attempting this explanation Mr. Lewes does not con-
THE MATERIA LISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 111
fine himself to ascertained facts, but, with unlimited draft upon
the imagination, he endeavors to show how we may suppose
thought to emerge from its organic conditions in the brain and
nervous system. He tells us of psychoplasm, and neural units,
and serial changes, and residua of experiences, individual and
ancestral. “Psychoplasm is the sentient material out of which
all the forms of consciousness are evolved.” “Psychoplasmic
tremors are the raw materials of consciousness.” “The move-
ments of psychoplasm constitute sensibility.” “The psychical
* “The soul derives its
organism is evolved from psychoplasm.’
structure and powers from psychoplasm.” “Psychoplasm is
the mass of potential feeling derived from all the sensative affec-
tions of the organism, not only of the individual, but, through
heredity, of the ancestral organisms.” “A neural unit is a
tremor. Several units are grouped into a higher unity, or neu-
ral process, which is a fusion of tremors, as a sound is a fusion
of aerial pulses; and each process may in turn be grouped with
others, and thus from this grouping of groups all the varieties
emerge. What on the physiological side is simply a neural
process, on the psychological side is a sentient process. We
may liken sentience to combustion, and then the neural units
will stand for the oscillating molecules.” A neural tremor and
sensibility are only different phases of the same thing. It may
be compared to a curve with a convex and a concave side, one
seen from without and the other from within. “Sensibility
may be said to rest upon seriated change.” “If the changes
were simply movements, physical or chemical, they would not
present the phenomena of consciousness.” “They must be
serial and convergent through a consensus determined by essen-
tial community of structure.” “Experience is the registration
112 THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT.
5
of feeling.” “Experience is the organic registration of assimi-
lated material.” “The accumulated experiences of ancestors,
as well as the accumulated experiences of the individual, leave
residua in modifications of structure.” The great problem of
psychology is to develop all psychical phenomena from one
fundamental process in one vital tissue. The tissue is the ner-
vous; the process is a grouping of neural units in tremors.
Such is the foundation upon which Mr. Lewes aspires to build
a new system of mental philosophy. Never did one labor at a
more hopeless task. It is sorrowful to witness the efforts of so
gifted a mind put forth in the vain endeavor to render that
which is untranslatable, to explain that which is inconceivable,
to illustrate that which is unthinkable.
I have endeavored to signalize some of the difficulties which
lie in the path of the materialist. g
According to the most advanced teachings of science, the
primary constituents of matter are not mere atoms, as hereto-
fore supposed, whose existence demands no explanation, but
elaborately organized structures, miniature systems of worlds,
as much to be accounted for as the larger systems built from
them.
The universe is not eternal, either actually or potentially. It
has had a beginning, and unless sustained by a power without
itself it will have an end. The forces by which the existing
order of things is maintained are being constantly expended,
and must finally be lost for cosmic purposes by diffusion
through space. Many such universes may have come into ex-
istence, run their courses, and passed away, and yet hardly
have touched the resources of a past eternity.
Under the materialistic hypothesis life is assumed to have
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. II.3
commenced in our world by the spontaneous generation of
plants and animals, not a single instance of which has ever
come within the range of human experience. Mr. Huxley,
though freely admitting that none of the supposed cases of this
sort will bear the tests of a rigorous examination, thinks that
such an event may have occurred at an early period of the
earth's history, when things were in a formative state. He
frankly says, however, that his belief is an act of philosophic
faith for which he can assign no sufficient reason. The higher
orders of plants and animals are claimed, under this hypothesis,
to have been developed from the lower through the operation of
natural causes; and yet not a single new species has been pro-
duced within the period of reliable observation, although the
tendency of nature has been seconded by the efforts of man
continued through many centuries.
All the phenomena of mind are in like manner assumed to
be evolved by a material organism out of material reactions.
So far from this assumption resting on any solid basis of ob-
served facts, it is seen on examination to involve what is impos-
sible in thought, — the transmutation of mere neural tremors
into sensibility, intelligence, and will. Between the materialis-
tic form of the development hypothesis, thus embarrassed with
difficulties on every side, and the belief in an intelligent Author
of nature, to which all its arrangements point, our choice lies.
Need we be long in making it?
8
OF SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIES WITH WHICH
THEISM IS PRESSED.
LECTURE III.
I spokE in my last lecture of the embarrassments of logical
and consistent materialism. But is theism, it may be asked,
free from embarrassments? Although not meeting difficulties of
the same kind as those encountered by materialism, are there
not others equally great lying in its path 2 Do we not see in
the world around us much that is irreconcilable with the idea
of a benevolent, wise, and all-powerful Creator 2 How shall we
explain, on such a theory, the origin and continuance of phys-
ical and of moral evil, which cast their dark shadows to so ap-
palling an extent over human society 2 How account for so
much of accident, and disorder, and failure in the attainment of
proposed ends, and perversion of faculties from their intended
uses, and, finally, for the very imperfect accomplishment of any
conceivable object of the creation ? Before proceeding to a spe-
cial examination of these difficulties, I wish to premise one or
two general truths which it is important to bear in mind while
considering them.
The teleologist, when he surveys the outward world, in the
same way as when he examines a creation of man, sees means,
ends, and incidents. All things and events come under one of
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. II5
these categories, and not a few have a place at the same time
under two of them. The ends alone reveal the will and char-
acter of God. The means are simply devices for the attain-
ment of the end. The incidents are collateral, and flow from
other properties associated with the available one in the means.
The mistaking of incidents for ends has given rise to much
bad theology, and the failure to distinguish clearly between in-
cidents and ends to not a little loose theology. Teleology de-
pends upon this distinction. Ignore it, and the science becomes
impossible. Teleological deductions are reliable in proportion
as this distinction is recognized and kept steadily in view.
What are ends considered in reference to one group of con-
trivances may hold this place in another group of means to
higher ends, and these higher ends may in their turn become
means to yet higher, and the series may continue to advance
indefinitely. The heart and arteries are means to the circula-
tion of the blood. The circulation of the blood is a means to
the proper nutrition of the various tissues; and the proper nutri-
tion of the tissues is a means to health and vigor ; and, finally,
health and vigor are means to the well-being of the individual.
Gravity is the agency employed for putting the winds in mo-
tion. The winds are the bearers of the clouds. The clouds
water the earth. The earth ministers sustenance to plants, and
plants provide food for animals. It is the ultimate sum of the
series, the last and highest end, that discloses most fully the
character of the Author.
In the works of nature as well as in human devices, in the
works of God as well as of man, obstacles of an incidental char-
acter may stand in the way of the ends sought. If their
obstructive tendency be but inconsiderable, they may be allowed
116 DIFFI CULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
to remain, and impair to that extent the perfectness of the
result. If the obstruction opposed by them be more serious,
fitting instrumentalities are provided for their more or less
complete removal.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCIDENTAL.
Every species of matter, so far as it is known to us, consists
of a group of properties united to one another by indissoluble
ties. Whenever we desire to avail ourselves of one of these
properties for any purpose, we are obliged to take the other
properties along with it. These associated properties, carrying
into the device activities of their own, always interfere to a
greater or less extent with the object in view. If the interfer-
ence is slight, we allow it to continue ; if of a more serious
character, we employ such means as may be at our command
for controlling it. g
Thus friction, from the very constitution of matter, is insep-
arable from the working of all machinery. We may reduce it
by polished surfaces and lubricating fluids; but we cannot en-
tirely remove it. Enough still remains, not only to absorb a
very considerable portion of the transmitted force, but in the
end to destroy the machinery itself. This friction emerges
directly from the cohesion which confers upon the machinery,
while it lasts, its solidity and strength. In other relations, fric-
tion becomes an important means to ends. We provide for it
in hard and roughened surfaces. Without friction locomotion
would be impossible. The air would oppose no resistance to the
wing of the bird; the earth would offer no reaction to the
foot of man or of beast ; the wheel of the locomotive would
whirl idly upon the rail.
DIFFICUL TIES WHICHI PRESS THE ISM. 117
All the other primary forces of matter are equally ready with
cohesion to lend us their friendly assistance in the accomplish-
ment of our purposes, and not less ready in different relations
to aid in defeating those purposes. Gravity finally pulls down
the columns and temples to which for ages it has imparted sta-
bility. Chemical affinity takes to pieces the beautiful struc-
tures, organic and mineral, which it has assisted in building.
Vishnu and Siva are only different appearances of the same
god.
If we examine any of the most successful of human inven-
tions, we shall perceive them to be full of defects and limita-
tions, arising from the source here indicated. Take the steam-
engine, for example. Throughout its entire structure, from the
ash pit to the walking-beam, we find it looking to a single end,
— the generation of force. Every part is so formed, and of
such material, as to fit it most perfectly for its use. The bars
of the grate are of iron, and are made thin and deep. The
walls of the furnace are built of bricks, as nearly fire-proof as
possible. The boiler is constructed of heavy and thoroughly
wrought sheets of the strongest known metal. Every part is
made to last. Guards are, moreover, set at all points where
danger of accident is apprehended. The builder has omitted
nothing which could tend to insure its safe and continuous
working.
And yet the bars of the grate melt or burn out. The walls
of the furnace crumble away. The boiler leaks, or, becoming
weak, explodes, and spreads destruction on every side; or, if
such a catastrophe do not occur, the engine gradually wears out,
and at length falls into a mass of ruins. -
But was any one of these accidents or events intended to
118 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
happen? Were these provisions in the structure of the engine
looking to it as an end ? Was it a part of the design of the
builder ? Or was it not rather incident to the nature of the
materials in which the design was embodied ?– materials, too,
selected with the most careful regard to uses which they were
to subserve. Would it be just to the builder of the engine to
say he meant that the boiler should explode, that the walls of
the furnace should crumble, that the bars of the grate should
burn out 2—that he made special provision for all this in the
construction of the engine? Surely there can be but one an-
swer to this question. g
In all human contrivances, that which tasks the inventive
faculty most severely is not the origination of the design, but
the overcoming of the difficulties met with in its practical em-
bodiment. The former is often the work of but a single mo-
ment. The latter may require the labor of years. Finally, in-
cidents obstructive to the object of the device from which they
immediately flow, instead of being controlled by further devices,
may, through the complex relations of things, be made subser-
vient to other and higher ends, provided for by a more extended
circle of agencies. This obtains very widely in both the natural
and the moral worlds. It is the divine method of bringing
good out of evil. º,
Permit me to illustrate by example the three different cases
enumerated. Take first an instance of the imperfect attainment
of the end sought through causes incidentally connected with
the means employed for reaching it. I have referred to the
machinery of vapor, wind, and cloud, by which water is lifted
from the ocean and borne over the continents, to be distilled
in gentle rain upon mountain and valley, upon field, meadow,
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 119
and forest. No one can doubt that the object of the beautiful
contrivance is the fertilization of the earth. And yet is this
object fully accomplished? Does rain always fall where and
when it is needed? Is not a large part of the water thus lifted
from the ocean returned again to its bosom, without ever
reaching the continents 2 Do not droughts occur in all lands?
On the two largest of the continents are there not vast deserts,
where rain never falls, — limitless regions of perpetual barren-
ness? Can any one doubt that these droughts and deserts are
incidents of the plan adopted for watering the earth, – that
they are immediately dependent upon the physical conforma-
tions of its surface, which conformations were evolved under
wide and far-reaching laws? Does any one suppose that they
were specially provided for, and are in themselves ends? Could
we, by opening a channel between the Atlantic Ocean and the
interior of the African desert, convert that vast Sahara into a
garden, should we be deterred from doing so by the fear that
we might be thwarting the divine purposes 2 Was irrigation
ever objected to by any intelligent man on such a ground 2
Again: gravitation is a fundamental law of matter. Its reign
is as wide as the universe. It is the principle of stability
throughout nature. On the earth, it is the preserver of order.
It gives fixedness of position to bodies. By restraining loco-
motion it enables us to direct and control it. It underlies all
other provisions for our happiness, and in ordinary circum-
stances ministers constantly to our safety and well-being. Can
any one doubt the beneficent purpose of its ordination ? And
yet, in certain emergencies which are liable to arise, it becomes
a destroying agent. It seizes upon the incautious or too ven-
turesome traveler, and drags him over the precipice, to be
120 DIFFICUDTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
dashed to pieces at the bottom. It hurls the avalanche down
the side of the mountain upon little villages sleeping at its foot.
It gives direction to the molten rock as it issues from the mouth
of the volcano, and hurries the fiery torrent on its wrathful way
towards the devoted city. In the midst of darkness and tem-
pest it whelms the noble ship, and carries the vessel down with
its living freight to the depths of ocean. Does any one believe
these events were among the ends contemplated in the institu-
tion of the law of gravitation, or that the circumstances were
specially arranged for bringing them about? Could the danger
have been foreseen in any of the cases supposed, who would
have hesitated, from such an idea, to do all in his power to avert
the calamity? I do not ask whether these events were foreseen
by God, or whether the constitution of things to which they
were foreseen to be incidental justified itself to the divine wis-
dom, and was adopted as the best constitution, but whether the
foreseeing of these events weighed in favor of its adoption, or,
to vary slightly the language of the question, whether the con-
stitution chosen embodied provisions looking specially to these
events, and such embodiment was one of the grounds of the
divine choice. Now, I hold that no man in his sober senses
can or dare answer the question in the affirmative.
To prevent any possible misunderstanding, I desire to say, be-
fore proceeding further, that the questions which we are now
considering are all teleological. They have no relation whatever
to God’s providence. The providential question is of an entirely
different character, and depends upon different evidence. It is
a question of God’s procedure after having established a consti-
tution of things. It is whether He does not, in goodness, see fit
to interpose in behalf of His creatures, and ward off evils which
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 121
would otherwise befall them under that constitution, or confer,
it may be, special blessings. This question comes under an en-
tirely different category, and will be included in the subject of .
my next lecture.
Numerous examples of preventive and remedial provisions are
found in the human organization. Such provisions, in fact,
make up no inconsiderable portion of it. They attest, in the
strongest manner possible, the reality of the distinction between
incident and end, not kept sufficiently in view, as I think, by
most theologians, and wholly ignored by the disciples of the
Darwinian and Positive schools of philosophy. My first illus-
tration shall be from the eye. The front part of the outer coat
or envelope of this organ is transparent, as every one knows, for
the admission of light. It retains its transparency, however,
only so long as it continues moist. The opaqueness which gath-
ers upon the eye so soon after death is owing simply to the
drying of its surface. During life the same thing would hap-
pen, were there no provision against it. To prevent an occur-
rence that would prove fatal to vision, a small gland is placed
just within the outer angle of the orbit, having for its office the
secretion of tears. These, constantly oozing out upon the in-
side of the upper lid, are conveyed by its rapid passes over the
eye to all the exposed parts of its surface. Fresh quantities of
moisture are in this way continually pouring into the eye, to
supply the place of that which is lost by evaporation. Thus we
see that the volatility of the tears, which belongs to them as
much as their lubricating and clarifying properties, and which,
were there no protection for averting the end, would wholly de-
feat the purpose of the eye, is met and rendered harmless by the
introduction of an additional organ specially assigned to that
office.
122 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
Nor does the provision for securing the eye against the effects
of evaporation stop here. If the tears which are continually
flowing in upon the organ were suffered to dry away upon its
surface, there would soon be an accumulation of residual matter,
consisting of various animal and saline substances. This gradu-
ally thickening, and becoming charged with particles of dust, of
which the air always contains a greater or less quantity, would
presently induce inflammation in the organ, and in the end de-
stroy it. As a protection against this evil, there is provided
a large excess of the lachrymal fluid over and above what is
needed to supply the evaporation ; enough, in fact, to wash the
eye and preserve it free from every impurity. But then this ex-
cess of fluid must be disposed of. If allowed to accumulate in
the eye until it should flow over the lid, besides the inconven-
ience of a constant trickling down the cheek, it would in time
occasion disease in the organ itself, as is shown from experience.
To meet this new difficulty, a still further contrivance is resorted
to. A very delicate tube is inserted just at the inner angle of
the eye, terminating above by a bifurcation in the edges of the
upper and lower lids, and below in the adjacent passage of the
nose. The tears, as fast as they accumulate, are taken up by
this tube and conveyed to the nose, where, spread over a large
surface, they quickly evaporate, and pass off with the other ex-
halations attendant on respiration. So complex is the lachrymal
apparatus appended to the eye for the express purpose of meet-
ing liabilities incidentally connected with its structure and use.
Can any one who believes in an intelligent Author of nature
suppose for a moment the drying of the cornea and the thick-
ening of the tears by evaporation, to be ends contemplated in
the formation of the eye 2 the object of contrivance, as much
DIFFICULTIES : WHICH PRESS THEISM. I23
so as the means devised for preventing the evils that would arise
from them 2 to be as much provided for, and as truly included
in, the design and purpose of the organ, as vision ? Such an
idea could surely not be entertained except by those who reject
the doctrine of final causes, and refuse to see indications of
mind in nature.
Take another example. The frail and delicate materials of
which our bodies are formed render them liable to injuries of
various kinds, while their complex structure exposes them to
disorders almost without number. Muscles may be cut. Lig-
aments may be torn. Bones may be broken. Limbs may be
severed. Teeth decay. The lungs inflame. The heart en-
larges, or its valves ossify. The stomach is disordered. The
secretions of the liver become obstructed. These, and ten thou-
sand other accidents and disorders, are incident to our constitu-
tion and the circumstances in which we are placed. We cannot,
however, on this account, suppose them to enter in any way into
the purpose intended to be accomplished in our creation, — to
have been specially provided for in our organization, and sought
as ends. Such an idea is wholly irreconcilable with the reme-
dial provisions which we find incorporated in the structure not
only of man, but of all the lower animals, — provisions for the
reparation of injuries, and the reproduction even of those parts
which have been lost by accident or disease. These evils grow
out of the nature of the substances of which organized beings
are composed, and from which they derive all their powers.
Matter continuing what it is, the beings formed of it must be
liable to injury; and in proportion as their organizations are
complex and the circumstances of their existence variable, they
must be liable to disorder. Among the lowest races we find
124 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
animals with structures so simple, and living under conditions
so uniform, that they are scarcely more liable to disease than
the elements of which they are formed. As their faculties are
proportionally limited, they have little power of avoiding dan-
ger, and are consequently peculiarly exposed to mutilation and
injury. As a compensation for this, they are endowed (the
simplicity of their structures admitting it) with the most aston-
ishing powers of recovery, entire limbs, and in some instances
the eyes even, being reproduced in a short time after they have
been lost. As we rise in the scale of organized life, we meet
with animals of a more complex structure, possessing a wider
range of faculties, and having greater powers of avoiding the
dangers to which they are exposed. These suffer less frequently
in the integrity of their parts. Their power of repairing inju-
ries and supplying losses is also less remarkable. At the same
time they are more liable to disease, on account of the greater
number and delicacy of the relations subsisting between their
several parts; and the vis medicatria natura, is stronger in
them, owing, it is probable, to the same cause. This type of
character is most strongly exemplified in man, who stands at the
head of the animal creation, and who, besides combining in his
structure a greater number and variety of parts than any other
animal, is also endowed with intellectual and moral faculties,
which add still further to the elaborateness of his constitution.
His life is also more varied, and takes in a far wider range of
both character and circumstances than that of any other animal.
We accordingly find him more liable to disease, oftener suffering
from organic and functional derangement. At the same time
his system, including within it a greater number of checks and
balances, possesses greater recuperative powers; so that disor-
I)IFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 125
ders, though more various and more frequent, do not so gen-
erally prove fatal with him as with the lower animals.
Could there be stronger proof of the incidental character of
the physical evils complained of than is thus afforded ? If in
themselves intended, or if the result of want of thought or
care, whence the preventive and remedial devices so numerous
and striking not only in man, but in all living beings? Indeed
it may be doubted whether more of the contrivances embodied
in the animal organs are for rendering the available properties
of matter tributary to their varied functions, or for holding in
restraint other accompanying properties which tend to impede
and obstruct those functions. So difficult was the problem of
rearing for the earth out of its own dust fitting inhabitants
If the practical solution reached is not unattended with evils,
the provisions made in so many cases for checking or remedy-
ing these evils are sufficient to vindicate the divine goodness
from aspersion on that account. If there is limitation, of which
I see no proof, it must be limitation in power."
1 There are other difficulties encountered by the Christian theist, which, if we
adopt the modern theory of evolution, the doctrine of the incidental assists us in
clearing away. I refer to the origin of the innumerable parasites which infest the
bodies of animals both internally and externally, and of the hosts of destructive
insects which prey upon the fruits of the earth and bring to naught so often the
labors of man. It is hardly compatible with any idea we can form of God to im-
agine Him occupied with the formation of many of these beings. Mr. Kirby,
author of one of the Bridgewater treatises, supposes them to have been created after
the fall of man, and to be among the instrumentalities devised for his punishment.
Such a notion, however, in the present state of our geological knowledge, is scarcely
tenable. But if we suppose the varied forms of life on our globe, instead of being di-
rectly created, to have been evolved under organic and physical laws so adjusted as
to provide for the earth at each successive stage in its history appropriate inhabi-
tants, we may then conceive a multitude of beings, which we can hardly imagine God
to take pleasure in forming, to have been wrapped up in the folds of these compre-
126 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
But I have not yet done with the doctrine of the incidental.
If I mistake not, it is the key to most of the difficulties with
which theism is supposed to be embarrassed. It is in this doc-
trine that moral evil, as well as physical, so far as the problem
comes within the grasp of the human understanding, finds its
true explanation. The liability to injury and disease insepara-
bly connected with man's physical organization has its parallel
in the liability to do wrong inseparably connected with his con-
stitution as a moral agent. This will, I think, appear, if we
consider the elements which enter into that constitution.
There is first the personality or will, free and in equipoise.
Around this, and acting upon it as motive powers, are the affec-
tions, the appetites, and the passions. To these may be added
the reason, or self-love, and the conscience, which, enlightened
by the intelligence, may act either as impelling or as guiding and
restraining forces. The affections, appetites, and passions, when
quickened into activity by the presence, either real or imagined,
of their appropriate objects, awaken desire and prompt to action.
The same is true of the reason and conscience considered as im-
pelling forces. To insure right conduct, these several principles
of action must be properly adjusted to one another, and also
to the circumstances in which the being is placed. So long as
the required adjustments, internal and external, continue undis-
turbed, - that is, so long as the nature and the environments,
the two factors entering into motion, remain without change, –
such a being would be incapable of a wrong action. He would
hensive laws, however wisely and beneficently ordained. The waste of destructive
insects and the annoyance of bodily pests, like disease and accident, are only inci-
dents, and not ends, in the divine plan. The further back we suppose evolution
under law to be carried, the more room is opened for collateral effects not in them-
selves intended, and the greater becomes the explanatory power of the principle
which it is the object of the lecture to set forth.
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 127
be a perfect moral machine. He would, however, be only a ma-
chine. He would have no self-regulating power; nor could he
need any. His action would be as certain, and, with the requisite
knowledge of the two factors of the motive or motives prompt-
ing it, might be as certainly predicted, as that of any other
machine. e
But such are not the conditions of man’s being. He is him-
self not only liable to change, but is continually changing,
through the influence of habit. Every act either strengthens
an old habit or tends to form a new one. It is upon this power
of forming habits that his capacity for growth depends. With-
out it he would be incapable of progress, either individually or
as a race. His environments are no more fixed than his char-
acter. They, too, are continually changing. Hence, however
perfectly we may suppose the active principles in man's consti-
tution to be adjusted, without the addition of a self-regulating
power such nicety of adjustment could not long continue. By
change of character or change of circumstances, or of both, the
balance of forces would quickly be deranged, and when derange-
ment had once taken place it would tend constantly to increase,
until at length the machine would become so disordered as no
longer to answer the ends. To remedy as far as possible this
defect, and also to convert the machine into a responsible agent,
the power of choice is added. By virtue of this endowment
he may select from among the courses of action offering them-
selves. He may choose that which seems to be the highest and
most worthy, although urged by a stronger impulse towards one
lower and less worthy. He may adhere steadfastly to the right,
however tempted by interest to swerve from it. He may obey
the dictates of reason and conscience in opposition to the clam-
128 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
ors of appetite and passion. By the right exercise of this power
of choice and by correspondent courses of action he may grad-
ually change his whole character, and bring it into harmony at
the same time with the ends of his being and with the circum-
stances in which he is placed, whatever those circumstances may
be: and the responsibility of doing this is laid upon him by the
Creator. The power conferred is the ground of the obligation.
In a similar way he may fit himself for special spheres of life
and action, however much he may have lacked by nature the
requisite qualifications. The power of choice, together with the
gradual change of character through its continual exercise, opens
to man all moral possibilities, – possibilities of evil as well as of
good. Both are dependent upon the same constitution, and so
far as we can see are inseparable from it. Nay, more than this,
the evil is incident to the very features of that constitution
which render the good possible. It grows immediately out of
the provisions for the good, - out of endowments which lie at
the foundation of man’s capacity for improvement, which give
to his being its chief dignity and worth, which open to him all
his highest sources of happiness, which constitute by far the
most important distinction between him and the lower orders of
the animal creation. The very idea of an accountable being in-
volves the power of choice, and without that of growth exist-
ence to a finite intelligence would before long lose its zest.
That moral evil appeared and continues in the world as an
incident, and not by special design, might be inferred, even if
the fact were not so apparent on looking at its source, from the
restraint imposed on it by natural as well as human laws. Still
further proof that it was not purposed nor desired is found in the
costly provision made for remedying it. This to the believer in
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 129
Christianity must alone be a sufficient answer to any charge
preferred against the divine goodness on account of a consti-
tution of things permitting it; while its manifestly incidental
character, as well as the checks and hindrances naturally op-
posed to it, should forever silence the cavils of those who do not
accept the teachings of our holy religion.
But, after all, it may be said that the great extent to which
moral and physical evil has always prevailed in the world
argues limitation in either the divine goodness or the divine
power; or in the less reverent but more forcible language some-
times used, “Either God could n’t make a better world or He
would n’t.” Let us look a little more closely at this short-hand
logic, and see whether the supposed dilemma in the sense im-
plied is really forced upon us; whether the facts in the case
afford evidence of limitation in any of the attributes of Deity.
In the first place, I think it will be admitted that inability to
do that which in the nature of things is impossible implies in
no proper sense limitation of power. That God cannot make
Himself, or the universe created by Him, or any part of that uni-
verse, -—never to have been; that He cannot make right wrong,
or wrong right, good evil, or evil good; that he cannot alter ax-
iomatic truths, and cause the whole to be less than the sum of
its parts, or a straight line to be other than the shortest distance
between two points; or two and two to be more or less than
four, does not touch the question of His power. It has no re-
lation whatever to any intelligent or intelligible conception of
the divine omnipotence.
In the second place, the inability to reconcile incompatibles
and cause them to coexist does not arise from lack of power.
Neither does it in any way imply or suggest lack of power.
9
130 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
That God cannot make a thing to be and not to be at the same
time; that He cannot make a body at the same time both round
and square, both rough and smooth, both hard and soft, both
light and heavy, or both at rest and in motion, or do a hundred
other things including like incompatibles, is in no way deroga-
tory to the divine nature. The reconcilement of the essentially
irreconcilable comes no more within the compass of infinite
than of finite power. t
When revising our opinions and beliefs, to be sure that they
are well founded, are we more startled at the discovery of
incompatibles, not so glaring, indeed, as those instanced, but as
real, which may have lain in the mind side by side for years, or
perhaps a lifetime, without our having noticed them 2 Is it not
one of the chief ends of logic to bring our ideas into consist-
ency with one another by the elimination of incompatibles which
enter, I am persuaded, far more largely into our ordinary trains
of thought than most persons are aware? Now, when the sub-
ject upon which we speculate is so large and embraces so much
of detail as the universe, would it be strange if any imagined
improvement of ours on the existing constitution of things, any
modification of that constitution with a view to lessening the
evils springing incidentally from it, — would it be strange, I say,
if such imagined improvement should include incompatibles
without our perceiving them 2 Would it be strange if, in carry-
ing out the imagined improvement, practical difficulties should
be met with which would quite defeat the end proposed ?–that
instead of diminishing the evil, the change should increase it
at the expense of the good? Would it be strange if, with the
ability to look through the universe and comprehend it in all its
parts and conditions, we should discover innate difficulties in the
})IFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 131
way of any imagined or imaginable improvements beyond the
power of omnipotence to remove 2 The remarks of Bishop
Butler on this point are so apposite and just that I gladly avail
myself of them. Notwithstanding the great advance that has
been made since his day in knowledge of the physical world,
they are as true and weighty now as they were then.
Suppose, then, a person boldly to assert that the constitution of na-
ture remaining as it is, the things complained of, the origin and con-
tinuance of evil, might easily have been prevented by repeated interpo-
sitions, – interpositions so graduated and circumstanced as would pre-
clude all mischief arising from them ; or if this were impracticable,
that a scheme of government is itself an imperfection, since more
good might have been produced without any scheme, system, or consti-
tution at all, by continued single unrelated acts of distributive justice
and goodness, because these would have occasioned no irregularities;
and further than this it is presumed the objections will not be car-
ried. . . . Were these assertions true, yet the government of the world
might be just and good notwithstanding; for, at most, they would infer
nothing more than that it might have been better. But, indeed, they
are mere arbitrary assertions ; no man being sufficiently acquainted
with the possibilities of things to bring any proof of them to the lowest
degree of probability. For, however possible what is asserted may
seem, yet there are many instances, in things much less out of reach, of
suppositions absolutely impossible and reducible to the most palpable
self-contradictions, which not every one by any means could perceive
to be such, nor, perhaps, any one at first sight suspect. From these
things it is easy to see distinctly how our ignorance, as it is the com-
mon, is really a satisfactory answer to all objections against the justice
and goodness of Providence. . . . There would, indeed, be reason to
wish — which, by the way, is very different from their right to claim
— that all irregularities were prevented or remedied by present inter-
positions, if these interpositions would have no other effect than this.
132 I)IFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
But it is plain they would have some visible and immediate bad effects.
For instance, they would encourage idleness and negligence, and they
would render doubtful the natural rule of life, which is ascertained by
this very thing, that the course of the world is carried on by general
laws. . . . Upon the whole, then, we see wise reasons why the course of
the world should be carried on by general laws, and good ends accom-
plished by this means; and, for aught we know, there may be the wis-
est and best reasons for it and the best ends accomplished by it. We
have no ground to believe that all irregularities could be remedied as
they arise, or could have been precluded by general laws. We find
that interpositions would produce evil and prevent good; and, for
aught we know, they would produce greater evil than they would pre-
vent, and prevent greater good than they would produce.
I will only add to these acute remarks of Bishop Butler that
the government of the world by general laws, out of which the
good and the evil alike spring, — the good directly, and the evil
indirectly, - may have relation not solely to the ends in view,
but also to the divine nature. One mode of government may
be more in consonance with that nature than the other. I sug-
gest this merely as a thing possible. I see nothing tending
either to prove or to disprove it. The fact that God has chosen
one method rather than the other is equally well accounted for
by supposing it more congenial to His own nature, or better fit-
ted to secure the ends sought. It is not improbable that both
considerations had part in determining the choice.
But if so much of evil is necessarily incident to existence
under conditions the most favorable that could be devised,
does not the fact bring into question the wisdom and benevo-
lence of creation ? Would it not be better if the world had
never been made 2 Such seems to be the opinion of John
Stuart Mill. In an essay on theism, the last considerable work
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 133
which he completed, and given to the public since his death,
after admitting that the indications of design in nature afford
some slight probability of an Intelligent Author, he proceeds
to say: — \
If the motive of the Deity for creating sentient beings was the
happiness of the beings He created, his purpose, in our corner of the
universe at least, must be pronounced, taking past ages and all coun-
tries and races into account, to have been thus far an ignominious fail-
ure; and if God had no purpose but our happiness and that of other
living creatures, it is not credible that He would have called them into
existence with the prospect of being so completely baffled. If man had
not the power, by the exercise of his own energies, for the improvement
both of himself and of his outward circumstances, to do for himself
and other creatures vastly more than God had in the first instance
done, the Being who called him into existence would deserve something
very different from thanks at his hands.
It is not a little remarkable that a man so acute as Mr. Mill
should take for granted that to an omnipotent Being there can
be neither impossibilities nor incompatibilities; that everything
proceeding from such a Being must be in exact accordance with
His will and an immediate expression of that will. This as-
sumption runs through the entire argument of the essay, and
determines beforehand its conclusions. In the close of his chap-
ter on the divine attributes he says: —
These, then, are the net results of natural theology. A Being of
great but limited power, how or by what limited we cannot conjecture;
of great and perhaps unlimited intelligence, but perhaps, also, more
narrowly limited than his power; who desires and pays some attention
to the happiness of His creatures, but who seems to have other motives
of action which He cares more for, and who can hardly be supposed to
have created the universe for that purpose alone, – such is the Deity
134 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
whom natural religion points to, and any idea of God more captivating
than this comes only from human wishes or from the teaching of real
or imaginary revelation.
But to return to our question : If existence be necessarily
attended by so many liabilities to suffering, should it not be
regarded as in itself an evil, and should not escape from it, as
taught by the Buddhists, be sought as the highest good 2
I do not think a fair survey of life, mixed as are its condi-
tions, tends to such a conclusion. Notwithstanding the consid-
erable amount of evil, there is a large overplus of good with
man as well as with the animal tribes below him ; happiness
is the perpetual sunshine of existence, while suffering is the
occasional and passing cloud. The love of life, so strong in
everything that breathes, is the love of its continued flow of
enjoyments, and attests in the strongest manner possible their
reality and sweetness. The words of Tennyson are as full of
truth as they are of poetical feeling : —
“Whatever crazy sorrow saith,
No life that breathes with human breath
Has ever truly longed for death.
“”T is life, whereof our nerves are scant,
O life, not death, for which we pant;
More life, and fuller, that I want.”
There is the same preponderance of good over evil in the
moral World as in the natural. In every well-conditioned com-
munity, although vice may exist, there is a large excess of the
virtues. Instances of chicanery, fraud, and evil doing may oc-
cur, but they are exceptional; while justice, integrity, and fair
dealing are the rule. Crime by its comparative rareness as well
as by its enormity makes an impression upon the imagination
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 135
quite disproportioned to its actual place in society. The virtues
escape our notice from their commonness. The benevolent and
social affections as well as the social charities of home are every-
where. We meet with a hundred kindnesses where we receive
one injury. Such is the experience of the traveler in all lands,
civilized and Savage ; under all faiths, Christian, Mahometan,
and pagan. Man is not the degraded being we are apt to
suppose him. To no work of the Creator is injustice so often
done as to human nature; and the most remarkable thing is
that God is supposed to be honored, instead of being profaned,
by its depreciation. Were man in reality what he is some-
times represented, and were the world such as it is not unfre-
quently pictured, they might well be a cause for repentance on
the part of Him who made them.
Permit me in conclusion to refer briefly to the last case men-
tioned, that of incidental evils, after reduction as far as possible
by preventive and remedial agencies, being made subservient to
ends outside of the special provisions from which they spring.
Instances of this are very numerous, and especially illustrate the
wise and beneficent ordering of Providence. Indeed, there is no
species of physical evil that may not, and if allowed to have
its proper and intended effect does not, become either to the
sufferer himself, or to others, or to both himself and others, a
source of moral benefit. Misfortunes, disappointments, trials,
sickness, and sorrow, - these are the discipliners of humanity.
Out of the midst of them are reared the noblest virtues. It is
their prevalence, mingled with moral evil and to a greater or
less extent caused by it, that makes the world so fit a theatre
for man's probation. Without them it might be a scene of in-
nocent enjoyment, but it would be no place for building up
136 IDIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM.
lofty and heroic character. Even death, the king of terrors, con-
sidered with reference to this world only, is not an unmixed evil.
It is the great equalizer of the diversities of human fortune. It
at the same time reconciles the poor man to his poverty, and
makes the rich feel of how little value is his wealth. It chastens
aspiration, moderates desire, subdues selfishness, quickens benev-
olence, strengthens duty, and disposes to the exercise of every
Christian virtue. It is the moral ballast of society. But for its
restraining and steadying effect, the noblest human institutions,
freighted with the hopes of the race, would quickly be dashed
to pieces on the rocks of interest, or whelmed beneath the bil-
lows of passion.
These evils, inseparable from man’s bodily structure and
earthly condition, are by a divine alchemy converted into goods
and become tributary to the higher ends of his moral being. The
more elementary constitution of the lower orders of the animal
creation renders such conversion in their case impossible. The
evils incident to their existence as organized beings are attended
by no alleviations, and result in no good to them. The actual
benefits experienced by man from this provision of his higher
and more complex nature will depend much upon his own con-
duct. Hence the proper question, in regard to this entire class
of evils where they arise is not, Why God has sent them? which
would be natural and right if they were directly purposed by
Him; but another, very different and far more important ques-
tion, How God would have us behave, under them 2 with what
temper meet them, and what lesson learn from them 2 It is
hardly necessary to add, that if they are seen on examination to
have proceeded from causes within our control, our first busi-
ness is to remove such causes.
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 137
Finally, to recapitulate, we have seen that the evils complained
of, where existence is thought to imply imperfection in the di-
vine goodness or limitation of the divine power, are incidental
only and not the object of contrivance and design; that they
grow out of provisions in man's constitution looking solely to
beneficial ends; that by no conceivable modification of that con-
stitution could their possibility be excluded and these ends at
the same time secured; that inability to reconcile incompatibles
and cause them to coexist implies in no proper sense limitation
of power ; that the evils incident to man's earthly condition are
reduced as far as possible by inventive and remedial devices;
and that after this reduction such as still remain are made sub-
servient to the higher ends of his existence as a moral and ac-
countable being. How appropriate, with a larger application,
the question put through the mouth of the prophet: “What
could have been done more for my vineyard that I have not
done in it 7”
THE RELATION OF GOD TO THE NATURAL AND
MORAL WORLDS.
LECTURE IV.
ON subjects which do not admit of positive knowledge we
are obliged to content ourselves with probabilities. These
may be of a higher or lower order according to the nature of
the facts or analogies upon which they rest. They may amount
to hardly more than a possibility, or they may rise to a presump-
tion that is little short of certainty. The relation of God to the
natural world is one of these subjects. We can only form opin-
ions concerning it; and one man has just as good a right to
his opinion, if it is honestly and reverently formed, as another.
That view of the relation which seems to any one most worthy
of the divine character, and which stirs within him the deepest
feelings of reverence, provided it be in harmony with all the
known facts, is for him the best view; and I would not seek to
change it. But while saying this with all frankness, I should be
untrue to my convictions if I did not express the belief that
there is valid ground for choice among the opinions held upon
the subject, whether considered with reference to their prob-
able truth, or judged of by the influence which they are fitted
to exert. Let us pass in review some of the most common of
them, and see, if we can, which has the most to commend it.
We will begin with that which is the oldest and has prevailed
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 139
the most widely. It supposes matter to be eternal. Under this
hypothesis two views of God’s relation to it are possible, and
have actually obtained to a large extent among philosophers.
One supposes matter to be not only coeval with God but in cor-
relation with Him. Matter is the outward form. God is the
indwelling spirit. As in man, the body obeys the soul; so,
throughout nature, matter yields obedience to the divine will.
God is the anima mundi, the soul of the universe. All its move-
ments are immediately dependent upon His volitions. The other
view supposes matter to be only the plastic material upon which
God works. In shaping it to His purposes He avails Himself of
its natural qualities. He selects the particular kind or kinds of
matter which are best, and employs them just as any other being
of adequate intelligence would employ them. The structures
of plants and animals are appealed to in support of this view.
In building up these, it is said, matter is used by the Creator
as if it already existed, and was, so to speak, furnished to His
hands. It is taken just as it is. Its properties are made use
of but not modified. Even when the most complex arrange-
ments and combinations are necessary to attain a proposed end
in accordance with its laws, those laws are not changed, but
the combinations and arrangements are uniformly resorted to.
In a word, matter is employed by God in the same manner as
we ourselves, with the requisite power and skill, should employ
it for like purposes. Granting all this, as I think we may, does
it prove or tend to prove that matter was not originally created
by God? Does it in reality afford any ground for such an
opinion? I cannot see that it does. We should naturally ex-
pect that, having formed matter and endowed it with properties,
He would employ it in such a way as to make those properties
140 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
available to the purposes of creation. Any alteration of them,
the resort in any emergency to new elements or new properties,
would imply either defect in the constitution of matter or want
of skill in employing it. We can, therefore, gain no light con-
cerning its origin, from the way in which it is used.
The vast scale upon which matter exists, the sublime ends to
which it ministers, as well as the ceaseless round of changes
through which it is constantly passing without itself undergoing
change or diminution, naturally impress the mind with the idea
of permanence, and it is not surprising that those who derived
their light solely from nature should have generally believed it
to be eternal. Such appears to have been the opinion of the
ancient Egyptian philosophers. They were accustomed to trace
the world back through a series of transformations to an orig-
inal chaos, in which the materials composing it already existed,
though enveloped in profound darkness, and without relation,
order, or end. In this state they believed matter to be coeval
with God, and limited the work of creation to educing from
its chaotic elements the beauty, order, and harmony of the uni-
verse. How like is this to some of the theories put forth at the
present day by acknowledged authorities in science, except that
in the modern teaching God is left out. These cosmological
ideas, although originating on the banks of the Nile, like many
other of the Egyptian doctrines, passed over to Greece and
Italy, where they were incorporated, with slight alterations, into
the prevailing mythological and philosophical systems. The
highest conception of Deity, which seems to have been formed
on either side of the Mediterranean, was that of a power in-
timately pervading all matter, and continually evolving from
it life, motion, order, and beauty. For the sublime idea of a
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 141
Being who was able, by the simple exertion of His power, to
give existence to matter, who “spake and it was,” who “ com-
manded and it stood fast,” who said: “Let there be light: and
there was light,” we are indebted to the Hebrew Scriptures.
Dictated originally by inspiration, the idea has come down to us
through the channel of these writings, along with other con-
ceptions of the divine character, as far surpassing in grandeur
anything we find in heathen mythologies.
What led the ancients so very generally to regard matter as
self-existent and eternal, was, no doubt, their inability to con-
ceive of it as coming into existence. They could in imagina-
tion carry its existence forwards or backwards indefinitely, but
they could not think of it either as beginning to exist, or as
ceasing to exist. For a like reason many moderns have found
difficulty in admitting the absolute creation of matter. Some of
the best thinkers of the age believe that it must always have
existed either actually or potentially. Sir William Hamilton
thinks the causal judgment requires this. “Creation,” he says,
“is conceived, and by us conceivable, merely as the evolution of
a new form of existence by the fiat of Deity.” “Let us sup-
pose the very crisis of creation. Can we realize it to ourselves,
in thought, that the moment after the universe came into mani-
fested being there was a larger complement of existence, in the
universe and its Author together, than there was the moment
before in the Deity Himself alone?” “All that there is now,
actually, of existence in the universe, we conceive as having vir-
tually existed, prior to creation, in the Creator; and in imag-
ining the universe to be annihilated by its Author, we can only
imagine this as a retraction of an outward energy into power.”
Such is Sir William's view of creation. Although not disposed
142 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
to question its adequacy, I am by no means sure that it is all
that the principle of causality, properly understood, allows.
With his derivation and interpretation of that principle, he
could not consistently go further.
Another consideration, which seems to have had weight with
the ancients in assigning to matter an independent existence, is
the supposed facility offered by it for explaining, consistently
with the divine perfections, the origin, and continuance in the
world, of evil. This they attributed to the refractoriness of
matter, to its imperfect obedience of the will of God, or to its
want of entire plasticity under His hand, according to the one or
other view taken of its relation to Him. It is hardly necessary
to say that an equally satisfactory solution of what is confessedly
one of the most difficult of problems is found in the govern-
ment of the world by general laws, which, however wisely ar-
ranged, would seem to be inadequate to meet and provide for
all individual cases arising under them.
A second theory of the relation of God to the universe, which
with the first has substantially divided the world, goes to the
opposite extreme. It denies to matter an existence separate and
distinct from that of Deity. The universe is God acting. It is
evolved by the ceaseless exertion of His power. It is a perpetual
creation. It is the continuous product of the volitions of Deity.
The universe, thus emerging from the bosom of God, may be
conceived to embrace matter as commonly understood, with its
inhering forces, or to include only the forces without the mat-
ter, or to be limited to the mere outward phenomena without
either matter or forces back of them, or finally to be restricted
to ideas in the mind, directly awakened without material ante-
cedents,
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 143
On the first supposition we have theistic realism, on the sec-
ond theistic dynamism, on the third theistic phenomenalism,
and on the fourth theistic idealism; or, to express the same
thing in a different way, the first hypothesis gives us a universe
of matter supported each moment through all its parts by the
direct volitions of Deity; the second, a universe of forces sus-
tained in like manner by the immediate local and voluntary
exertions of the divine power; the third, a universe of ap-
pearances similarly maintained ; the fourth, a universe of ideas
immediately created by God in the mind of the percipient. All
of these different views of the relation of Deity to the universe
have been more or less extensively entertained, and some of
them have found supporters among the best thinkers of the
race. However widely they differ among themselves, they all
agree in this, that they refer the universe, whatever it may be,
whether real, or virtual, or phenomenal, or ideal, to the imme-
diate volitions of Deity. They suppose it to be, through all
its parts, and in all its activities, the expression, representative,
and product of those volitions.
The considerations urged in favor of this theory are, first,
that will-power is the only kind of power of which we have any
knowledge, or of which we can form any conception. Secondly,
that this theory of the universe converts it from an inflexible
machine into a pliant instrument in the hands of God, adapted
to the ends of His moral government.
The first consideration will, I think, be seen, on reflection, to
have little weight. It is true that will-power is the only kind
of power which we know by consciousness, for the good reason
that it is the only kind of power that we consciously exert. But
have we not evidence of the exertion of power outside of our-
144 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
selves? Do we not witness its effects 2 Are they not continu-
ally before us? Do we doubt their reality, or the reality of the
cause producing them 2 And is there anything clearer or more
familiar to us than the distinction between voluntary and invol-
untary power 2 between the power of a man or a horse, and
wind-power, or water-power, or steam-power 2 Are we in any
danger of confounding in thought, or of mistaking in reality,
these two kinds of power 2 Are not the laws of their manifes-
tation different? Is not one brought into exercise by the presen-
tation of motive, and the other determined to action by the sup-
ply of physical conditions? In their varied exhibitions around
us, do we not distinguish them as readily as we distinguish
light from darkness? Is it quite just, then, to say that will-
power is the only power of which we have any knowledge?
But what is will-power 2 How much and what does it in-
clude 2 Is the force of the blow dealt by a strong arm will-
power ? Does will-power extend beyond the mere act of voli-
tion ? The arm is paralyzed. The act of volition is performed
as before. But does the arm move 2 Does the act of volition
in any case do more than liberate and give direction to material
forces already stored in brain and muscle? more than touch the
key of the telegraph 2 or hoist the gate of the water-mill? or
open the valve of the steam-engine 2 or apply the match to the
loaded cannon 2 Is power of body or limb exerted in obedience
to the will, in any proper sense, will-power 2 any more than the
flash of electricity along the telegraph wire, or the thrust of
the piston, or the strain of the wheel, or the force of the ex-
ploding cannon, is man-power 2
Yet further. Are all our actions voluntary? Are not the
larger part of them performed without conscious effort? Is
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 145
any one of our faculties of much use to us till it has been
trained by habit to what closely resembles automatic action ?
Is our best work ever done under the flagellations of the will?
Does not the mind, when most active, quite ignore our power
over it 2 Do we not apply the brake in vain 2 Does not the
train of thought still move on in spite of our effort to stop it?
If volition, then, has so small a part in any of our actions,
and if in the performance of the greater number of them it
does not consciously intervene, Surely our own experience can
afford but a slender basis for the generalization of will-power
over the whole universe.
Nor is the other consideration presented in favor of this of
more weight. The inflexible character of physical events is due
solely to the unvarying order of their occurrence. This order,
which we learn from experience, remains the same, whether we
suppose them to depend immediately upon the volitions of God,
or to grow out of the constitution of things which He has estab-
lished. Nor is there any more difficulty in supposing Him, for
wise reasons, to interpose from time to time and change the
order of events on one theory than on the other. No additional
facilities are offered for the administration of either the moral
or the providential government of the world by supposing all
physical events to be immediately dependent upon the divine
will.
On the other hand, the argument for an Intelligent Author
of nature is greatly weakened, if not wholly destroyed, by such
a supposition. It does away entirely with the idea of second
causes in the physical world, and with that, equally, the idea of
devices, contrivances, instrumentalities, means, ends, and inci-
dents, all of which presuppose second causes, and are impossible
146 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
without them. The immediate dependence of material changes
upon the divine will precludes their dependence upon one an-
other. Their occurrence in a fixed order is not on account of
any connection between them. They arise each one by itself,
in perfect isolation, and hold to one another only a serial rela-
tion. The tie between them must be in the divine nature, from
which they are supposed to proceed directly, subject in their
appearance, as we know, to fixed laws; that nature in evoking
them must act in obedience to these laws, and not for the
attainment of material ends, the very idea of which is excluded
by our theory. The originating cause of all things is thus
placed as far beyond the reach of our faculties, and becomes as
inscrutable to us as Mr. Spencer and men of his school would
make it. The immediate reference of all natural events to the
divine will in reality destroys the distinction between God and
nature, and makes them both the same thing; makes God na-
ture, or makes nature God, whichever way we may prefer to ex-
press it. We have, in fact, Tyndallism and Spencerism, only
reached by a different road.
Permit me now to state briefly what I believe to be the best
view of the relation of God to the universe; the view which is
most philosophical, as I think, and more in accordance with the
teachings of Scripture and of common sense. I suppose matter
to have been created by God. I suppose it to have a real and
not a merely phenomenal existence. I suppose the energies
manifested by it to be inherent. I suppose God to have created
it for wise and good ends, and to have fitted it for entering into
structural devices adapted to the attainment of these ends. In
accordance with this view of its constitution and purpose, I see
around me a whole universe of such devices; and it is from the
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 147
beneficent ends to which they are everywhere ministering that I
learn the character of their Author. These innumerable struc-
tures, as we have already seen, are built up in strict accordance
with the known laws of matter. Moreover, their sole object is
the utilization of material properties and forces. It is only on
the supposition that matter has a real existence and possesses
properties that it can be employed as a means or used as an
instrument. It is only on this supposition that the marvelous
contrivance making up so large a part of the structures of all
animals can subserve any purpose, or have any significance, or
afford any ground for the deductions of natural theology.
But must we not suppose matter, after its creation by God,
to be still dependent upon Him 2 Undoubtedly: to such an
extent that He can at any moment annihilate it as readily as He
brought it into being; and in such a way that if we could sup-
pose His existence to come to an end, the existence of matter
would come to an end with it. But is not a constant exertion
of the divine power necessary to sustain matter in being 2 I do
not know. I see no good reason, however, for supposing it. If
the act of creation was complete, why should further effort be
required on the part of the Creator? Why should the contin-
ued exertion of His power be necessary to keep in being what
He has made, more than to keep Himself in being? According
to Sir William Hamilton's view of creation, which is, perhaps,
as intelligible as any that has been suggested, the universe, be-
fore it came into manifested being, was virtually included in the
divine essence. Why should it require support more than that
essence? Is it objected that such an idea would leave the
Infinite One, after having finished the work of creation, without
further occupation ? Do we know that the work of creation is
148 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLD,S.
finished? Is not space large enough to receive continually new
creations from the hand of the Almighty 2 Do not astronomers
discover indications of such new creations? Does not the tele-
scope reveal the existence, on the outskirts of the visible uni-
verse, of mighty expanses of vaporous matter, out of which
worlds and systems of worlds are believed to be forming? May
not the creation, and pouring into space, of material for new
worlds, together with the moral cast of those which He has
already made and peopled, be supposed a fitting and sufficient
occupation ? Would it add to the dignity or grandeur of our
conception of Him to suppose that besides this He is each mo-
ment holding in existence every atom of matter in the universe?
Having presented for your election these different views of
God’s relation to the natural world, I will venture a few thoughts
on his relation to the moral world. I will premise that I sup-
pose the natural world to have been created for the moral, and
in subordination to it. I suppose that all material provisions, of
whatever nature or wherever found, look ultimately to the wel-
fare of intelligent and sensitive beings.
But is it certain that the requirements of a moral and provi-
dential government can be fully answered by an administration
conducted solely by general laws? May not emergencies be
supposed to arise which such an administration would be inade-
quate to meet, and of so important a character as to justify spe-
cial Divine interpositions? Such emergencies are certainly con-
ceivable, and, when all the facts are considered, would seem not
unlikely to arise.
Now, in case of their actual occurrence, is there any reason,
in the known constitution of things, why God should not inter-
pose, and by the direct exertion of His power secure the impor-
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 149
tant and desired ends 2 No reason whatever. Does science
reveal any difficulties in the way of such interposition ? None
at all; not the slightest difficulty; supposing always the exist-
ence of a personal God, distinct from nature, and not a mere
nature divinity. But has not modern discovery, by extending
the reign of law, increased the embarrassments attending the
doctrine of miracles and of special providences 2 Not at all.
There are no scientific embarrassments attending these doc-
trines. Both miracles and special providences suppose the
reign of law, and would be impossible without it. There can
be no suspension nor modification of a law, unless the law exist.
The whole significance of a miracle depends upon its manifest
want of conformity to law. Special providences, if anything
more is meant by them than God’s general providence in its
relation to individuals, imply equally departure from law, but
under circumstances that preclude observation. Special provi-
dences and answers to prayer come, in respect to this, under the
same category. There are no scientific difficulties lying in the
way of either. Our knowledge of the conditions which control
the ordinary events of life is so imperfect, that interpositions
might be continually taking place all around us without our
being in a single instance able to detect them. The only
question concerning them is a question of fact. Does God in
reality thus intervene, and change the course of physical events,
in furtherance of the interests of his moral government 2 The
question is to be settled, like any other question of fact, upon
evidence. There are no a priori objections to be met, no ante-
cedent improbabilities to be overcome. The proper appeal, and
only proper appeal, is, first, to the sacred Scriptures. For those
who acknowledge their authority, the teachings of these are ul-
150 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
timate as to the general doctrine. They throw no light, how-
ever, upon the question of actual interposition in any given
case. The probability of this can be judged of only from the
attendant circumstances.
Secondly. To experience. This, for reasons already stated,
can at most furnish but presumptive evidence. As the suspen-
sion of law or departure from it is assumed to take place under
circumstances precluding observation, — otherwise it would be
a miracle, and not a special providence, — it is alike impossible
either to prove or disprove it. Probability is the most that can
be attained in either direction. Even in those cases where the
evidence of interposition seems clearest, there are always so many
unknown elements that a wise man will be cautious in forming,
and still more cautious in expressing, an opinion. What most
strikes one, in the plan proposed by Mr. Tyndall a short time
since for testing the efficacy of prayer, is its inadequacy, in a
scientific point of view. No man knows better than he the ne-
cessity, in conducting a chemical investigation, of perfect con-
trol over all the conditions of the problem. And yet, to settle
a question of the Divine procedure in the government of the
World, he suggests an experiment in which not a single one of
the conditions determining the result is fully known or con-
trollable.
But while the doctrine of special providences, including an-
Swers to prayer, has nothing to fear from the assaults of sci-
ence, it is liable to have dishonor cast upon it by unwarrantable
interpretations of God’s purposes in the ordinary events of life.
In fact, the readiness with which many good men discern the
ends of Providence in human affairs has a tendency to weaken
confidence in final causes generally, and thus to unsettle the
THE NATURA L AND MORAL WORLDS. 151
foundation of all religious faith. If, instead of seeking to pene-
trate the purposes of God, men would occupy themselves with
endeavors to learn His will, their studies would be more fruitful
of both wisdom and piety. The design of the Scriptures, so far
as I am able to understand them, is to assure us of God’s care,
and of His willingness to hear our prayers, and to answer them
in such way and to such extent as He may see best. When
these teachings are pressed further than this, and made to jus-
tify special interpretations of His providence, it is done, as it
seems to me, quite without warrant. *
It should be further remembered that frequent interpositions
in respect to physical events may not be necessary for securing
the ends of the Divine government. As the manner in which
these events affect us will always depend much upon our own
and other men's actions, God may as easily turn them to His
purposes by touching human wills as by changing the action of
natural causes and intercepting the lines of antecedent and con-
sequent in the outward world. Although the avalanche pause
not in its precipitous descent, the traveller may be removed
from the place overwhelmed by it. Although the tempest
sweep onward, abating not a jot of its fury, the vessel may be
turned from its track, and reach in safety the desired haven.
The attempt is sometimes made to show how God may inter-
vene in human affairs without suspension of natural laws, or in-
terruption of the orderly flow of events. In endeavors of this
sort recourse is had to human analogies. These, however, fail
to meet the requirements of the problem. Moreover, the use
that is made of them often discloses a painful misconception in
regard to the sources of material phenomena. Why talk of the
manipulation of laws, or of an arrangement far back out of
152 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
human sight, for changing the course of physical events similar
to that by which the direction of the locomotive, with its train
of cars, is changed 2 Is it not far better to state and maintain,
as taught by the Scriptures, the simple doctrine of interposition,
without attempting to explain the mode 2 Are not infinite re-
sources at the Divine command 2 May not God as easily touch
by the finger of His power, in the atoms themselves, the source
of all natural phenomena as manipulate laws, whatever we are
to understand by the expression ? If it is meant that God may
employ natural agents for accomplishing His purposes in the
same manner as man employs them for the accomplishment of
his purposes, namely, by means of appropriate contrivances such
as the water-wheel, the windmill, the steam-engine, and the
magnetic telegraph, does this tend to simplify, or in any man-
ner facilitate our conception of the Divine interposition ? How
much better, how much more dignified, how much safer every
way, to leave the doctrine just as the Scriptures leave it, with-
out an attempt at explanation 1 Occupying a position that is
impregnable, it needs no support from human analogies.
But does not the prevalence of law in the natural world, it
will be asked, render petitions touching physical events of
doubtful propriety? Not if the conditions determining them
are unknown to us. Any future event in which we, or our
friends, or our country, or the world, is interested, so long as
the will of God concerning it is unknown, is, I think, a proper
subject for prayer. After that will has become apparent, we
cease to pray. Our duty, then, is submission. Let me illus-
trate. A friend is sick. Surely it is proper for us to ask God
that He will restore him to health. The symptoms increase in
gravity. Not knowing the will of God, we still pray for his re-
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 153
covery. At length a stage is reached in the disease beyond
which recovery, without a miracle, is impossible. We no longer
pray for his restoration to health, but ask that he may be pre-
pared for the change awaiting him. All this is as reasonable
and Christian as it is natural. The impulse to pray springs
from a sense of our dependence, and its propriety under given
circumstances depends much upon the state of our knowledge.
What, indeed, are any of our petitions but the requests of weak-
ness and ignorance preferred to an Almighty and Omniscient In-
telligence? There should run through them all the refrain of
submission, not my will, but thine be done.
Take another illustration. With our present meteorological
knowledge, I think there can be no doubt of the propriety
of asking God for the genial sunshine, for timely rains, and
for fruitful seasons, as well as for exemption from devastating
storms on land and at sea. I do not see how any intelligent,
thoughtful man can question either the suitableness or the piety
of such prayers. They are as right as they are natural. Should
the conditions determining the movements of the atmosphere
ever be brought within calculable formulas, so that the phases
of the sky could be predicted with as much certainty as an
eclipse of the moon, or a transit of Venus, – which is not at
all probable, – then our relations to the weather would be en-
tirely changed. God having given us the power of foreseeing
atmospheric changes, it would be but reasonable that He should
require us to accommodate our movements to them. To neglect
doing this, and then ask Him to work a miracle for us, would
be an act of presumption. It would not be prayer, but a tempt-
ing of God. Warm years and cold years, rainy seasons and dry
Seasons, winds and calms and floods and tempests, being as cer-
154 THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS.
tainly foreknown by us as the alternations of day and night,
or the orderly succession of spring, Summer, autumn, and win-
ter, would cease to be subjects for prayer, and the department of
nature to which they belong would no longer be a theatre for
special providences. It is not the certainty of any future event,
nor the Divine decree in regard to it, but our knowledge of that
certainty, and of the Divine decree, that makes petitions con-
cerning it unallowable.
The thoughts which I have ventured to offer on the relation
of God to the natural and moral worlds are : That matter was
in the beginning created by God.
That it has a real existence, and possesses inherent energies.
That it is dependent upon God to such an extent that He can
at any moment annihilate it; and in such a way that, could we
suppose His existence ever to come to an end, the existence of
matter would come to an end with it.
That there is no sufficient reason for supposing matter to be
dependent for its continued existence or for its powers upon the
immediate and ceaseless volitions of Deity.
That matter is used by God as an instrument, and always in
strict accordance with its properties.
That it is from the innumerable devices resorted to, for mak-
ing these properties available for special ends, that we gain a
knowledge of the divine existence and character; or, in other
words, God, the great first cause, reveals to us His being and
attributes through the use which He makes of second causes in
accomplishing His beneficent purposes. But for such use of
second causes we should have no evidence of a powerful and in-
telligent existence back of them. They would be to us ultimate
CallS6S.
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 155
That there is no reason in the known constitution of things
why God, in the administration of His moral government, should
not secure, by the direct exertion of His power, important ends
not otherwise provided for.
That science reveals no difficulties in the way of such inter-
positions.
That when manifest and addressing the senses, we call them
miracles; when hidden from our sight, special providences.
That whether such interpositions ever have occurred, or do
now occur, is simply a question of fact, to be settled on evidence.
Science has nothing to do with it.
That what the doctrine of interpositions, whether miraculous
or otherwise, has most to fear from is the want of boldness and
consistency in its maintenance. And, finally,
That any future event in which we are interested, so long as
the will of God concerning it is unknown to us, is a proper sub-
ject for prayer.
COLLATERAL PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT FROM
DESIGN.
LECTURE W.
WE have seen thus far in the course of our inquiry that
the physical world is written all over with the evidences of in-
telligence and design; that these do not appear only in the
structure and endowments of organized beings, but are still
more strikingly exhibited in the delicate adjustments of the
vast system of machinery by which, out of materials the most
unpromising, such beings are everywhere in process of forma-
tion; that the innumerable contrivances which are seen in na-
ture, or, more properly speaking, which constitute nature, all
look to beneficent ends; that when without additional provisions
these ends would be imperfectly attained, or trouble and an-
noyance would be caused by the instrumentalities employed in
reaching them, such supplementary provisions, remedial or pre-
ventive, are as far as practicable appended to the main design :
that incidental evils, so largely checked or remedied, do not
suppose either imperfection in the divine goodness or limitation
of the divine power; that the relation of God as Creator to
the natural world supposes the ability to change at His pleas-
ure the order of material phenomena, but does not necessarily
suppose the dependence of those phenomena, as they ordinarily
arise, upon His immediate volitions; that the only alternative
to natural and revealed theism, which are substantially one, is
PRO OFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 157
materialism or pantheism, which differ from one another in lit-
tle but nomenclature; that materialism is embarrassed at every
step with the gravest difficulties; that these difficulties are met
by a succession of hypotheses having no foundation in ascer-
tained facts and with but the slenderest support from analogies;
and that some of them involve not merely what is incomprehen-
sible, but what is absolutely unthinkable.
I now proceed to inquire whether beyond the evidences of in-
telligence and purpose in nature, — using this term in its broadest
sense, including man as well as the external universe, – whether
beyond the evidences of mind in nature there be not other facts
which, though not in themselves proving the existence of a per-
sonal God, are more readily explained on that supposition than
on any other, and so far support and strengthen the argument
from design. I will first ask your attention to the proportion
and harmony existing among the infinities which lie all around
us, which the imagination cannot indeed grasp, but of whose
reality the reason and observed phenomena give us assurance.
I do not here refer to space and time; these are conceived by us
as necessary. We cannot in thought annihilate them. Neither
can we in thought affix any limits to them. Though the whole
universe were blotted out of existence, these would still remain.
They have been made the basis of a direct argument for the ex-
istence of an Infinite Being to whom they are supposed to hold
the relation of attributes. The argument was first proposed,
if I remember rightly, by Dr. Samuel Clarke. It afterwards
received a quasi indorsement from Bishop Butler. It is, how-
ever, founded on a misapprehension of the nature of space and
time. They are not conceived by us as existences, or as the
attributes of any existence, but as antecedent conditions of all
158 PROOFS OF THE A R G UMENT FROM DESIGN.
being. They are necessary ideas of the human intelligence.
We cannot divest ourselves of them nor of the belief in cor-
responding outward realities.
However the ideas of space and time may have found their
way into the mind — and about this philosophers are not agreed
— they have been vastly extended by the revelations of science;
and it is through these that we have become acquainted with
another order of infinities— less absolute, it may be, but equally
transcending our powers of thought — an order of created in-
finities occupying space and time, and, possibly, commensurate
with them. It is through these created infinities that the great-
ness and power of the Creator are disclosed: nor is it possible
to form a sublimer conception of Him than these under the
light of modern discovery are fitted to impart. The finite every-
where opens into the infinite. Whichever way we turn, there
stretch out before us limitless vistas of being. If we direct
our gaze backward, it is met by an endless line of events which
finally loses itself in the depths of a past eternity. Wherever we
are, to whatever part of creation we in imagination transport our-
selves, fathomless abysses of power still open beneath and around
us. It is true science is directly concerned only with second
causes. But by widening continually the visible empire of these
it opens to us larger and more sublime views of the first cause.
Instead of hunting God from the universe as it has sometimes
boasted, and as timid minds have feared that it would do, it has
been constantly discovering new grandeurs and glories which
only reflect more brightly the divine perfections. How do our
minds dilate with conceptions of the power of God, when, on a
serene winter night, we gaze into the heavens in the light of all
that modern discovery has made known to us; when we recall
PRO OFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 159
and in imagination try to realize the magnitudes and distances of
the countless orbs above and around us which illumine the far-
off depths of space; when we remember that the whole visible
firmament is but the hem of the garment of materiality in
which it hath pleased the Infinite One to enrobe Himself; that
beyond the utmost reach of our unaided vision are other firma-
ments equal in magnitude and splendor to our own, which the
telescope alone reveals to us; and that still more distant, on the
outskirts of the visible creation, are discerned tracts of faintly
luminous matter out of which new worlds and systems of worlds
are believed to be in process of formation. The microscope, too,
discloses to our wondering gaze equal marvels of the divine
handiwork, - beings so minute that thousands of them together
can scarcely be perceived by the naked eye; and yet every one
perfectly organized, built up of parts, and these parts again com-
posed of myriads of atoms, each one of which, in the light of
the most advanced teaching of science, expands into a cluster
of worlds. The infinitely little and the infinitely great equally
transcend the powers of human thought. To God they are
alike easy and are alike characteristic of the works of His hand.
In proportion to the vastness of God’s plans is the length of
time embraced in their execution. A thousand years are with
Him as one day. How impressive an illustration of this truth do
we have in the past history of the earth ; in the slow progress
of the changes by which He prepared it, step by step, for human
habitation 1 Although the end must have been distinctly in
view from the beginning, periods of time were occupied in reach-
ing it which appall and bewilder when we try to realize them.
And yet, what is the entire lapse of the geologic ages but a point
on the dial-plate of that eternity which He inhabiteth !
160 PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
Equally in harmony with the comprehensiveness of God's
plans and the vast periods of time involved in them are the ex-
haustless provisions of energy for ceaselessly carrying them for-
ward. We hear much in these days of the conservation of force,
of its indestructibility, of its disappearance in one form only to
be followed by its reappearance in another and equivalent form.
From the manner in which it is often referred to, we might im-
agine that this law alone was sufficient to account for the unin-
terrupted flow of events in the natural world, without supposing
continual upwellings of fresh energy from the bosom of matter.
Let us consider for a moment what is really embraced in the
doctrine of the conservation of force, and what, should the doc-
trine ever be established, it would be adequate to explain.
Force is known to us under two essentially different forms;
the most familiar of these, as well as the best understood, is that
exhibited by a moving body. It is not inherent nor fixed, but
free to pass from the body in which it for the time appears to
any other body. This second body may in turn transmit it to
a third, and so on indefinitely. Matter thus serves as a mere
vehicle of this kind of force; and if, as is believed, its ultimate
molecules are perfectly elastic, it will receive and transmit it
without loss. This force of matter in motion may be transferred
from mass to mass, or from mass to atoms, or from atoms to mass,
or from atoms to atoms. After all these transfers, the force or
the quantity of motion by which it is measured will remain the
same, supposing always the perfect elasticity of the ultimate
constituents of bodies. Such, neither more nor less, is the doc-
trine of the conservation of force, including its convertibility.
The force of matter in motion is as widely diffused as matter
itself; for matter is nowhere at rest. Its masses are in motion.
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 16]
Its atoms are in motion. The sun, with its attendant worlds, is
ceaselessly urging its way through unknown regions of space.
Even the stars, so long regarded as fixed, are believed to be
slowly changing their positions. In the case of many of them,
movement has already been demonstrated, and we may presume
it would be discoverable in all but for their vast distances from
us. Indeed, the law of gravitation would seem to necessitate
movement in all the aggregated masses of matter within its em-
brace. The earth, besides turning daily upon its axis, and par-
taking of the common motion of our system through space,
makes its annual journey round the sun, traveling at the rate
of more than a thousand miles per minute. Every particle of
matter in it has its own movement, vibrating, gyrating, or ro-
tating, according to the nature of the impulse communicated to
it. All matter is restless. To ears sufficiently delicate, there
would be atomic music as well as the music of the spheres. “A
grain of dust,” says President Wurtz, in his late address before
the French Association for the Promotion of Science, “is full
of innumerable multitudes of material unities, each one of which
is agitated by movements. All vibrates in the little world. In
that as well as the great, motion is the universal law.” This
motion is both transferable and convertible, the quantity always
remaining the same. The gentle pulses of the solar beam put the
winds in motion. These beat upon the ocean and communicate
a portion of their force to its waves. The waves, dashing for a
time against one another, and breaking, it may be, upon adja-
cent coasts, at length sink to rest. In doing so, they evolve as
much heat as was expended in raising them. Their visible mo-
tion, which has disappeared, is replaced by an equal amount of
invisible molecular, or heat motion. The steam-engine derives
11
162 PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN.
its power from the incessant bombardment of its piston by the
imprisoned molecules of steam. There is a loss of invisible or
heat motion equal in amount to that which appears in the work-
ing of the engine and attached machinery. Were the earth to
be arrested by a sudden shock in its course round the sun, all
its motion would be converted into molecular or heat motion,
and would be sufficient, it has been estimated, to raise the tem-
perature of the entire mass through 11,200 degrees, and turn
the greater part of it into vapor. If, when brought to rest in its
orbit, it were allowed to fall upon the sun, as it would, if left to
itself, with continually increasing velocity, the heat evolved, it
is calculated, would be four hundred times greater. If all the
stellar suns, including our own, with their accompanying worlds,
were suddenly brought by the fiat of Omnipotence to a state
of rest, their motions of rotation and translation, converted into
molecular or heat motion, might be sufficient to cause a return
to their original nebulous condition, or, without change of tem-
perature, to carry them back to the regions of space where they
first appeared.
In all of these supposed cases, it will be perceived, we have
only the conversion of one kind of motion into another; and
if, as assumed, it takes place without loss of motion, it is be-
cause, as already stated, of the perfect elasticity of the constit-
uent molecules of bodies. But upon what does the elasticity of
these molecules depend? Upon each molecule being held in its
position, by an exact balance of attractive and repulsive forces,
unceasingly in action, but varying in intensity with the distance
of the molecules, though not according to the same law. These
forces, unlike the force of matter in motion, are fixed, incom-
municable, untransferable. They may originate motion, but
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. I63
experience no loss of energy in doing so. The motion orig-
inated by them may be either molecular or heat motion, or
motion of masses, that is, motion of translation. Chemical
affinity gives rise to the first, and the attraction of gravitation
to the second. When motion of either kind has been produced
by these inherent forces of matter, it may be converted into the
other without loss. But the conversion is effected, it should be
remembered, only through the agency of these permanent un-
derlying forces, inscrutable as they are exhaustless. There is,
in fact, no proper conversion of motion. There is the arrest of
one kind of motion and the origination of another equal in
amount. A little reflection will show this.
In every molecular vibration there is alternate destruction and
renewal of force. At the limits of the vibratory movement the
molecule has its motion taken from it, and is brought to a mo-
mentary state of rest. A new motion is then communicated to
it, equal in amount, but in the opposite direction. The phe-
nomenon is analogous to that of the shuttlecock playing be-
tween two battledoors. The continual playing of this, back-
wards and forwards, might as well be taken as an instance of
the conversion of force. All that we have, however, in either
case, is the destruction and renewal of force following one an-
other in rapid succession. The shock of the avalanche is
received by the elastic molecules of its own mass, and of the
rocks and earth upon which it sticks. These molecules approx-
imate one another until the increase of repulsive energy is suffi-
cient to balance the force of the descending mass, and thus
arrest its motion. The more energetic repulsion produced by
the momentary approximation of the molecules intensifies these
vibratory movements, and causes a proportionate rise in tem-
164 PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
perature. In all cases where one form of motion disappears,
and another comes into view and takes its place, we shall find,
on examination, that it is by the intermediation of these under-
lying forces of attraction and repulsion, in comparison with
which the force of moving bodies, however vast it may be, or
however widely diffused through the universe, is but a grain of
sand on the sea-shore, or a single drop amid the oceanic waters.
Gunpowder, nitro-glycerine, or the fulminates of mercury and
silver, may serve to give us some idea of the forces, attractive
and repulsive, embosomed in all matter. They are not greater
in these than in other substances, but only in less stable equi-
librium. Every cubic inch of earth, or rock, or wood, or flesh,
holds in disguise forces as great, attractions and repulsions as
intense, as the most explosive compound ever invented by man.
We have seen with what velocity — a thousand miles per min-
ute — the earth flies along its orbit; and yet the sun, at the
distance of nearly a hundred millions of miles, by its silent
attraction, takes from it all its motion, and imparts to it an
equal amount in an opposite direction, twice every year. The
sun is, in like manner, bending all the other planets into curvi-
linear movements above itself. And although it has been doing
this enormous amount of work during the entire geologic ages,
it shows no signs of exhaustion nor decline of power. These
mighty forces of attraction and repulsion, in ceaseless operation,
as active and fresh and full of energy now as on the morning
of creation, profoundly mysterious, as inscrutable as they are
mighty, which no thoughtful man can contemplate without awe,
and which, embodied in nature, some of our scientific friends
would have us worship as the only and true God: these forces,
I say, are not limited to the material universe, but extend out
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 165
into the surrounding ether. Indeed, it is in this thin fluid, if it
be a fluid, that energy is most conspicuously manifested. So
great is its tenuity, that wavelets are formed in it only the sixty
thousandth part of an inch in breadth; and with such intensity
do its particles repel one another, that these wavelets are prop-
agated through it with the amazing velocity of two hundred
thousand miles per second ; or about a million times faster than
sound-waves travel through the air. We have in this subtle
essence as near an approach to pure force, or force without
matter, as it is possible for the mind to conceive.
How insignificant, then, is the mere force of moving bodies,
to which alone the law of convertibility and conservation ap-
plies, by the side of mighty, living forces, pervading all matter,
emerging apparently from its atoms, taking on the forms of at-
traction and repulsion, or at least most readily conceived by us
under these forms, ever active, not only originating all motion,
but converting and conserving it when originated Or what is
this same force of moving bodies in comparison with the ocean
of ethereal energy, embosoming the material universe, and
stretching on, it may be, through the infinitudes of space 2 It
is in these ever living forces, pervading all things, sustaining all
things, encompassing all things, – the source of all motion, tire-
less, exhaustless, infinite, – that the power of the Omnipotent
One is most distinctly adumbrated. They are only, however, in
due proportion to the vast plan for whose execution they were
provided, - a plan embracing the whole visible and invisible
creation, and reaching down through the cycles of eternity.
They illustrate the harmonious perfections of Him who is in
all and over all.
I proceed to notice very briefly certain endowments of the
166 PRO OFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
human mind or soul which might be expected if it were formed
by a personal God, but which are not so readily explained on
any other supposition. There can be no doubt that a sense
of duty, the feeling of dependence, the sentiment of reverence,
and an impulse to worship, belong essentially to the nature of
man. Equally universal with these, however originating, is the
belief in a superior Intelligence, or superior Intelligences, to-
wards whom the religious sentiments are directed. As the testi-
mony of Mr. Herbert Spencer on this subject cannot be thought
prejudiced, I give it. “That the countless different,” I quote
his words, “ and yet allied phenomena, presented by all relig-
ions, are accidental, or factitious, is an untenable supposition.
A candid examination of the evidence quite negatives the doc-
trine maintained by some that creeds are priestly inventions.
Even as a mere question of probabilities, it cannot rationally be
concluded that in every Society, past and present, Savage and
civilized, certain members of the community have combined to
delude the rest in ways so analogous. To any who may allege
that some primitive fiction was devised by some primitive priest-
hood before yet mankind had diverged from a common centre,
a reply is furnished by philology; for philology proves the dis-
persion of mankind to have commenced before there existed a
language sufficiently organized to express religious ideas. More-
over, were it otherwise tenable, the hypothesis of an artificial
origin fails to account for the facts. It does not explain why,
under all changes of form, certain elements of religious belief
remain constant. It does not show us how it happens that,
while adverse criticism has from age to age gone on destroying
particular theological dogmas, it has not destroyed the funda-
mental conception underlying these dogmas. It leaves us with-
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 167
out any solution of the striking circumstance that when, from
the absurdities and corruptions accumulating around them, na-
tional creeds have fallen into discredit, ending in indifferentism
or positive denial, there has always by and by arisen a reasser-
tion of them, if not the same in form, still the same in essence.
Thus the universality of religious ideas, their independent evo-
lution among different primitive races, and their great vitality,
unite in showing that their source must be deep-seated instead
of superficial. In other words, we are obliged to admit that if
not supernaturally derived, as the majority contend, they must
be derived out of human experiences, slowly accumulated, and
organized.
“Should it be asserted that religious ideas are products of
the religious sentiment, which, to gratify itself, prompts imagi-
nations that it afterwards projects into the external world, and
‘by and by mistakes for realities; the problem is not solved, but
only removed further back. Whether the wish be father to the
thought, or whether sentiment and idea have a common gen-
esis, there equally arises the question, Whence comes the senti-
ment 2 That it is a constituent in man's nature is implied by
the hypothesis, and cannot be denied by those who prefer other
hypotheses.”
This view of the human constitution, so forcibly presented by
Mr. Spencer, is borne out by the teachings of history. All the
great faiths which have swayed mankind are believed to have
been originally monotheistic. The belief in one God, eternal
and omnipotent, the Source and Author of all things, would
seem to be native to the human soul; or, if not native, to be
an immediate inspiration of the reason and conscience. Idola-
try and polytheism appear as corruptions of this belief. In
168 PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
Buddhism and Brahminism, as we first find them, and also in
that marvelous faith which prevailed so many thousand years
ago on the banks of the Nile, the fundamental truths of natural
religion stand out with scarcely less prominence than in Judaism
or Christianity. The spiritual needs of man are recognized,
and provision in different ways is made for them. The moral
law is promulgated under divine sanctions. Some of its noblest
utterances are anticipated by the founders of the early faiths
and philosophies. Confucius, who lived between five and six
hundred years before our era, is said to have enjoined the
doing unto others as we would have them do unto us. At a
still earlier period, the obligation to love God, and to do good
to man, to give food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, cloth-
ing to the naked, and shelter to the outcast, was recognized by
the devout Copt. Many of the precepts of Buddha call to
mind the inspired wisdom of Solomon, and even the more di-
vine words of Him who spake as never man spoke. The late
Bishop Cotton, in an address to the students of a missionary
institution at Calcutta, advised them to use a certain hymn of
the Rig Veda, the most ancient of the Hindu Scriptures, in
their daily prayers. Socrates, who lived at a later period, but
still more than four hundred years before Christ, thought it
was noble to forgive injuries, and do good to enemies, but knew
that men were not prepared for so unselfish and God-like a
virtue.
I do not refer to this universal recognition of a supreme
Being, and of the duty of rendering obedience and homage to
Him, as a proof of the actual existence of such a Being, al-
though it has been so considered, but simply as showing that
man is constituted precisely as we should expect him to be con-
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 169
stituted on that supposition, — that the endowments of his na-
ture are in harmony with that supposition, and more readily ex-
plained upon it than upon any other supposition. They thus
support and corroborate the argument from the marks of de-
sign, so apparent in every part of nature. Had the constitution
of man been different, an explanation would have been de-
manded, which theism could hardly have furnished. As it is,
theism, and theism only, satisfactorily accounts for his consti-
tution.
But the most important support to all the truths of natural
religion — the fullest confirmation of them — is derived from
Revelation. More light was needed than nature alone can give.
So strongly was this felt by Socrates that he looked for some
communication from an immediate and divine source. Indeed,
if God had never spoken, if the grave had remained forever si-
lent, the very fact would shroud in deeper mystery the problems
of man’s origin and destiny. In moments when faith is weak,
and a world of matter and sense presses hard on every side, and
God holds Himself from us ; when we go forward, but He is
not there, and backward, but we cannot perceive Him; on the
right hand where He doth work, but we cannot behold Him ;
and He hideth Himself on the left hand that we cannot see
Him, and there is no audible or visible response to our most
passionate yearnings after Him ; we need all the assurance of
His presence and care that a direct revelation from Him can
give us.
Christianity both supplements and confirms natural religion.
By assuming the fundamental truths of natural religion, it
lends to them the support of its own evidences, internal, his-
toric, and miraculous. Natural religion, in turn, renders to
170 PRO OFS OF THE A R G UMENT FROM DESIGN.
Christianity scarcely less important services. They mutually
strengthen and support each other. Natural religion has inhe-
rent and necessary defects; Christianity supplies them. Natu-
ral religion contains within it a prophecy of better things to
come ; Christianity is the fulfillment of that prophecy. Natural
religion reaches out into the darkness, and with uncertain hand
feels after immortality; Christianity brings it to light. Natu-
ral religion, under a sense of guilt and ill-desert, piles its altars
with costly sacrifices, in the hope of averting the divine wrath,
and propitiating the divine favor, but neither peace nor joy
comes through them ; Christianity offers free pardon for sin,
and the joy of innocence and hope of heaven, through an infi-
nite and divine atonement made by God’s own Son, sufficient
for the whole race. Natural religion has exhausted its resources
in endeavors to make men better ; with what success the his-
tory of the world, and of the faiths which have prevailed in it,
sufficiently shows. These faiths, although generally founded on
the truths of natural religion, have utterly failed to purify and
elevate humanity. Nay, they have themselves sunk, one after
another, under the weight of corruptions with which they were
overlaid by human interests and human passions, and which
they had not vitality and strength enough to throw off. Chris-
tianity has at command new forces, and employs a different
method. It does not attempt to reform merely ; it regenerates.
It does not seek to gather grapes from thorns, nor figs from
thistles. It puts the grape in place of the thorn, and the fig in
place of the thistle. It reaches conduct through character, and
character through its hidden sources in the soul. It renovates,
purifies, and elevates society, by renovating, purifying, and ele-
vating all the members of society. It is, moreover, endowed
FIRO OFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 171
with an intensity of life and vigor which enables it not only to
free itself from the rubbish of error and abuses which time col-
lects about it, but to burst the forms in which men would im-
prison it, and snap the withes of creeds with which they attempt
to bind it.
Many of the difficulties of natural religion disappear under
the light of Christianity. How, for instance, does the revealed
fact, that this world is intended as a place for moral probation;
that all its arrangements bear upon that end; that the chief
purpose of life is the formation of character, and that our ex-
istence here is only preparatory to another and higher existence
beyond this world, – how do these revealed facts change the
aspects of our earthly being and condition ? Mysteries are
resolved; fears are dissipated ; darkness gives place to light;
good comes out of evil; and suffering, disease, and death are
turned into angels of mercy.
I have said that natural religion is best understood when
studied in the light of Christianity, - that there is much in
God’s Book of Nature which Christianity alone interprets. Per-
mit me to add, that I think it almost equally important that the
truths of revelation should be studied in the light of natural
religion. Unless so studied, our conceptions of them are liable
to be narrowed and distorted by the medium through which
they are presented. In the Book of Nature God speaks to us
in His own language, and says what is unutterable in any form
of human speech. In the Book of Revelation, He speaks to us
in a human language, and under human forms of thought.
The communication must be adapted to the limited and imper-
fect vehicle through which it reaches us. Who can gaze into
the heavens, or look out upon the ocean, without feeling how
172 PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
inadequate any combination of mere words must be, to embody
and express the divine thought ! It is by studying the Word of
God and the works of God, each in the light of the other, that
we may hope to arrive at the truest and fullest knowledge of
His character, and learn more of His will and purpose concern-
ing us. Not a little of the breadth and strength and power of
Bishop Butler was due to his having drawn so largely from both
SOUll’COS.
I have not thus far spoken of the bearings of the important
question which we have been considering upon the interests and
destinies of humanity. In closing, I may be permitted briefly
to refer to them, though not in the character of argument. The
doctrines of a personal God and a human soul stand or fall to-
gether. No God, no soul, no hereafter. The grave is our end
— the bound of all our hopes and fears and joys. We lie
down in it, in eternal forgetfulness. Indeed, it is the percep-
tion of this consequence of materialism and pantheism that
commends these faiths to some of our scientific friends. They
see in them deliverance for mankind from the fears of a here-
after. How different is the spirit of Mr. Edward B. Tylor, as
manifested in his work on “Primitive Culture,” one of the ablest
and saddest books which I have ever read, - sad, from the con-
stant reflection by its pages of struggle with unbelief. At the
close of one of his chapters on animism, he speaks of the doc-
trine of a future state as follows : —
He who believes that his thread of life will be severed once and for-
ever by the fatal shears, well knows that he wants a purpose and joy
in life which belongs to him who looks for a life to come. Few mon
feel real contentment in the expectation of vanishing out of conscious
existence, henceforth, like the great Buddha, to exist only in their
PROOR'S OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 173
works. To remain incarnate in the memory of friends is something.
A few great Spirits may enjoy, in the reverence of future ages, a thou-
sand years or so of “subjective immortality; ” though, as for mankind
at large, the individual’s personal interest hardly extends beyond those
who have lived in his time, while his own memory scarcely outlives the
third and fourth gºneration. But, over and above these secular mo-
tives, the belief in immortality extends its powerful influence through
life, and culminates at the last hour, when, setting aside the very evi-
dence of their senses, the mourners smile through their tears and say it
is not death, but life.
If, turning away alike from the teachings of nature and the
teachings of revelation, we refuse to believe in a personal God,
in what shall we believe? If, deaf to the innumerable voices
which come from without and from within, we reject theism,
what shall we take in its place 2 Shall it be atheism, or mate-
rialism, or pantheism 2 Not atheism, surely ; not shallow, un-
reasoning atheism. Anything better than that. Better the
rehabilitation in nature of her ancient divinities. Better for
head, better for heart, better for soul. Better that Apollo
should again curb with his strong arm the fiery steeds of the
Sun, – the swift-footed Hours dancing in faithful attendance
around his flying car. Better that Neptune should once more
traverse the ocean in his dolphin-drawn chariot, ruling by his
trident the waves, with a huge train of gamboling monsters in
his wake. Better that the forests should be still peopled by
dryads, and that every river and brook and fountain should have
its naiad. Better that the features of a god should look out
from every knoll and rock and tree than that a blank, dead
atheism should spread over and empale all nature.
Shall it be materialism, with its vast masses and mighty forces
174 PROOFS OF THE A R G UMENT FROM DESIGN.
and eternal processes 2 Better this than atheism. Shall we
worship masses and forces and processes 2 if we can ; it is bet-
ter than no worship. Shall we say to nature, embodying those
masses and forces and processes, but irradiated by no light
of mind, Thou art our God 2 Better a Nature God, uncon-
scious and without intelligence, than no God. But let us look
at materialism a little more nearly, and what it really is ;
what it gives us; how it evolves the order and harmony of the
universe, and what and for what man is made by it. It may be
profitable to listen a moment to its teachings. Whence this fair
world, with all its provisions for the support of such myriads of
joyous existences? “It was self-evolved. Mind had no part
in its production. All its apparent array of means was the
mere result of chance — one of the possible issues of an original
chaos of atoms, every one of whose movements was determined
by blind law. Nature, not God; Nature, herself blind and un-
conscious, is the author of all these nicely-adjusted arrange-
ments — of all this furniture of life in the heavens above us,
and in the earth under us. After countless ages of unconscious
struggle, of combinations and recombinations, of constructions
and reconstructions innumerable, this grand result was at length
blindly reached.” Whence the innumerable tribes of plants and
animals by which the earth is tenanted ? “Nature, after having
by a whole past etermity of unconscious struggles accidentally
effected the organization of our planet, continued her blind
efforts, and at length, by a chance combination of the right ele-
ments, gave birth to the first living being. A starting-point
was thus secured for a new series of developments. From this
starting-point life was carried upwards, partly by fortunate acci-
dents rewarding the uninterrupted struggles of Nature, partly
PROOFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN. 175
by the conscious and voluntary efforts of the individual to adapt
himself to new conditions, and partly by natural selection or the
survival of the fittest. Millions of ages roll away. The mol-
luscan, ichthian, reptilian, and mammalian types are successively
reached. At length the persevering efforts of unconscious Na-
ture, seconded by favoring circumstances and happy chances,
are rewarded by the appearance of one of the quadrumana.” And
what of man 2 “Man comes next. He is a monkey of larger
growth; with cranium more developed, and extremities more spe-
cialized,—but still a monkey. His parentage is revealed in every
feature. His life, too, shows it. He is born and grows up. He
eats; he drinks; he sleeps ; he loves ; he hates; he hopes; he
fears; he dies. His intelligence is greater, owing to the larger
size of his brain. Hence he clothes himself; he builds houses;
he plants trees; he rides; he dances; he buys; he sells; he
talks about philosophy and law, free-will and foreordination,
and evidence of design, and causes efficient and final, and es-
sences material and spiritual. But after thus riding and dan-
cing and talking away the brief span of his existence, he dies
like the monkey, and, like the monkey, transfers the life, which
he had received from others, to the worms that feed upon him.
His dust goes to feed the roots of a neighboring tree, or clothe
with fresh beauty the flowers that bloom over it.” And is that
all? That is all. Such is undisguised materialism. Shall
we embrace it, and give up the worship of God and hope of
heaven 2
Nor has pantheism more to recommend it. In fact, it differs
from materialism in little but name. The substance of things
remains the same, whether we call it matter or whether we call
it God. Both deny the existence of a personal Intelligence
176 PRO OFS OF THE ARG UMENT FROM DESIGN.
(with the attributes of will and character), and it is only such a
Being that can awaken our love and reverence, or that we can
draw near to in worship. Pantheism is as much at variance
with the evidences of design in the external world as material-
ism. It is also as far from satisfying the demands of our spir-
itual nature. What is it to me, when my heart reaches out after
God, and I fain would know Him, to be informed that He is all
around me, in everything which I see and handle; that the food
which I eat, the water which I drink, the garments which I wear,
and the ground upon which I tread, are parts of Him 2 What
is it to me, when my soul is filled with dread and horror at
thought of falling into naught, when I pant for life — for
“ more life and fuller' — for life immortal 2 What is it to me
to be assured that death is only a change; that, though I shall
personally cease to exist, the elements of my being will con-
tinue; that they will enter into new combinations and minister
to new forms of life; that they will cut the air in wing of bird,
or cleave the water in fin of fish, or blush in the rose, or ex-
hale in fragrance from the lily, or flutter in the breeze, or dance
in the Sunbeam, or vibrate in ether, or seek, it may be, enduring
repose in bed of limestone or block of granite? I turn indig-
nantly away from all this impertinence, to listen to the voices of
nature and the voice of revelation, and receive from all around,
within, and above me, the assurance of a personal God and
Heavenly Father, who knows and loves me, and whom I, made
in His likeness, may know and love and dwell with forever.
A D IS C. O U R S E
COMMEMORATIVE OF
FRANCIS WAYL AND,
DELIVERED BEFORE THE ALUMNI OF BROWN UNIVERSITY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1866.
ALUMNI OF BROWN UNIVERSITY : -
Since we last gathered on this consecrated spot, to extend to
one another the hand of cordial greeting, and to receive afresh
the benediction of our Alma Mater, a great sorrow has fallen
upon us. He whose presence was so intimately associated with
these scenes, who more than any one else attracted hither our
annual pilgrimages, whom we so honored and loved, our early
instructor and guide and friend, whose prayers ceased not daily
to ascend for us, and whose blessing ever followed us, the great,
the good, the venerated Wayland is no more. How did the sad
tidings, when first borne by telegraph over the land, smite upon
our hearts How did pursuit for a time pall, and desire slacken,
and motive fail A part of our very being seemed taken from
us. The same sky was no longer over us. A light, which had
beamed so long and so benignantly upon us, had gone out.
The same atmosphere was no longer around us. A great heart,
with such power of sustaining and comforting by its sympathies,
had ceased to beat. A grand and heroic nature, whose simple
12
178 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
presence was an inspiration to every virtue, had passed from
the earth.
But the loss and grief were not ours alone. We have a large
companionship in sorrow. The exalted character of him whom
we mourn, his great public services, and his long life of unselfish
devotion to the highest interests of humanity, made him very
widely known, and gave him a place in the affections and
respect of the community, such as few are permitted to hold.
Of this the various organs through which popular feeling is
accustomed to express itself have given evidence. The press
all over the land has borne witness to the sincerity and depth
of the public grief. Numerous benevolent associations have
recorded their profound sense of the loss which the interests of
virtue and the cause of philanthropy have everywhere sus-
tained. The pulpit, while it has mourned the removal of one
of its chief ornaments, has paid spontaneous and fervid homage
to his exalted worth and to the power of his Christian charac-
ter. Literature has hastened to embalm in her own frankin-
cense his name, that it may go down to posterity among the
benefactors of the race.
And now we have assembled to mingle our grief with the
general sorrow ; to recall the more prominent events in the his-
tory of one whose life was so true, so beneficent, so worthy; to
review his eminent services, extending over a period of almost
half a century, and reaching in their influence every interest of
Society; to trace anew the lineaments of his grand character,
and to hang the picture forever in the chambers of memory.
In the discharge of this grateful office the duty of speaker
has devolved upon me. Although I am fully aware of the
magnitude and difficulty of the task assigned me, and painfully
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLA ND. " 179
conscious that I am wholly unequal to it, in obedience to your
commands, as well as from love of the service, I shall endeavor
to perform it as I best may, relying upon your indulgence for
my many, and, as I fear, grievous shortcomings. I am the less
embarrassed, when I remember that the portrait which I would
have you contemplate is already in your minds, and that I have
only to touch aright the chords of association in order that it
may stand out before you in all the massive strength and
beauty of the original.
Francis Wayland was born in the city of New York, March
11, 1796. He was the son of Rev. Francis and Sarah Way-
land, who came from England to this country a short time pre-
vious to his birth. His father was a clergyman of the Baptist
denomination, remarkable rather for the goodness of his heart,
and the guilelessness, simplicity, and purity of his Christian char-
acter, than for those more brilliant qualities which dazzle and
captivate in the popular preacher. His mother was a woman of
high intellectual endowments and great force of character. Of
her as well as of his father, he always spoke with the deepest
filial reverence. While he was still a boy, the family removed
to Poughkeepsie. At the academy in that place, under the care
of Mr. Daniel H. Barnes, he took his first lessons in the Latin
and Greek languages. He remained there until the spring of
1811, when at the age of fifteen years he entered the sophomore
class, in Union College, Schenectady, New York. Of his col-
lege course I have little knowledge. He was accustomed in
after life to speak of it as having embraced too much reading
and too little study. But, from the fact that he was subse-
quently invited to become a member of the faculty, I infer that
his scholarship must have been at least satisfactory.
180 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
Soon after leaving college, he commenced the study of medi-
cine under Dr. Hale, of Troy, with whom he remained about six
months. He then entered the office of Dr. Eli Burritt, of the
same place, and continued with him until his medical studies
were completed. A more than usually intimate relation seems
to have grown up between instructor and pupil. The Doctor,
who was an able man, and genial companion, as well as skillful
physician, took delight in opening to the enthusiastic young
student the rich stores of his professional reading and experi-
ence. He also extended to him freely the opportunities which
a large practice offered for the actual study of the different
forms of disease, taking care to guide him aright in making
observations and in deriving conclusions from them. It was
under these favoring influences that he first awoke to a con-
Sciousness of his powers, and that his mind acquired those
practical tendencies by which it was ever afterwards charac-
terized. I am inclined to believe that no period of his life was
richer in memories, or more fruitful in results, than the two
years which he passed as a student of medicine in the office of
Dr. Burritt. He never mentioned the name of this early friend
and instructor but with expressions of affectionate respect and
gratitude.
But the foundation that was so carefully laid for success and
eminence in his chosen profession was destined to serve other
and different purposes. He had but just been admitted to prac-
tice, when a change took place in his views of life and his con-
victions of duty, which caused him to abandon it. Believing
himself to be called by the Master to labor in His spiritual vine-
yard, he at once began preparation for the new employment.
In the autumn of 1816, three years after graduation, he entered
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 181
the Theological Seminary at Andover, Mass. Professor Moses
Stuart had for some time previous occupied the chair of Sacred
Literature in that institution. He was now in the full maturity
of his powers, though not yet at the height of his fame. He
had already commenced that reform in biblical study which was
to constitute the most important work of his life. Casting off
the shackles of a dogmatic theology, and freeing himself from
the trammels of immemorial usage, he applied the same rules of
interpretation to the Scriptures as to other ancient writings, and
accepted the unqualified meaning which they gave him. In the
preparation of his courses of instruction he drew largely from
new and hitherto unopened sources. The stores of German
philology and criticism were unlocked by him, and made avail-
able for the first time to the American student. By his rare
gifts of language and illustration, by the novelty and boldness
of many of his views, and by the ardor with which he pressed
them, and more especially by the earnestness and eloquence with
which he vindicated the simple, unadulterated Word of God as
the only and sufficient rule of faith and practice, he kindled in
his classes an enthusiasm which knew no bounds. “Some of
his pupils,” I quote the words of one of them, “almost looked
upon him as a being from a higher world. The hour when they
first saw him was a kind of epoch in their history.”
Under this great master, the recently awakened powers of
the medical student received a fresh stimulus, and he entered
with the utmost zeal upon his new field of study. He soon
found it to afford scope for the freest and most expansive exer-
cise of every faculty. Embodying a literature of great variety
and richness, containing truths the grandest and the most mo-
mentous that the human mind ever contemplated, and sup-
182 A Discourse oN FRANCIS WAYLAND.
ported in every utterance by the authority of inspiration, the
Bible, studied under such a teacher, became incomparably the
most interesting of all books. Grammar, philology, geography,
and history, local and general, were in turn pressed into the
service of developing and elucidating its meaning. Every day
& enlarged the field of his mental vision. Every week brought
with it a conscious increase of power. Every month found him
with a deeper knowledge of the Word of God, and a profounder
reverence for its teachings. During his residence at Andover,
he learned what, if he had accomplished nothing else, would
have made it an important era in his life: he learned how to
study and how to teach the Bible — two things which he never
afterwards forgot. I have listened to many able and eloquent
expounders of the Scriptures; but I have never heard any one,
who, whether in pulpit or class-room, unfolded their meaning
with so great naturalness, simplicity, and power as President
Wayland. Few of the pupils of Professor Stuart caught more
of his spirit, and none of them in after life cherished for the
great biblical interpreter a profounder respect and admiration.
In the fall of 1817, after a year's residence, he left the Theo-
logical Seminary, to accept a tutorship in Union College. This
new position introduced him to relations most favorable to
growth and culture. His teaching embraced a large variety of
subjects. It was not confined to a single department, but ex-
tended, at different times, to nearly the entire college course.
In the academic circle he was brought into daily intercourse
with minds of large experience and rich and varied culture, at a
time of life when such intercourse is most improving. It was
during his tutorship that he first really knew President Nott,
and that the mutual love, respect, and admiration was awak-
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 183
ened which continued to grow for half a century. The four
years spent in these happy relations he ever after recalled with
the liveliest interest, and was accustomed to speak of them as
the most important in his life. It was during this period that
his character especially took its form and pressure, and that he
first gave assurance of the brilliant future that was before him.
Although chiefly occupied with the duties of instruction, he
continued to a certain extent his theological studies under the
immediate direction of Dr. Nott. He also preached occasion-
ally in the neighboring towns and villages. In August, 1821,
he received ordination and accepted the pastoral charge of the
First Baptist Church in Boston. The advantage of his long,
varied, and thorough training preparatory to entering upon the
field of labor to which he believed himself called, became at
once apparent. His sermons from the commencement showed
marked ability. They were characterized by a range and ele-
vation of thought, an eloquence of diction, and a depth and
fervor of feeling, which raised them far above the level of ordi-
nary pulpit discourses. Soon he became known through them
to the public. Hardly had two years elapsed, when his elo-
quent defense of missions extended widely his name and fame,
and gave him a place among the first Orators of the land.
Nor did he, in the care with which his preparations were
made for the pulpit, forget the humbler duties of the pastor.
He was much among his people. He learned their characters
and circumstances. He put himself in personal relations with
them. He sought occasions and opportunities for seeing them
and pressing upon their attention the obligations and duties of
religion, ever remembering that it was individual souls that were
to be saved; that it was individual human souls, and not con-
184 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
gregations of men and women, that he must account for to the
Master. Besides the direct personal influence which he thus
exerted, he was enabled, by the knowledge of character gained,
to adapt his public ministrations more perfectly to the wants of
his people. It was a maxim with him, that a minister who per-
forms with fidelity his pastoral duties will never lack for sub-
jects when he enters the pulpit.
Mr. Wayland remained with the church in Boston five years.
In the autumn of 1826 he returned to Union College, having
accepted an appointment to the chair of mathematics and natu-
ral philosophy. His stay here was destined to be but of short
duration. About this time the presidency of Brown University
became vacant. The Rev. Dr. Messer, who had held that office
for nearly a quarter of a century, and who, as tutor, professor,
and president, had given to the institution a whole life of hon-
orable service, beginning to feel the weight of years press upon
him, sent in his resignation. In looking for a successor, the
corporation soon turned their attention to Professor Wayland,
who, during the brief period of his ministry, had established
for himself the reputation of a profound thinker and brilliant
orator. At a meeting held December 13, 1826, he was unani-
mously elected to fill the vacancy, and the February following
he entered upon his presidential duties. He was now in the
first prime of life, with all his powers in their full vigor, and
with a work before him of sufficient magnitude to suitably task
them.
In the later years of his predecessor's administration the dis-
cipline of the college became relaxed, and the spirit of study
among the undergraduates declined. The instruction in several
of the departments was given by persons having other occupa-
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 185
tions, who saw the young men only in the recitation or lecture
room, and who had no share in the responsibilities of govern-
ment. In these circumstances a disposition to license had shown
itself, which, however unfriendly to order and the diligent pur-
suit of learning, the authorities found it difficult to suppress.
The necessity of reform was deemed urgent by the friends of
the college. This may be inferred from a resolution passed by
the corporation at the same meeting at which the election took
place, declaring “it to be the duty of the President of this Uni-
versity to see that the laws are executed, and that the officers
of instruction, and others immediately connected with the insti-
tution, do their duty.” At a subsequent meeting it was further
resolved, “that no salary or other compensation be paid to any
professor, tutor, or other officer, who shall not, during the whole
of each and every term, occupy a room in one of the colleges,
and assiduously devote himself to the preservation of order and
the instruction of the students, and the performance of such
other duty as may belong to his station.”
President Wayland proceeded with his accustomed prompti-
tude and energy to carry out the important reforms indicated.
In doing so he met, as was to be expected, with opposition, both
without and within the college. Ideas long entertained were
disturbed. Immemorial customs were rudely jostled. Time-
honored shelters, under which mischief had found protection,
were broken down. The various disguises and coverings by
which indolence had contrived to make itself respectable were
plucked off. Diligent application to study, and a laudable am-
bition to excel, were stimulated by new, and, as was claimed,
invidious honors. The traditions of the college were unceremo-
niously set aside, and others, from a foreign source, it was said,
186 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
were substituted for them. It is not in human nature — cer-
tainly not in student nature — tamely to suffer encroachment
upon prescriptive rights and privileges. Angry feelings were
aroused. Indignant protests were made against the innovations.
Soon a spirit of resistance to authority manifested itself in all
the protean forms which ingenuity could devise, and the circum-
stances of life in college would permit. One of the mildest of
these modes of expressing public sentiment was delineation on
the wall of the halls, and the lecture rooms when these could
be entered. I recall a spirited sketch executed by a classmate,
which represented very well the prevailing current of opinion
and criticism. It comprised two figures. Dr. Messer, seated in
his old chaise, with reins fallen, and whip lost, was jogging leis-
urely on. Directly before him and in clear view lay the gulf of
perdition. Near by was Dr. Wayland, in a buggy of the new-
est fashion harnessed to an animal on whose build and muscle
two-forty was plainly written. He was headed in the same
direction, and, with taut rein and knitted brow and kindling
eye, was pressing with all his might forward.
But the students soon learned with whom they had to deal.
Opposition was vain. Remonstrance, however passionate, proved
useless. Resistance to authority, whatever form it might assume
or whatever strength it might acquire from combination, availed
nothing. It was the wave dashed against the rock, only to be
beaten back in spray. In some of the fiercer assaults, individ-
uals were thrown in the recoil to so great a distance that they
never found their way back. They left their college for their
college's good. The greater number presently became reconciled
to the new order of things, and forgot their angry feelings in
the general enthusiasm for study, which already began to be
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 187
awakened. Before a twelve-month had passed, all were con-
scious of new impulses and higher aspirations, and a quickening
and invigoration of every faculty, from the wholesome discipline
to which they were subjected. And as conscious injustice is not
a vice of students, those who had been the most bitter in their
denunciations were now the loudest in their praises. The pro-
foundest eulogiums which I have ever heard pronounced upon
President Wayland as an instructor and officer of government
have come from men who were in college at this time, and
who formed their estimate from the character and ability exhib-
ited in these circumstances. The opposition outside of the col-
lege continued somewhat longer; but having its origin for the
most part in misconceptions, it, too, soon passed away.
Having placed the government and discipline of the Univer-
sity on a satisfactory footing, President Wayland next sought to
improve the instruction and raise the standard of scholarship
and character. The use of books, except in the languages, was
prohibited in the recitation room. The lessons assigned were
required to be mastered, by both teacher and pupil, before en-
tering it, so that the topics embraced might be freely and fully
discussed by them. The pupil was expected to do something
more than answer questions, or repeat the words of the text-
book, or recite in their order the successive paragraphs. He
was required to give, as far as he might be able, in his own
language, the course of argument, or the train of thought ; to
separate it into its component parts; to distinguish the principal
from the subordinate, the essential from the accidental, the sub-
stance from the form; in a word, to discriminate sharply be-
tween the important and the unimportant in each paragraph,
section, and chapter, and to present the former divested of the
latter, with a due regard to order and connection.
188 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
This mode of conducting recitations proved, in the hands of
able and skillful teachers, a most efficient means of culture.
Besides bringing into constant activity some of the most impor-
tant faculties, it accustomed the mind to processes presupposed
in all good writing or effective thinking. It also tended strongly
to break up that permicious habit of mere word-learning, which
from the training of boyhood so many bring with them to col-
lege. The effect was soon apparent in a larger intellectual
growth and in a more manly character. Judge Story, when pro-
fessor in the Cambridge Law School, was accustomed to say, as
I have been informed, that he could distinguish a graduate from
Brown University by his power of seizing upon the essential
points of a case and freeing it from all extraneous matters.
This new mode of teaching introduced by President Wayland
was known in college at the time as the analytic method. The
student was said to recite by analysis. As in the case of all
other modes of instruction, its success depended greatly upon
the character of the teacher. With incompetence in the chair,
or stupidity behind the desk, it was liable to degenerate into an
unmeaning and worthless formalism. I recall an extreme case.
A graduate, who had left the institution a short time previous
to engage in the business of instruction, called upon me, partly,
I suppose, for sympathy, and partly to afford me the pleasure of
knowing how admirably he was succeeding in his new employ-
ment. He had adopted fully, he informed me, the university
methods. He taught everything by analysis. As I had had
the honor of instructing him in geometry, he drew his illustra-
tions from that study. He made his pupils, he said, commence
at the beginning of each book, and repeat the propositions in .
their order to the end ; and then commence at the end and re-
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 189
peat them backwards to the beginning. He particularly asked
my attention to the latter exercise as an extension of the prin-
ciple of analysis and an actual improvement upon the teaching
in college.
The prevalence of a higher spirit and better methods of study
prepared the way for extending the established courses of in-
struction, and also for introducing new courses. Advantage was
taken of the openings thus made, as fast as the means of the
institution would permit. The French language, in which in-
struction had not previously been given, was first made a part
of the curriculum. Afterwards the German was introduced as
an elective study. Courses were also established in political
economy, in history, and in several of the physical sciences. The
means of instruction were at the same time greatly enlarged, in
the form of apparatus, books, specimens, maps, models, and
other aids of a similar character. The fruit of these augmented
resources of the university was seen in larger acquisitions and in
a more varied and richer culture.
To reach the characters and quicken the moral impulses of
the young men, President Wayland availed himself of every
channel that was open to him. He saw them often in pri-
vate. His usual appellation of “my son,” while it was a sim-
ple expression of his interest in them, and of the care and
responsibility which he constantly felt for their welfare, had
the effect of softening the severer official relation, and invest-
ing with something of a paternal character his suggestions and
counsels. These personal conversations were always most sal-
utary in their influence, and not unfrequently marked an epoch
in the history of the young man, from which his life took a
new reckoning.
I90 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
He attended frequently, and during periods of special inter-
est constantly, the religious meetings that were held in college.
Some of his prayers and exhortations at these meetings will be
long remembered. Under their influence the light of a new life
for the first time broke upon many a one who has since become
himself a light and a power in the Christian Church. For a
long series of years, he met every Sunday evening a class for
the study of the Scriptures. This was always well, and at
times, numerously attended. Many were attracted by the intel-
lectual excitement and stimulus which it afforded. The great
doctrines of Christianity were unfolded with a freshness, beauty,
and power which made them seem like new revelations. Its
practical teachings were enforced by arguments more cogent,
and appeals more eloquent and thrilling, than any to which I
have elsewhere listened. The spell of the senses was broken.
The mind awoke as from a dream. The material and tangible
melted away under the power of the invisible. This world be-
came shadow, and the other world substance. Character, char-
acter, character was everything ; all beside, nothing. With the
hope of influencing larger numbers, President Wayland, at a
later period, substituted for the Bible class preaching in the
chapel on Sunday afternoons. To this change, the world owes
his University sermons. They were delivered, with others not
published, to an audience made up partly of students and partly
of citizens. They are unquestionably among his ablest and
most eloquent productions. They were listened to with pro-
found, and, at times, thrilling interest. But I do not think
their moral or religious effect was so great as that of the hum-.
bler service whose place they took.
Another channel through which he sought to reach and affect
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. I91
character was the daily instructions of the recitation and lecture
room. The sciences which he taught — intellectual and moral
philosophy — were peculiarly favorable to this, and he shaped
his courses in them with special reference to it. Little time was
occupied with the metaphysical inquiries which underlie and
cluster around these sciences. Questions of a merely specula-
tive interest, having no practical bearing, were quickly disposed
of. Whether the mind be simple or complex, whether it act im-
mediately or through faculties, whether its knowledge of the ex-
ternal world be intuitive or representative, what force is, and how
originated, whether it be inherent in matter, or external to it and
only exerted upon it, whether creation was a completed act or
the first moment of an exertion of power ever since continued,
the origin of moral evil, the nature of right, the reconciliation
of human accountability with the divine Sovereignty, and other
similar problems, were either passed by altogether, or referred to
merely in indicating the bounds of possible knowledge; or they
were mentioned as illustrations of the yearning with which the
mind, shut up in the prison-house of the senses, reaches out to-
wards the illimitable expanse of being around it, or were pointed
out as hopeless inquiries upon which the highest efforts of the
most gifted intellects of the race have, for the last thirty cen-
turies, been vainly expended. The respective spheres and of-
fices of the different mental powers or faculties, the laws by
which they are governed, their combined action in the higher
intellectual operations, their proper use, discipline, and culture,
conscience, obligation, duty, the moral law, its divine Sanction,
the consequences, both here and hereafter, of its violation, –
these were the themes upon which he discoursed with such ear-
nestness in the lecture-room, and which are presented so clearly
and so forcibly in his admirable text-book.
192 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
But President Wayland liked the concrete better than the
abstract. He preferred to consider man as a living, thinking,
acting person, rather than as an assemblage of powers and sen-
sibilities. He was more interested in studying the forms of in-
tellectual and moral development growing out of the varying
activities of the several faculties, than in the study of the facul-
ties themselves. His mind was wonderfully rich in conceptions
of character. Ideals of commanding power, of exalted good-
ness, of sublime virtue, were ever floating through its chambers
of imagery. These he scattered like gems, in lavish profusion,
along the whole pathway of his instructions. It was the quick-
ening, inspiring, educating power of these that was most felt
by his pupils, and that kindled to the greatest ardor their enthu-
siasm. It was by the contemplation of these chiefly that they
were so “inflamed with the study of learning and the admira-
tion of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave
men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.”
It was these ideals which they especially carried from the halls
of the University out into the world, to be always present with
them, rebuking indolence, lifting from the debasements of
mammon and sense, and soliciting ever to a higher and wor-
thier life.
Another means employed by President Wayland for awaken-
ing impulse, and correcting, guiding, and elevating public senti-
ment in college, was addresses from the platform in the chapel.
These were most frequent and most characteristic in the earlier
days of his presidency. They occurred, usually, immediately
after evening prayers, and took the place of the undergraduate
speaking, which at that time formed a part of the daily college
programme. The occasions which called them forth were some
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 193
irregularity, or incident, or event, which seemed to render
proper the application of the moral lever to raise the standard
of scholarship or character. We all knew very well when to
expect them.
As the students, then, with few exceptions, lived within
the college buildings, and took their meals in Commons Hall,
they constituted, much more than at present, a community by
themselves. They were more readily swayed by common im-
pulses, and more susceptible of common emotions. When gath-
ered in the chapel, they formed a unique, but remarkably
homogeneous, audience. President Wayland was at that time
at the very culmination of his powers, both physical and intel-
lectual. His massive and stalwart frame, not yet filled and
rounded by the accretions of later years; his strongly marked
features, having still the sharp outlines and severe grace of
their first chiseling; his peerless eye, sending from beneath that
Olympian brow its lordly or its penetrating glances, he seemed,
as he stood on the stage in that old chapel, the incarnation of
majesty and power. He was raised a few feet above his audi-
ence, and so near to them that those most remote could see the
play of every feature. He commenced speaking. It was not
instruction; it was not argument; it was not exhortation. It
was a mixture of wit and humor, of ridicule, sarcasm, pathos,
and fun, of passionate remonstrance, earnest appeal, and solemn
warning, poured forth not at random, but with a knowledge of
the laws of emotion to which Lord Kames himself could have
added nothing. The effect was indescribable. No Athenian
audience ever hung more tumultuously on the lips of the divine
Demosthenes. That little chapel heaved and swelled with the
intensity of its pent-up forces. The billows of passion rose and
13
194 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
fell like the waves of a tempestuous sea. At one moment all
were burning with indignation ; the next they were melted to
tears. Now every one was convulsed with laughter, and now as
solemn as if the revelations of doom were just opening upon
him. Emotions the most diverse followed one another in quick
succession. Admiration, resentment, awe, and worship in turn
swelled every bosom. At length the storm spent itself. The
sky cleared, and the sun shone out with increased brightness.
The ground had been softened and fertilized, and the whole air
purified.
When the resources of appeal, both private and public, had
been exhausted, President Wayland did not hesitate to employ
other and more potent means for maintaining order, good gov-
ernment, and a high spirit of study. He was a vigorous dis-
ciplinarian. The very fullness of his energies disposed him to
strong measures; and he may sometimes have resorted to them
when milder ones would have succeeded. In treating the dis-
eases of youth, especially college youth, he inclined to the heroic
practice. He did not believe in administering remedies in ho-
moeopathic doses. He aimed not at a mere alleviation of the
graver symptoms of the malady, but sought its radical cure.
Although here and there a feeble constitution may have suf-
fered under this vigorous treatment, by far the greater number
were vastly benefited by it. How many are now able to look
back to good habits formed and manly purposes strengthened
through his wholesome discipline; to sterility turned into fruit-
fulness by the subsoiling received at his hand.
President Wayland identified himself in a remarkable degree
with the college. That was always his first interest. To that
everything else was subordinate. For that he gave himself to
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 195
the most unwearied and unremitting labors. During periods
of irritation and disturbance, it was out of his thoughts neither
night nor day. When there were grounds for apprehending
mischief or any moral irregularity, every part of the buildings
was subject at all hours to his visits. He was especially jealous,
both in himself and in those associated with him, of any other
interest that might ablactate, to use his own strong language,
the college. All labor, all time, all thought must be given to
that. His ideas of professional obligation in this respect were
unusually stern and exacting; but as he illustrated and enforced
them by his constant example, they became the ideas of his
faculty. Their spirit also passed by a sort of contagion to the
undergraduates, and developed in them a more earnest and
manly type of character.
Besides this high sense of duty evinced by him in everything
which he did, he brought to the work of teaching a noble en-
thusiasm. It was in his estimation a high employment. No
other surpassed it in true dignity and importance. Of no other
were the results greater or more beneficial. The boundless
wealth of a universe was the birthright of mind; but only by
the proper training of its faculties was it enabled to enter into
possession of the rich heritage. Education was one of the plas-
tic arts. The material wrought upon was finer than alabaster,
more enduring than brass or marble; capable of being moulded
into forms of imposing grandeur or bewitching grace or sub-
duing beauty. He who worked at this art worked not for time
only, but for eternity. Receiving a spiritual instead of a ma-
terial embodiment, his conceptions became immortal.
These inspiring ideas constantly animated his zeal, and quick-
ened to the highest activity every faculty, while they imparted
196 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
to his instructions an earnestness and fervor which neither dull-
ness nor indifference could resist. All associated with him in
the care and oversight of the college caught something of his
ardor, and put forth in their several spheres fresh efforts for ad-
vancing its interests. His noble conceptions of the instructor's
office and work, carried out from the University by his pupils,
and spread still more widely through his writings, did much to
raise teaching in public estimation, through all its grades, to
the dignity of a profession. They also drew upon him the at-
tention of the country, and placed him, by universal consent, in
the first rank of educators, without a superior, if not without an
equal, in the land.
In 1833, six years after coming to Providence, Dr. Wayland
published his first volume of discourses. This included his two
sermons on the “Duties of an American Citizen,” so widely
read and so justly admired when first given to the public; his
famous sermon on the “Moral Dignity of the Missionary Enter-
prise,” numerous editions of which had already gone out, bear-
ing his name wherever the English language was spoken ; and
also his discourse on the “Philosophy of Analogy,” delivered
before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Rhode Island on its first
anniversary. The last, although of a less popular character
than the others, is remarkable for a rare felicity of conception
and treatment, for the fine vein of original thought which runs
through it, for the grace and beauty of its illustrations, and for
the classic finish of its style. It is pervaded throughout by a
highly philosophic spirit, and contains passages of the loftiest
eloquence.
In 1835, two years later, his work on Moral Science ap-
peared. This was succeeded in 1837 by his Political Economy,
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 197
while his Intellectual Philosophy was delayed till 1854. These
works were especially designed for text-books, and embody sub-
stantially the instructions which he had previously given to his
classes by lecture. They do not claim to be complete and ex-
haustive treatises on the sciences to which they relate, but only
to present so much and such portions of these sciences as may
properly find a place in the collegiate course. While sufficiently
elementary to meet the wants of the ordinary student, they dis-
cuss with great ability some of the highest and most difficult
problems which human nature and society present. Their style
is purely didactic, direct, simple, and perspicuous, but without
ornament. They are books to be studied rather than to be
read. But instructive and admirable as they are, they give but
a faint idea of the marvelous interest with which the same
truths were invested when unfolded and illustrated by the living
teacher under the inspiration of the class-room. The appear-
ance of the Moral Science was opportune. The need of such a
work had long been felt. It was almost immediately adopted
by a large number of the colleges, academies, and high Schools
of the country; and although thirty years have since elapsed, it
still holds its place in them with hardly a rival. The use of the
Political Economy and Intellectual Philosophy, though quite
extensive, has, I think, been less general.
While thus indefatigably laboring within the walls of the
University, President Wayland was continually called upon to
render various and important public services. There was hardly
an association in the country, whether for educational, philan-
thropic, or religious objects, of which he was not a member,
and which did not look to him for advocacy, counsel, and sup-
port. To the cause of Christian missions, which was ever dear
198 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
to him, he gave more than the service of an ordinary life. His
commanding eloquence, and the great weight of his opinions,
caused him to be in constant requisition as a public speaker.
His orations and other occasional discourses, all productions of
marked ability, and many of them models of the species of lit-
erature to which they belong, would, if collected, swell into vol-
umes. By these outside labors he greatly extended, not only
his own fame, but that of the institution over which he pre-
sided ; securing for it a rank and position not previously en-
joyed, and attracting young men in larger numbers to its
courses. Under his fostering care all its resources were greatly
augmented, and its interests, external as well as internal, ad-
vanced. On coming to Providence, he found the college with
three professors, the president not included; he left it with
eight. He found it with scarcely a hundred students; he left
it with more than two hundred. He found it with its courses
of study quite elementary and limited ; he left it with these
courses greatly enlarged and extended. He found it without
either a library or a philosophical apparatus deserving the
name, and without buildings for their accommodation; he left
it well cared for in respect to all these essential endowments of
an institution of learning. -
In effecting these great changes, Dr. Wayland had the ben-
efit of able and efficient coadjutors. The scholarly Elton, who,
at the time of his entering upon his presidential duties, was
abroad, gathering inspiration beneath the shadow of the Par-
thenon and among the columns of the Forum, returned home
soon afterwards to commence his courses of instruction enriched
from the garnered stores of ancient learning. The genial and
classic Goddard, whose appointment to a professor's chair was
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 199
of a somewhat earlier date, rendered to the University, during
the period of his connection with it, most valuable services. By
infusing something of his own exquisite taste and love of ele-
gant letters into the minds of undergraduates, as well as by the
models of a graceful and finished style which he set before
them, he greatly elevated the standard of excellence in compo-
sition, and gave to rhetorical training, as a part of a liberal edu-
cation, that deserved prominence in the college course which it
has ever since held. Of almost equal value was the sound prac-
tical sense which he brought to every question of discipline and
government. To the aid of his rare wisdom in the counsels of
the faculty, Dr. Wayland was always prompt to acknowledge
his large indebtedness. And after the retirement of Professor
Goddard from the duties of instruction, he upon whom the
mantle of seniority fell, to whom I owe so much, to whom a
whole generation of pupils owes so much, as an able and faith-
ful teacher and a wise counselor and friend, - would that I
might speak of him as my heart prompts; but such words are
not permitted now ; they would seem too much like personal
adulation; they must be reserved for another, and, I trust, far
distant occasion, — he upon whom the mantle of seniority so
worthily fell, the honored and beloved Caswell, for a period of
nearly thirty years brought to the administration of President
Wayland his undivided strength and his large influence. Other
and younger officers of instruction and government coöperated
in advancing the interests of the institution, if not with equal
ability, with equal zeal and equal singleness of purpose. One
of these, too early withdrawn from academic labors — much too
early for his associates and for the interests of the University
— by the attractions of “learned leisure” and the “still air of
200 A DISCO UIESE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
delightful studies” rendered an uninterrupted service of more
than a quarter of a century, whose value and importance can
hardly be estimated too highly. A pupil of President Way-
land, and recipient of the choicest benefits of his unequaled
training, growing from youth up to ripe manhood under his im-
mediate eye and influence, possessing many of the rare qualities
which fitted him so prečminently for the instructor's office, in-
spired by the same ardor and the same spirit of untiring and
unsparing devotion to the high duties imposed by it, he made
his mark upon the successive classes as they passed under him,
beside the ever - during impressions received from the great
master.
Aid of a different kind, but no less important, came from
without. Soon after the accession of Dr. Wayland to the pres-
idency, a spirit of greater liberality began to prevail in the
community, and juster ideas were entertained of the claims of
institutions of learning upon the benefactions of the citizens.
As a consequence of this, contributions, some of them large in
amount, flowed from time to time into the treasury. Buildings,
the need of which had long been felt, were erected. New and
improved apparatus was provided. Additional professors were
appointed, and the courses and means of instruction in nearly
every department were greatly enlarged. The names of Brown
and Ives, ever memorable in the history of the University, recall
a succession of benefits and services, transcending in value even
the munificent endowments with which they are indissolubly
associated. To the wise and thoughtful care, to the almost pa-
rental interest and affection, with which the bearers of these
honored names have ever watched over the institution, provid-
ing often from their own private resources for its more pressing
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 201
wants, and encouraging constantly by their sympathies all who
were laboring for it, is to be ascribed, in no small degree, its
measure of prosperity and success.
Reference to these important and coöperative agencies was
demanded by the truth of history. They are not to be consid-
ered as detracting at all from the claims of President Wayland.
Clustering about his administration, they confer upon it addi-
tional lustre. No man can be great nor can accomplish anything
great alone. It is in that superior wisdom, and that ascendency
and force of character, which enable the master spirits of the
race to impress themselves upon their age, – to mould and
shape the minds of other men, and to draw them into their own
lines of thought and action, — that we recognize the highest
form of power. -
It had long been the desire of President Wayland to make
the advantages of the college more generally available, and es-
pecially to adapt its courses in a greater degree to the wants of
the manufacturing and mercantile classes. Such a change in
our educational system, he thought, was demanded by the in-
creasing numbers and growing importance and influence of
these classes. It was also demanded by the character and cir-
cumstances of our country, whose material developments were
destined to be magnificent beyond anything which the world
had ever seen. He thought it the duty of colleges, as the
guardians and dispensers of the benefactions intrusted to them
for the good of the community, to heed this demand of the
times, and make the changes necessary for meeting it. Unless
they did so, they would lose their hold upon the public, and
fail to accomplish, in full measure, the beneficent ends for which
they were founded. He also ventured to imagine that knowl-
202 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
edge having practical applications might be made as valuable
a means of culture as studies lying more remote from human
interests, and recommended especially by what has been denom-
inated their “glorious inutility.”
These views commending themselves to the corporation and
friends of the college generally, an effort was made in 1850 to
provide the means necessary for their adoption. Through the
liberality and public spirit of the citizens, one hundred and
twenty-five thousand dollars were raised and paid into the treas-
ury. This sum, though highly honorable to the donors, was
quite insufficient for the institution of independent courses of
instruction, with separate classes, on the extended plan contem-
plated. The best that could be done was to substitute for these
inter-dependent courses, with classes more or less mixed. Such
an organization of the University, though not free from objec-
tions, would have the advantage of throwing it open most
widely to the public. It was accordingly adopted. The change
was almost immediately followed by a large increase in the num-
ber of students. The attendance upon some of the courses was
nearly doubled. Many who had previously been excluded from
the benefit of an academic training gladly embraced the oppor-
tunity now offered for obtaining it. An unusually large pro-
portion of these were young men of ability and character, who
have since risen to distinction in their several avocations. But
notwithstanding this apparent and real success of the new sys-
tem, as the altered arrangements were termed, I do not think
that the expectations of President Wayland were fully realized.
This was owing mainly to defects of organization which the
command of larger means could alone have remedied. The
fundamental idea was just and important. The want felt and
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 203
indicated was a real one. It has since been recognized by the
other colleges of the country, a large number of which have
made provision in one form or other for supplying it. In a
neighboring state, two institutions — both largely endowed, and
embracing numerous departments of instruction — have just
been established for the sole purpose of furnishing a suitable
education and training to the industrial and commercial classes.
The recent examples of a noble munificence by several of our
wealthy and honored citizens afford ground for the hope that,
under more favorable conditions, the broad and catholic design
of President Wayland may yet be carried out among us on a
plan even more extended and comprehensive than he in his most
ardent moments dared to conceive ; that our neighbors of Mas-
sachusetts and Connecticut will not for a long time be permitted
to appropriate to themselves the exclusive benefit of ideas orig-
inated here, and finding in our compact communities of highly
intelligent manufacturers and merchants so appropriate a field
for their application.
In the summer of 1855, wishing to devote himself more ex-
clusively to the pursuit of literature and to labors of benev-
olence, Dr. Wayland retired from the University over which he
had so long and so ably presided. Sol occidet ; Sed nulla now
succedet.
We should form but an inadequate idea of the public services
of our venerated friend and instructor, if we omitted to con-
sider what he did for the city of Providence and the State of
Rhode Island. Had he been a native born son, he could not
have identified himself more perfectly with all their interests.
Ancestral associations from the time of Roger Williams down-
wards could have added nothing to his pride in their fair fame.
204 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
When he first came to Providence, it was just passing from the
dimensions of a thriving town to the larger proportions of a
wealthy and prosperous city. While it was in this transition
state so favorable to the reception of formative influences, he
threw himself without reserve into its institutions, educational,
benevolent, and religious. In his wise care and forethought
many of these had their origin, while all were moulded to a
greater or less extent under the influence of his efforts and
counsels. In every enterprise of public spirit, in every plan for
social improvement, in every effort at moral reform, in every
labor for ameliorating the condition of the unfortunate, from
whatever cause, the citizens habitually looked to him as their
leader. On all occasions of public interest, it was his views that
were most sought; it was the opinions expressed by him that
had the greatest influence. -
The charities of the city and state, the humbler as well as
the nobler, found in him not only an earnest advocate, but, in
proportion to his means, a most liberal contributor. To some
of the more important of these he gave largely of his time.
He was a trustee and frequent visitor of the Butler Asylum for
the Insane, from its foundation down to near the close of his
life. He was for many years one of the inspectors of the State
Prison. At his suggestion and through his influence, mainly,
important changes were introduced, which greatly improved the
condition, both physical and moral, of its inmates. From a
mere place of confinement, it was converted into a well-ordered
disciplinary institution. Previously its maintenance had been a
heavy expense to the State. It now became, through its work-
shops, a source of no inconsiderable revenue. During a large
part of the last twenty years of his life, he conducted every week
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 205
a Bible-class composed of convicts. The spectacle presented was
most impressive, one which angels might desire to look upon,
as with heart full of love to God and man, and thought intent
on serving one and doing good to the other, he took his way on
the quiet Sabbath morning towards yonder prison, to seek there
the outcasts from society, the children of shame and sin and
crime, to gather them around him, and to tell them in language
of indescribable simplicity and tenderness of a Saviour who
loves them and who has died for them ; of an atonement so
large and so free that each one of them, however guilty, may
have pardon and cleansing; to lift them, by his broad overflow-
ing sympathies, from their sense of forsakenness and isolation ;
to kindle repentings within them ; to awaken anew their moral
affections; and to restore their broken relations to humanity,
to God, and to Heaven. He may have done many things of
which the world will think more and longer, but his great life
offers nothing surpassing in moral grandeur these almost di-
vine labors.
The poor everywhere found in Dr. Wayland a friend and
helper. He was known to a very large number of this class
through his private benefactions. He was continually sought
by persons of all classes for his advice, his counsel, and his
sympathy. He probably held more numerous personal relations
than any other man in the city. Every one of these he made
the channel of some species of benefit. The nobleness of his
nature was manifested no less strikingly in the ordinary walks
of daily life, than in the more prominent and public situations
to which he was called. In heroic and self-denying labors, in
unceasing care and thought for the public good, in largeness of
views and in breadth of interests and sympathy, in weight of
206 A DISCO URSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
character and influence, in intellectual resources and power, and
in all the elements of moral greatness, he was by universal con-
sent the foremost citizen of Rhode Island. Nec viget quic-
quam, simile aut Secundum. -
A few months before his death, an occasion arose for a
touching exhibition of the respect in which he was held by the
whole community. The country had in an instant been plunged
from the height of joy into the deepest mourning. Its honored
and beloved chief magistrate, at the moment when he was most
honored and most beloved, had fallen by parricidal hand. The
greatness of the loss, the enormity of the crime, and the terri-
ble suddenness of the blow, bewildered thought and paralyzed
speech. It seemed as if Providence, which had just vouchsafed
so great blessings, was, from some inscrutable cause, withdraw-
ing its protective care. In this hour of darkness, to whom
should the citizens go but to him who had so often instructed
and guided them 2 As evening draws on, they gather from all
quarters, and with one common impulse turn their steps east-
ward. Beneath a weeping sky, the long dark column winds
its way over the hill and into the valley. As it moves onward,
the wailings of the dirge and the measured tread are the only
sounds which fall upon the still air. Having reached the resi-
dence of President Wayland, it pours itself in a dense throng
around a slightly raised platform in front of it. Presently he
appears, to address for the last time, as it proves, his assembled
fellow-citizens. It is the same noble presence that many there
had in years long gone by gazed upon with such pride and ad-
miration from seats in the old chapel. It is the same voice
whose eloquence then so inflamed them, and stirred their young
bosoms to such a tumult of passion. The speaker is the same ;
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 207
the audience is the same. But how changed both ! and how al-
tered the circumstances! That hair playing in the breeze has
been whitened by the snows of seventy winters. That venera-
ble form is pressed by their accumulated weight. The glorious
intellectual power which sat upon those features is veiled be-
neath the softer lines of moral grace and beauty. It is not now
the Athenian orator, but one of the old prophets, from whose
touched lips flow forth the teachings of inspired wisdom. The
dead first claims his thought. He recounts most appreciatively
his great services, and dwells with loving eulogy upon his un-
Swerving patriotism and his high civic virtues. Next the duties
of the living and the lessons of the hour occupy attention.
Then come words of devout thanksgiving, of holy trust, of sub-
lime faith, uttered as he only ever uttered them. They fall
upon that waiting assembly like a blessed benediction, assuaging
grief, dispelling gloom, and kindling worship in every bosom.
God is no longer at a distance, but all around and within them.
They go away strengthened and comforted.
Notwithstanding the multiplicity of his labors, President
Wayland found leisure for much reading. I have known few
men who would absorb the contents of a book in so brief a
space of time. Turning over its pages, he took in at a glance
their import and meaning ; and so tenacious was his memory,
that what he had thus rapidly gathered he rarely if ever forgot.
In his selection of books, he was determined more by what in-
terested him, than by any deliberately formed plan of study.
As his interests were broad, his reading embraced an unusually
large variety of subjects. Travels, biographies, history, science,
art, and literature furnished the ample materials from which
his mind, by a sort of elective affinity, amassed its wealth of
knowledge.
208 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA Y.L.4 ND.
As might be expected, from the manner in which they were
made, his acquisitions were characterized rather by breadth and
comprehension than by minute accuracy of detail or systematic
thoroughness. He was not a learned man in the proper sense
of that term. There was perhaps no subject which others had
not studied more exhaustively than he. But the field which he
had explored was wide, and his gatherings from it were large.
It has not been my fortune to become acquainted with any man
who had, stored away in a capacious memory, more that one
would desire to know, or less, I may add, that was not worth
knowing. -
Another consequence of his habit of varied and somewhat
discursive reading was the absence of any controlling order or
system in his acquisitions. The separate facts, instead of being
connected by formal relations, lay in his mind in associations
determined very much by his own individual tastes, interests,
and habits of thought. It was this subjective grouping, this
mental assimilation of the materials of his knowledge, that im-
parted to it such vitality, and made it not so much a possession .
as a part of himself, - which gave to his ideas on the most or-
dinary subjects the freshness and force of originality.
In early life he was a diligent student of Johnson. The vig-
orous thought, stately periods, and brilliant antitheses of the
great English moralist awakened his youthful admiration, and
exerted a marked influence upon his style. Later both his taste
and his manner of writing became more simple. At all periods
of his life the Bible was his constant companion. From that
he drew inspiration. Through that he entered into a deeper
knowledge of the character of God, and the nature of man.
Daily and hourly he drank in wisdom from it. After Shake-
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLA ND. 209
speare, Milton and Cowper were his favorite poets. Of the
writers of romance he preferred Scott. His graphic descriptions
of scenery and his life-like delineations of character, as well as
the historic element which pervades his writings, raised them, in
his estimation, quite above the pages of mere fiction. He had
a quick sense of the ludicrous, and enjoyed with a keen zest the
whimsical fancies of Hood, the delicate humor of Irving, and
the broader comic scenes of Dickens.
In that struggle which is ever going forward between the re-
tiring and the coming under the banners of conservatism and
progress; in that ceaseless war which, from the very elements of
human character and condition, must be waged in one form or
another between the past and the future, on the battle-ground
of the present, Dr. Wayland was always found, no less in his
later than in his earlier years, in the advance of the party of
progress. No man had a sublimer faith in the destinies of the
race. No one, in anticipating those destinies, clothed them in
the drapery of a more gorgeous imagination. The failures of
the past could not shake his confidence in the future. From
the mournful teachings of history even, he gathered an inner
lesson of encouragement and hope. At no time had anything
been really lost. The best forms of civilization which the world
had seen had indeed fallen into decay, or yielded themselves a
prey to violence; but out of their ruins had emerged new civ-
ilizations embodying all the best elements of the old, together
with some higher principle which in them was wanting. The
thread of progress, which for a time seemed broken and turned
backwards, reappears to guide our steps anew through the his-
toric labyrinth.
It was not, however, from the prophecies of the past, nor
14
210 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
from the tendencies of the present, that he chiefly derived his
hopes of the race. Neither was it from man's intellectual en-
dowments, however exalted, nor from the magnificent attend-
ance of material agents and forces which stand ever ready to do
his bidding. Nor yet was it from his unaided moral nature.
This was too weak to bear the strain to which it was necessarily
subjected. It succumbed under pressure. Through all time
its failure had been most lamentable — the fruitful source alike
of individual and national disaster and ruin.
It was only in the moral nature of man supplemented by the
new forces imported into it by Christianity that he found as-
sured ground for faith in his continued progress. Upon this
turned, as he believed, the destinies of the race, both in this
world and in the world to come. Hence his unceasing labors in
all ways and by all means, in season and out of season, amid
the most varied public services and under the pressure of con-
stant professional duty, — labors continued without intermission
or remission through a whole lifetime, for spreading a knowl-
edge of the Gospel, and bringing men in heart and in life
under the sway of its principles. Speaking of Christianity as
the only pillar upon which his hopes for himself and for his
race rested, he once said, with great earnestness, “Any doubt
concerning that would be to me a greater calamity than the
sinking of a continent.”
Of the numerous works given by President Wayland to the
public, two are biographical and one is controversial. The re-
mainder are.educational, didactic, and religious. The latter are
all eminently practical in their aims. I am unable to recall a
single question, of a purely speculative character, discussed or
even formally stated in them. Important truths pertaining to
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLA.N.D. 211
man's higher interests, whether revealed in consciousness, or
made known by the teachings of inspiration, or resting upon
the broader basis of human experience, are unfolded, illustrated,
and enforced. Rarely is much time given to the discussion of .
principles. These in ethics and for the most part in meta-
physics approximate so closely to intuitions, that little is needed
beyond their exact and clear statement. Truths which lie so
remote from the common sense of mankind, that they can be
reached only by long trains of reasoning, will be found practi-
cally inoperative. The more immediately the doctrines of phi-
losophy, of morals, and of religion are made to spring from
that common sense, the stronger will be their hold upon the
conduct and the life. No one comprehended this fact more
fully or knew better how to avail himself of it than President
Wayland. The most extended inference to be found in all his
writings is covered by his favorite word “hence.” To this di-
rect emergence of his teachings from truths recognized by all,
is due in no small degree their power over the popular mind.
Occasionally it diminishes somewhat their interest by imparting
to them a too elementary character.
In the leading tenets of his intellectual philosophy he con-
forms most nearly to the doctrines of Stewart and Reid. Al-
though he had evidently perused with great care the philosoph-
ical writings of Sir William Hamilton, and lost no opportunity
of testifying the profoundest admiration for his genius, we find
in his work fewer traces of the peculiar views of the latter than
might have been expected. On neither perception nor original
suggestion does he follow his doubtful teachings. In truth,
however well fitted for understanding and appreciating one an-
other, the American President and the great Scottish Professor
212 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
possessed minds cast in different moulds, and characterized by
different tendencies. In one, the moral predominated over the
intellectual; in the other, the intellectual over the moral. One
sought truth from a conviction of its inestimable value; the
other rather for the pleasure of the excitement attending the
pursuit. “Fruit ’’ was the motto of one ; “activity" and
“life " were the watchwords of the other. Both conceive with
great strength and vividness. Both hold their conceptions with
a steadiness that never wavers. Both mark with unerring pre-
cision their contents. Both know equally well how to draw
them from their several momenta. If the philosophical percep-
tions of Sir William are more varied and profound, those of Dr.
Wayland are instinct with a deeper and more living earnest-
ness. If the discriminations of the former are sharper and more
penetrating, those of the latter follow with a finer sense the nat-
ural cleavages of thought. If the former deals in larger, bolder
generalizations, the latter conducts us to truths of greater im-
portance — of more immediate and practical value."
I do not think that processes of pure and simple ratiocination
had great attraction for Dr. Wayland. It was not so much
that they tasked too severely the logical faculty, as because they
held in restraint the imagination, with him unusually active, and
offered nothing that addressed the moral and aesthetic sensibili-
ties, forming so large and important a part of his nature. The
habit of his mind was inductive rather than deductive. Analy-
sis was the instrument which he chiefly used in the search for
truth, and illustration the means habitually employed by him
in conveying it to others.
* The above paragraph is substantially from an article by the author in the North
American Review, July, 1855.
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 213
If mere argument was little to his taste, still less so was con-
troversy, whatever the subject or with whatever of chivalrous
courtesy it might be conducted. With Milton he preferred to
contemplate “the bright countenance of truth’ rather than to
meet and battle with error. When, however, he consented to
enter the lists, he proved no mean combatant. His great
strength and his advantages of stature more than compensated
for any want of practice or skill in the use of weapons. If he
was not always sufficiently on his guard, if he sometimes in-
cautiously opened himself to an unexpected thrust from a more
agile foe, the well-wrought mail of principles with which he was
panoplied saved him from any serious injury. If he did not
insert the keen blade of an Ajax into the joints of his antag-
onist's armor, he crashed in that armor by the Titan-like blows
which he dealt upon it. But these knightly passages-at-arms
were foreign to his inclination and habits, and he rarely allowed
himself to be drawn into them.
The intellectual processes disclosed in his writings are genuine
and thorough. They are characterized by breadth rather than
subtlety. His words, always well chosen, are woven into periods
which render with scrupulous fidelity his meaning. His para-
graphs move steadily forward. There is no pause, no tergiver-
sation, but constant progress in the thought. Each sentence
goes with the directness of an arrow to its mark; and when the
exposition of the law or the discussion of the topic is finished,
there is left on the mind an impression of singular completeness.
Not a word employed could have been spared ; not another
word was needed. Perspicuity is the most striking quality of
his style. His ideas, always clear and well defined, clothe them-
selves in language having the transparency of crystal. The
214 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND.
thought is self-luminous and the expression is irradiated by its
light. This is true of his plainest and most ordinary writing.
When he rises above the merely didactic, when he approaches
the higher themes of human welfare and destiny, when with
powers fully aroused he pours around his subject the boundless
wealth of an exuberant imagination, his periods kindle and blaze
with surpassing splendor. No mere phosphorescent glow then
marks the track of his thought. It is the lightning's flash, in-
stantly illuminating every object and flooding the whole air with
its dazzling brightness. There are passages in his writings which
for brilliancy are hardly surpassed by anything in the language.
President Wayland possessed an emotional nature of great
depth and richness. No man was more profoundly stirred by
the forms of material grandeur presented in the outward uni-
verse. No bosom glowed with a more generous admiration of
high intellectual power, or kindled with a livelier enthusiasm
at the exhibition of lofty virtue. No soul bowed in deeper rev-
erence before God, or lifted itself more adoringly to the contem-
plation of His being and attributes. No heart was more easily
moved to sympathy or responded more warmly to the claims of
charity, of friendship, and of country. He had all the affections
and impulses of a noble nature. He loved justice and right
and truth, and hated and despised their opposites. In propor-
tion to his admiration of disinterestedness and generosity was
his loathing of selfishness, the meanness of it affecting him
even more than the sin. His detestation of injustice and wrong
had the strength of a passion. Systematic and banded oppres- .
sion of the weak by the strong awakened in him an intense and
burning indignation, to which, though a master of the language
of emotion, he could give but feeble expression.
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 215
It was this depth and fervor of feeling that fitted him so emi-
nently for the treatment of moral themes and made his tributes
to virtue so inspiring, and his denunciations of vice so withering
and terrible. It was this which gave such power to his exhorta-
tions, his appeals, his rebukes, and his warnings. It was feeling
welling up from its deep sources that quickened his intellectual
faculties into their finest action, which put his mind on wing
and imparted to it, in its higher flights, such breadth and clear-
ness of vision, which kindled to its brightest effulgence his
imagination, and inspired his loftiest strains of eloquence.
This warmth of temperament, while it was the source of so
much that was generous in character, and while it contributed
so largely to his power and influence, occasionally betrayed him
into hasty judgments which were not always just towards others.
When, however, he discovered the wrong, though it were in
thought only, he was most prompt in reparation. The same
ardor also sometimes showed itself in too impetuous action. In
carrying out a principle with whose importance he had become
impressed, he was liable not to keep sufficiently in view its in-
tersections by other general truths of equal moment. Gravity
is coextensive with the material universe. In our world it is
met at innumerable points by other coördinate forces which
modify indefinitely its manifestations.
Although by no means a stranger to the lighter forms of
emotion usually termed sentiment, these did not, like the deeper
pulses of moral feeling, pervade and control his whole nature.
They were not the atmosphere in which he lived and moved and
had his being. When under their influence, no one could give
them more graceful expression. The extreme delicacy of the
language in which he breathes forth sentiment in some of his
216 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
more touching tributes to friendship and exalted worth, makes
us almost regret that these tender effusions do not more fre-
quently grace his pages. As an example, I would instance
his discourse on the life and character of the Hon. Nicholas
Brown, the introductory portion of which contains passages of
great pathos and beauty; also his address to Dr. Nott, of Union
College, on the fiftieth anniversary of his presidency, in which
he pays, in accents so moving, the grateful homage of a pupil
to a beloved and venerated instructor, closing with those almost
daring words, which, if they ever had fitting application among
the sons of men, found it in him who, in the fullness of his
heart, so pathetically uttered them : “Heaven will account itself
richer as it opens its pearly gates to welcome thy approach ; but
where shall those who survive find anything left on earth that
resembles thee ?”
There is a force in the natural world which has received the
designation of catalytic. It is sometimes called the power of
presence. Bodies in which it resides have the marvellous prop-
erty of transmuting other bodies by mere contact into their like-
ness. The force is too subtile for analysis, and has hitherto
defied all attempts at explanation. Philosophers have contented
themselves with simply noting and naming it. The fact has
its analogy in the moral world. There are men who possess a
similar power of presence. An influence goes out from them
equally controlling and alike incapable of analysis or philosoph-
ical explanation. President Wayland presented a most striking
example of this. It was felt by all who came near him. His
power as a speaker and as a teacher depended largely upon it.
The same utterances might come from others, but how slight,
comparatively, their effect ' The same truths might be im-
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WA YLAND. 217
pressed by others, but how unlike their moulding influence
The same principles might be inculcated by others, but how dif-
ferent their transforming power! Behind the utterances, back
of the teachings, was a living soul from which proceeded ema-
nations entirely distinct and separate from ideas and quite inde-
pendent of language. The subtile influence poured through
the eye. It streamed from the features. It flowed through the
voice. Gesture, posture, and form were its silent vehicles. It
emphasized thought ; it energized expression; it vitalized ideas.
It awoke aspiration ; it kindled enthusiasm ; it developed power.
It was the direct efflux of spiritual energy by which a great na-
ture transformed other natures, in proportion to their capacities,
into its own likeness. It is the want of this incommunicable
power which is most felt by his pupils in the perusal of his
writings, and which makes them unwilling to admit that he has
produced anything equal to himself.
To rare intellectual and moral endowment was united in our
venerated friend a nature profoundly religious. To this was
added a temperament of great earnestness, exalted by a certain
intense realism. Life was to him no holiday. It was full of
grave interests and high trusts and great responsibilities, with
issues more momentous than the human mind could conceive.
The distant and the future, presented through his vivid imagi-
nation, were as real as the present. God, heaven, the immortal
life, and death eternal, were something more than vague ideas
or remote possibilities; they were great, overshadowing facts;
instant and pressing realities. At the market, in places of as-
sembly, by the wayside, everywhere, he saw men having undying
souls, which, if not saved through faith in Jesus Christ, must be
forever lost; for whose welfare, both here and hereafter, he, in
218 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND.
proportion to the ability given him, would be held accountable.
Life under such conditions and with such surroundings could not
but be earnest. No fanatical elements, however, mingled in it.
It was free even from Puritanic severity. His nature was a
healthy one, full of genial and kindly impulses. He was joyous,
and at times sportive even, but trifling never. In early and mid-
dle life he was much sought by society, and was the pride of every
circle in which he moved. His brilliant conversation, his spark-
ling wit, and his quick repartee made him the charm of the
dinner table. But these social pleasures he never allowed to
interfere with life’s work. They were only silver facings on the
garments of duty which he always wore. To meet the approval
of the great Taskmaster, in whose eye he ever acted, was his
constant endeavor. His motives were drawn from the unseen
world. To that his aspirations continually tended. Of that, as
years advanced, he became more and more a denizen, so that
when the time of his departure came, it seemed but a slight
removal. -
In estimating the permanent results of President Wayland’s
life, we should consider, I think, not merely or principally his
writings, important and valuable as these are. We should look
rather to the characters which he moulded, and to the moral
and religious forces which he set in action. These, as well as
the productions of his pen, still live, and will continue to live.
Where in all the land can be found a place in which to-day he
is not working, directly or indirectly, through those whose minds
he formed and inspired 2 In how many halls of learning is he
now giving instruction from how many pulpits holding forth
the word of life on how many benches dispensing justicel at
how many bars defending the rights of citizens ! In how many
A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 219
pagan lands is he imparting to minds darkened by superstition
and idolatry a knowledge of the only true God, and of the way
of salvation through Jesus Christ | Nor will his influence ter-
minate with the lives of those who were its immediate recipients.
Moral forces never die. By a law of their nature they perpet-
uate and extend and multiply themselves indefinitely. When
the marble in yonder hall, to which, through your thoughtful-
ness, those noble features have been committed, shall have
crumbled, and the unborn generations that will look upon it
shall have mingled in common dust, the impulses which pro-
ceeded from him will be still acting in circles of influence ever
widening and reaching larger and yet larger numbers.
Friend of our youth, our instructor, exemplar, and guide we
shall see thy face and hear thy voice no more. Thou hast done
with earth. Its dusty ways are trodden by thee no longer. The
impenitence and perversity of sinful men have ceased to grieve
thee. Thou now walkest the streets of the golden city. Angels
are thine attendants, and the spirits of the just made perfect
are thy companions. The mysteries which, while here, thou
didst desire to look into, are resolved. Thou hast opened thine
eyes upon the beatific vision. The throne of God and of the
Lamb is before thee. Thou gazest with unstricken sight upon
the effulgent, unutterable Glory. We wait on earth yet a little,
and then will follow thee.
THE REALM OF FAITH.
FEw things would at first view seem to be more unlike, or in
less danger of being confounded, than knowledge and belief;
and yet they are so blended in consciousness, and, moreover, in
some of their forms approximate one another so closely in char-
acter, that to draw the line of demarkation between them and
determine their respective values as grounds of action is no
easy task. It is one, however, that should be undertaken. The
times demand it. In these days of vaunted science, when men
are seeking to depose faith in the interest of positivism, which
they would place on her throne, it behooves the friends of truth
to examine the claims of the new favorite ; to see whether all
that we have been accustomed to deem holy and sacred must be
buried with the dead past, or whether there be not something
still remaining to which our reverence and affection may cling ;
whether the highest interest and true glory of man must hence-
forward be sought in the progress of the arts and triumphs of
electricity and steam, or whether virtue, God, heaven, and the
immortal life may not after all be more than empty words;
whether, to borrow an illustration from one of the leaders of
this school, everything lying beyond the sphere of the senses is
but “lunar politics,” of which we know nothing and can know
nothing, and concerning which it is a waste of time to specu-
THE REA LM OF FA ITII. 221
late, or whether the realm thus excluded from thought be not
the true home of the soul, where alone it finds free scope for
the exercise of all its faculties; whether we shall adopt the ad-
vice of the great English skeptic quoted by the same authority
with fullest indorsement, who says, “If we take in hand any
volume of divinity or school metaphysics, for instance, let us
ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity
or number 2 No. Does it contain any experimental reasoning
concerning matters of fact or existence? No. Commit it then
to the flames; for it contains nothing but sophistry and illu-
5
sion; ” or whether we shall look especially to these repudiated
sources for light on the problems of duty and destiny, which
press upon us and have ever pressed upon the race for solution.
To such an examination and inquiry we invite the attention of
the reader. We would that we came to it with larger prepara-
tion and a clearer sight; but the result of such thought as we
have been able to bestow we offer, relying upon the importance
of the subject to justify, however imperfectly successful, our en-
deavor.
We think it will be seen, on a little reflection, that positive
knowledge is limited to our own mental states; to the thoughts,
purposes, feelings, desires, and volitions of which we are con-
scious. We know these absolutely. They are precisely what
we conceive them to be. No skeptic ever doubted concerning
them. Even Hume, although he questioned everything else,
admitted the reality of his own mental experiences. For these
he had the best of vouchers, consciousness. All besides which
men call knowledge lacked this voucher. And here we think
he was right. We have no power of direct cognition beyond
ourselves. Between the world within and the world without, or,
222 THE REA LM OF FAITH.
in metaphysical phrase, the me and the not me, is a mighty
chasm, spanned only by the bridge of faith. If we refuse to
trust ourselves to this, we must remain forever cut off and iso-
lated from the rest of the universe.
We are aware that Sir William Hamilton has attempted to
establish a different doctrine. He has sought to make external
existences the subjects of direct knowledge by bringing them
within the field of consciousness. Dispensing with faith's
bridge, he has courageously undertaken to throw up a causeway
along which we may pass to the outward world on solid ground.
Dr. Noah Porter, following in his footsteps, has striven to add
strength and completeness to the work. Both, however, must,
we think, be admitted to have signally failed in their endeavors.
The yawning gulf will not be filled. We enter upon their la-
boriously raised way. For a time our progress seems secure.
At length the ground gives way beneath our feet, and we are
lost in the fathomless depths below. For a knowledge of aught
without ourselves, we are dependent upon the senses. For the
truthfulness of these, our only guaranty is the character of Him
who formed them. The natural and the supernatural, so far as
made known, are alike revelations from God, reaching us indeed
through different channels, but resting their claim to reception
equally on our faith in Him.
If we pass from the phenomenal to the real, from the out-
ward form and sensible properties of bodies to their indwelling
powers, from the regulated succession of events in the world
around us to the underlying causes by which the orderly move-
ment is determined, we find ourselves still further removed from
the domain of knowledge and still further advanced in the en-
compassing realm of belief. Of the essences of things we
THE REALM OF FAITH. 223
know and can know nothing. God has denied us the faculties
necessary for their apprehension. He has so constituted us,
however, that by a law of our intellectual being we are com-
pelled to believe in their existence. We are as sure of it as if
they were palpable to the senses, and could be felt and handled.
Of the material forces evolving the changes of the outward
world we have no knowledge. By careful and long continued
observations we may indeed ascertain the order and conditions
of their manifestations. But to grasp the forces themselves ex-
ceeds our utmost endeavor. They are too subtle for apprehen-
sion. They elude every attempt to lay hold of them. We have
no doubt, however, as to their existence ; we are as certain of it
as we are of our own existence. A belief imposed by the laws
of our mental structure is ground for as perfect assurance as
knowledge. We act as confidently upon it in the ordinary af-
fairs of life. It is, moreover, on such beliefs that all philoso-
phy must rest to afford any hope of permanence. The folly
of seeking for it a basis in positive knowledge the experience
of the last thirty centuries has abundantly demonstrated. The
history of philosophy during that period has been a history of
failures; not, as Mr. Lewes would have us suppose, because
philosophy is impossible, but because of the mistakes of the
builders. Rejecting with one accord faith as its foundation and
chief corner-stone, they have reared its successive structures on
the shifting sands of opinion. Hence their instability. How-
ever fair the proportions in which they may have arisen, or
whatever appearance of strength and solidity they may have as-
sumed, for want of adequate support, they have, one after an-
other, tumbled into ruins. -
In this connection we beg to call attention to what we deem
224 THE REALM OF FA ITH.
another grave error of Sir William Hamilton. We allude to
his derivation of the causal judgment. Instead of recognizing
it as a direct affirmation of the reason, an immediate revelation
of the intelligence, he traces it to a source which deprives it of
all authority, a source in the mind's impotence. We believe
that every change must be produced by some cause, not from
any apprehended necessity in the case, but from our inability to
conceive the contrary; an inability which, for aught we know,
may arise solely from the limitation of our faculties. However
far from intending it, he thus saps the foundation alike of phi-
losophy and religion, and opens wide the door for the entrance
of atheism.
If we extend further our observations in the world around us,
we discover evidences, not merely of power, but of power under
the direction of intelligence. The elementary particles of mat-
ter do not exist in a state of isolation, having each its own sepa-
rate and distinct sphere of action. On the contrary, they are
united into groups, and these groups are again united into
larger groups, and these larger groups are so conjoined as to
form systems; and these systems constitute parts of larger sys-
tems, and these of yet larger, from a molecule of water up to
the sidereal universe. Each one of these innumerable systems,
whatever its magnitude or degree of complexity, we see working
out, through the coördinated and harmonious action of its sev-
eral parts, results worthy from their importance to be the ob-
jects of intelligent effort. What then is the necessary infer-
ence 2 That each one of these systems is the work of mind;
that it was devised and constructed for the purposes which we
See accomplished by it. This is absolutely demanded by the
causal judgment. Power alone will not explain the facts. It
THE REALM OF FAITH. 225
must have been associated with intelligence; and as these sys-
tems have interdependencies innumerable, and together consti-
tute one single whole, they must be the work of one and the
same intelligence. There is no escape from this conclusion, un-
less we throw away one of the clearest intuitions of our nature,
and abandon all reasoning on the subject. Nebular hypotheses
and theories of development are of no avail in lessening the
force of the argument. If the design was not in the oak, it
was in the acorn. If it was not in the elaborately organized
man, it was in the germ from which he sprung. If it was not
in the completed earth, it was in the vaporous matter out of
which the earth in process of time grew. Away with the sense-
less babble about star dust, and protoplasm, and laws of devel-
opment, and natural selection. Concede to these hypotheses,
which they at best are, whatever of probability may be claimed
for them, they do not advance us a single step in solving the
problem of creation. They have no more power for this than
Lucretius' fortuitous concourse of atoms, or Plato's archetypal
ideas, or the numbers of Pythagoras, or the mundane egg of
the Egyptian mythology. Should they ever be placed on a suf-
ficiently broad basis of induction to entitle them to be regarded
as facts and laws, they will then be only outgrowths of an orig-
inal constitution of things which design alone can explain.
That the framers of these hypotheses should press them beyond
their proper limits is not remarkable. That others of atheisti-
cal tendencies should make use of them for strengthening their
faith is equally natural. But that men of the highest intellec-
tual endowments, who have spent their whole lives in the study
of nature, should from lack of moral vision be insensible to the
light of mind everywhere shining through it, is passing strange.
15
226 THE REALM OF FAITH.
How pitiable to see these blind Titans, instead of walking freely
abroad amid the glories of a divinely-formed and God-illumined
world which was their birthright, now grinding, Samson-like, in
the mill of inexorable, unvarying law, and now struggling to
wrench away the pillars of the moral firmament, that they may
bury themselves and all humanity beneath the ruins !
The innumerable arrangements and adaptations in nature
which disclose intelligence afford at the same time equal proof
of benevolence. The contrivance everywhere looks, either im-
mediately or remotely, to the welfare of sentient beings. What-
ever be its range or comprehension, whether it embrace in its
provisions the entire animal creation or be limited to a single
species, ministry to happiness is its manifest purpose. Evil ap-
pears in the world only as incidental to the good. It is not like
the latter, the object of contrivance and design. No provisions
are found looking to it as an end. On the contrary, we meet, in
numerous instances, with supplementary contrivances, intended
solely for its counteraction. Why the Omnipotent One should
resort to the use of means for the attainment of ends, why He
does not directly will whatever He desires, is not for us to in-
quire. A solution of that problem can come only from the
depths of the divine nature. We may, however, observe that it
is through this mode of working that He has made known to us
His existence and attributes. It is also through this mode of
working that He has enabled us to become co-workers with Him.
But the plan of constituting a few general agents, and of em-
ploying them through special devices for the attainment of par-
ticular ends, having been adopted, there was a necessary com-
mittal to all which the plan involved. The incidental evil could
not be separated from the purposed good. Were the former
THE REALM OF FAITH. g 227
many times greater than we find it, standing in the relation
which it does to the latter, it would not weigh a feather against
the argument from universal nature for the divine benevolence.
But we tarry too long in this lower realm of belief, which
lies so close to the domain of knowledge that it scarcely affords
opportunity for the exercise of faith in its more characteristic
and distinctive form. Ye believe in God. Ye do well; the
devils believe also, and tremble. The existence of an intelligent
Author of nature, who has ordered all its beneficent arrange-
ments, is a demand of the causal judgment so imperative that
only the most extraordinary mental obliquity can resist it. But
not so with his moral perfections, His truth, His justice, His
holiness. These rest on a different foundation. We go to ex-
ternal nature in vain for evidence of them. The depth saith, It
is not in me; and the sea saith, It is not with me. The fowl
of the air saith, It is not in me; the beast of the field saith, It is
not in me. The earth, as it hastens on in its appointed course,
saith, It is not in me. The starry firmament saith, It is not
in me. The grounds for belief in these higher attributes of
the Creator, aside from revelation, must be sought in the sen-
timents and intuitions of the human soul. This having been
formed by Him, though we do not suppose it to bear his
image, must, of necessity, reflect his character.
That God, whose existence and natural perfections are so
clearly revealed in the outward creation, is true must be re-
garded as a moral axiom. With infinite resources of power
and wisdom at command, it is inconceivable that He should
have recourse to deception for the fulfillment of his purposes.
The Scriptures everywhere assume the divine veracity, and rest
their claims to reception solely upon it. Dark indeed must be
228 * THE REALM OF FAITH.
the soul of him who refuses to accept this fundamental truth.
It underlies, as we have seen, all our constitutional beliefs, and
gives to them whatever validity they possess. It is the only
guaranty for the truthfulness of the senses, the sole ground of
assurance that life is not a dream, and everything in it illusory.
That God is just, is another moral axiom. All rightly consti-
tuted minds at once admit it. So strongly is the conviction im-
planted that the apparent want of accordance between treatment
and desert under the government of God in this world has uni-
versally led to the belief in a future state of existence, in which
the wrongs of this life will be righted ; in which a righteous
government, only begun here, will be carried on to completion.
Doubt concerning the divine justice would argue mental or
moral obliquity. j
The holiness of God, or his completeness in moral perfections,
should, we think, be placed on the same basis. We do not ask
for proof of it. We at once accept it as an indubitable truth.
“Our whole nature,” says Bishop Butler, “leads us to ascribe
all moral perfections to God, and to deny all, imperfection in
Him; and this will forever be a practical proof of his moral
character to such as will consider what a practical proof is, be-
cause it is the voice of God speaking in us.”
Were further evidence of the divine perfections needed, we
should find it in the structure of our moral natures. God has
so constituted us that we approve and honor truth, and despise
and abhor falsehood. Must we not see in this constitution an
adumbration of his character? God has so made us that we
instinctively love justice and right, and hate injustice and wrong.
Must we not see in these feelings a reflection of his sentiments 2
Can we suppose Him to have endowed us with a faculty for
THE RE 4 LM OF FAITH. 229
moral discriminations not made nor recognized by Him? He
that formed the eye, shall He not see ? He that planted the
ear, shall He not hear? God has made us capable of perceiving
the beauty of holiness. Has He given us this faculty without
anything in Himself to call it into exercise 2
But these intuitive beliefs, thus strengthened by disclosures of
the divine character in the constitution given us, are confirmed
by an external revelation attested by miracles, and supported by
a body of evidence of various kinds, such as can be adduced for
no other historical fact of like antiquity. This revelation, more-
over, contains many things additional to the teachings of the
light within, but so in harmony with these teachings that we
should be prepared to receive them on testimony less weighty.
Faith, taking within her embrace the truths of both revelations,
jealously guards them as her most precious treasures, treasures
which, unlike all others, grow continually brighter with keeping.
Between these beliefs in relation to God and human duty and
destiny, whether immediate or derived, and our moral states and
habits, there exists, we hardly need say, an intimate connection
whereby they exert a reciprocal influence upon one another. If
the beliefs be strong, they will invigorate the moral sentiments,
and these in turn will prompt to more energetic action. If the
beliefs be feeble, the moral sentiments will become languid or
obscured, and lose their power over the life. If, on the other
hand, the conduct be habitually wrong, it will react on the
moral sentiments. These become weakened and disordered,
and faith dies out in the soul.
From this connection between faith and the moral tempers
and dispositions from which it springs, it is taken in the Scrip-
tures as the evidence and exponent of character. The highest
230 THE REALM OF FAITH.
spiritual blessings are promised to it. “He that believeth on
me,” that receives with a hearty and loving faith the truths
which I teach, “ hath everlasting life.” “He that heareth my
word and believeth in him that sent me, hath everlasting life,
and shall not come unto condemnation, but is passed from death
unto life.”
Having thus rapidly glanced at the domain of knowledge,
and the realm of faith which lies around it, let us now examine
them somewhat more in detail, and see what they respectively
offer us. By such an examination and comparison, we shall be
able to judge of the boasted superiority of positivism ; to see
whether its advantages are such as to justify us in turning our
backs upon philosophy and religion, and joyfully enrolling our
names on the list of its votaries. The guerdon promised for
giving up our most valued possessions in this world, and all that
we hope for in the next, should not be a slight one.
Let us first turn to external nature, and see how the teachings
of this new philosophy enhance its value. Instead of the old-
fashioned, useless, and cumbrous hypothesis of real existences,
we have a mere assemblage of appearances, – a phantasmagoria
on a large scale, in which sun, moon, and stars, earth, oceans,
mountains, trees, and men, are seen on the magic screen : or a
moving panorama whose varied figures, whether of larger or
smaller size, whether singly or in groups, pass in orderly pro-
cession before us. Back of these appearances there is absolutely
nothing. They come into existence uncaused; they continue
in existence without support ; they go out of existence through
no agency. Any speculation as to their origin, nature, or pur-
pose is but dreaming. All that we can rationally do is to ob-
serve, compare, and classify them. Although the figures pass
THE REALM OF FAITH. 231
before us on the painted canvas with the most perfect regularity,
so that when we have learned the law of their movement, we
can predict the time and place of the reappearance of each with
unerring certainty, there is no connection between these figures,
and no machinery behind them by which the orderly movement
is determined. Any inquiry concerning the cause of this move-
ment would be worse than idle; for it has no cause. The only
object worthy of rational effort is to ascertain, by sufficiently ex-
tended observation, the law which governs it, and thus acquire
the power of prevision. Prevision is the measure and test and
sole fruit of positive science. He is the greatest philosopher
who can see farthest in advance the movements of the several
figures in the panorama; or, to change the illustration, who can
tell what forms will be presented to the eye after the greatest
number of rotations of the kaleidoscope, or say, in the case of
Mr. Babbage's calculating engine, what number will be brought
up at the ten thousandth or ten millionth or ten billionth turn
of the wheel.
If, in condescension to our weak prejudices, or mental infir-
mities, if you please, the new philosophy recognize the principle
of faith to the extent of admitting the reality of external exist-
ences, it gives us but a dead Nature. No indwelling spirit ani-
mates her frame nor breathes its quickening influence through
her members. No intelligence beams in her countenance. No
light of mind shines through her features. There are, indeed,
vast masses of matter, — mighty suns and huge and ponder-
ous planets revolving about them. On one of the smallest of
these planets are wide oceans and broad continents, and lofty
mountains and extended plains, presenting accommodations and
the means of sustenance for the most diversified forms of life.
232 THE REALM OF FAITH.
But what of this? The fact is of no significance. It proves
nothing. It indicates nothing. This apparent array of means
was not brought into existence for the attainment of any end,
— was not designed for the accomplishment of any purpose.
Intelligence had no part in it. It was the mere result of
chance; one of the possible issues of an original chaos of
atoms, every one of whose movements was determined by blind
laws. Nature, and not God, Nature, herself blind and uncon-
scious, is the author of all these nicely adjusted arrangements,
all this furniture of life in the heavens above us, and in the
earth under us. After countless ages of unconscious struggle, of
combinations and recombinations, constructions and reconstruc-
tions innumerable, this grand result was at length attained.
Let us next turn to the domain of life, and see what the new
philosophy offers us in this department of the Creator's works.
May we not look for its superiority here? May it not here
disclose the attractive features that are to win us to its em-
brace? Alas! we are again doomed to disappointment. It is
here that it especially shows its weakness; that it darkens coun-
sel by words without knowledge; that it repels us alike by the
hideousness of its portrayals, and the absurdity of its doctrines.
Nature, after having, by a whole eternity of unconscious strug-
gles, accidentally effected the organization of our planet, con-
tinues her blind efforts, and at length, by a chance combination
of the right elements, gives birth to the first living thing. A
starting-point is thus secured for a new series of developments.
From this starting-point life is carried upward, partly by fortu-
nate accidents rewarding the uninterrupted struggles of nature,
partly by the conscious and voluntary efforts of the individual
to adapt himself to new conditions, and partly by natural selec-
THE REALM OF FAITH. 233
tion, or the surviving of the fittest. Millions of ages roll away.
The molluscan, ichthian, reptilian, and mammalian types are
successively reached. At length, the persevering efforts of
unconscious Nature, seconded by favoring influences and happy
chances, are crowned by the appearance of a quadrumane. Man
comes next. He is a monkey of larger growth, with cranium
more developed and extremities more specialized, but still a
monkey. His parentage is revealed in every feature. His life,
too, shows it. He is born, and grows up. He eats, he drinks,
he sleeps, he loves, he hates, he hopes, he fears, he dies. His
intelligence is greater, owing to the larger size of his brain.
Hence, he bedecks himself, he builds houses, he plants trees, he
rides, he dances, he buys, he sells, he gibbers about philosophy,
and law, and fate, and free will, and foreordination, and evi-
dences of design, and causes efficient and final, and essences
material and spiritual. But after thus riding and dancing and
gibbering through the brief span of his existence, he dies like
the monkey, and like the monkey transfers the life which he
had received from others to the worms that feed upon him.
His dust goes to feed the roots of a neighboring tree, or to
clothe with fresh beauty the flower that blooms over it.
And is this all ? This is all. Is there no resurrection ? no
life to come 2 No resurrection ; no life to come. Can Nature,
with her mighty array of means, her vast apparatus of worlds,
every one of which contains within itself inexhaustible resources,
— can she do more than this 2 No more than this. Or, as
time is endless and chances are infinite, possibly she may do
more. By continuing without remission her blind efforts for a
few million or a few hundred million years, she may at length
succeed in producing a quadrumane of yet higher development,
234 w THE REALM OF FAITH.
and yet larger intelligence, who shall eat and drink and sleep
more luxuriously, who shall array himself in finer apparel, and
rear for his accommodation more sumptuous palaces; who shall
ride more gayly, and dance more gracefully, and discourse in
fitter terms of man and nature and destiny, and who, when he
comes to die and be buried, shall be fed upon by worms of bet-
ter appearance, and whose dust shall go to nourish trees of a
finer port and flowers of brighter colors. And is this all ? All,
absolutely all. Nature no further can go.
But may we not find some alleviation to our humbled and
wounded pride in the moral nature of man, – the last refuge of
our hopes 2 May we not discover here his true nobility ? Al-
though allied by his bodily and mental structure to the beasts
of the field, and destined like them to perish, may he not
impart dignity to his existence, brief though it be, by a life of
virtue and self-sacrifice, of high resolves and noble aims and
heroic endeavors? Alas! alas ! virtue is only a name. High
resolves and noble aims and heroic endeavors are of no more
worth than fig leaves, or fennel seed, or apple blossoms. Man
is not a responsible agent. His imagined consciousness of free-
dom is illusory. His good and bad actions are no more subjects
for praise or blame than the ascent of a rocket and the descent
of the stick. The creature of blind chance, he is the victim of
an implacable destiny. Prometheus like, he is bound by an
adamantine chain to the rock of fate, while the vulture con-
science gnaws at his vitals. Lines of antecedent and conse-
quent, extending from the first movement in the original chaos
of atoms, across the cycles of planetary evolution to the newly
formed earth, and thence, with continuity unbroken, down the
geologic ages to man, run through all his actions, binding them
THE REALM OF FAITH. 235
to one another by indissoluble ties. Every thought and desire
and purpose were predetermined from the beginning. He can
no more change his character or his life than he can change
his person. He is a mere puppet, obeying in every movement
an unalienable necessity. He is the football of destiny, the
plaything of fate. He is morally of no more worth than a
Worm, a tree, or a stone.
And is this all that the boasted philosophy can give us? Is
it for such a mess of pottage that we are asked to part with
our spiritual birthright 2 For so beggarly a possession are we
to open faith's treasury and pour out of her riches 2 How
unlike these dreary, dismal wastes of positivism are the visions
which meet us when we cross the border and enter her domin-
ions ! How different the sights and sounds which everywhere
greet our senses How changed is the aspect of all around us!
Nature has risen from her deadly swoon, and sits arrayed in her
beautiful garments. A celestial intelligence beams in her coun-
tenance, and from every one of her myriad tongues comes up
the voice of praise. The heavens declare the glory of God, and
the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth
speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge; and there is
no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Earth,
with all in it and on it, joins in the great acclaim. The sea
roars, the waves lift up their voice, the mountains break forth
into singing, the trees clap their hands, the little hills rejoice on
every side. God is in all the beneficent agencies of Nature.
He sendeth the streams among the valleys. He watereth the
hills from his chambers. He causeth the grass to grow for the
cattle, and with oil, bread, and wine rejoiceth the heart of man.
All living things wait upon Him, that He may give them their
236 THE REALM OF FAITH.
maat in due season. The earth is full of His riches; so is the
great and wide sea. His providential care is over all the crea-
tures which He has made. He heareth the young ravens when
they cry. . Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His notice.
The hairs of our head are numbered. The manifestations of
power are everywhere His. God thundereth marvellously; the
lightnings go before Him. He giveth snow like wool; He scat-
tereth hoar frost like ashes. The earth trembles, and the hills
melt like wax at His presence. He is in all, and through all,
and over all. The world is full of God.
Man is no longer a worthless link' in an adamantine chain of
necessity. He is a free moral intelligence, bearing in every
lineament the image of his Maker. Though a little lower than
the angels, he is crowned with glory and honor, and dominion
is given him over all God’s works. Nothing is too great for his
power. He putteth forth his hand upon the rock; he over-
turneth the mountains by their roots; he cutteth out rivers
among the rocks, and his eye seeth every precious thing. He
bindeth the floods from overflowing, and the thing that was
hid he bringeth to light. He setteth an end to darkness, and
he searcheth out all perfection.
In his higher nature, man is raised above all terrestrial analo-
gies and relationships. He possesses a soul of boundless aspira-
tions and capacities, made for endless progress in knowledge, in
virtue, and in happiness. He is of more worth than the whole
shining firmament of material worlds. Dear to the Father, be-
loved of the Son who came down from heaven to die for him, min-
istered to and rejoiced over by angels, enlightened, instructed,
and comforted by God's holy Spirit, he is but a sojourner on
the earth; his kindred and home are in the skies. There pre-
THE REALM OF FA ITH. 237
pared mansions in his Father's house wait for him. Thither
cherubic bands convoy him. As the pearly gates of the celes-
tial city open to admit him, a deeper thrill of joy pervades
heaven. He is now an immortal among immortals. Bodily
impediments and incumbrances have been laid aside. He has
no longer need of the light of the sun or the moon. He is
perpetually bathed in the effulgence which pours from the
throne of God and of the Lamb. His material wants have
ceased. He slakes his thirst with the water of the river of life.
He satisfies his hunger with the immortal food that grows upon
its banks. An eternity of worship, of knowledge, of life, of
joy, is before him.
Such are the pictures presented by faith on the one hand,
and positivism on the other. Is it difficult to choose between
them 2
But it is not from the direct influence of positivism, deadly
as is the atmosphere which envelops this moral upas, that we
have most to fear. Its aspect and surroundings deter and
repel us. We are conscious of the mephitic vapors with which
the air is laden, and hasten our retreating steps. It is the out-
growths of positive knowledge, – the forms of material and
social development that have sprung from its marvelous expan-
sion during the past century, - that are fraught with the
greatest perils. Although not directly attacking our faith, they
undermine the qualities of character upon which it depends, and
strengthen every opposing principle. They intensify the desire
for material good, by multiplying indefinitely the means of its
gratification. They make life worldly, by widening immensur-
ably the area of our knowledge and interests. Steam, the tele-
graph, and press have endowed us with a sort of ubiquity. No
238 THE REALM OF FA ITH.
important event, physical or social, political or financial, can
occur in any part of the civilized world, but we are immediately
cognizant of it. There is spread out before us each morning
an amount and variety of knowledge, to gather which, in the
palmiest days of Greece and Rome, would have required a life-
time of travel. We sit in our own parlors and view at leisure
whatever round the wide earth is grand or beautiful, in nature
and art. -
Our facilities for action are equally increased. The work of
a month is done in a day. The experience and activities of a
year are crowded into a week. A decade of years is practically
equivalent to a lifetime. Amid the whirl of occupation and the
excitement of business, the demands of our higher natures are
unheeded. There is no time for thought or reflection, no leis-
ure for contemplation and self-communing, deemed by the old
divines so important a means of religious culture. The pleas-
ures of sense, of intellect, and of taste, in forms ever new, vie
with one another in drowning the inward sense of need and
quenching all spiritual aspiration. The moral intuitions, those
windows of the soul, become darkened, so that the light of
heaven is no longer admitted through them. If two thousand
years ago, when wealth had comparatively few uses, it was
easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a
rich man to enter the kingdom of God, what must be its perils
at the present day, when, through the multiplication of every
species of art and device, its power to minister to the lust of the
flesh, and the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, has been a
hundred-fold increased.
It is not, however, in the gratifications afforded by wealth,
nor its ministry to every form of worldliness, that lies the chief
THE REALM OF FAITH. 239
danger. Grave as this is, it is trifling in comparison with the
perils attending the struggle for its acquisition. The desire of
wealth becomes intense in proportion to the number and variety
of its uses. Never before, since the world began, were these
so great ; and never before were men so eager and absorbed in
its pursuit. No labors are too arduous, no sacrifices too great,
no devotion too unremitting, if but its visions dance before
their eyes. When lawful means fail, unlawful are tried. Man-
hood and conscience for a time remonstrate ; but soon their
voice is silenced. Interest and the selfish passions become the
sole guides to action. The requirements of honor and truth, of
justice and right, are alike disregarded. Sentiments the most
atrocious, and principles the most despicable, are avowed and
acted upon. Faith, unable to endure such companionship, takes
her upward flight. The soul becomes darkened and deformed
by evil passions. It has exchanged the bright plumage of an
angel for the bat-wings of a devil.
Such is the moral havoc wrought by the fruits of positive
science ; by that abounding wealth which an explored and sub-
jugated nature is pouring into the lap of society. And is there
no remedy ? As our knowledge of material agents and forces
is extended, and these are brought more largely into the service
of man, must the evil go on increasing? Must Christianity at
length fall through the instrumentalities which she herself has
created ? Must the dove of Christian faith sink down, trans-
fixed with an arrow winged by a feather from her own bosom ?
Does God defeat His own purposes? Does He call into exist-
ence beneficent agencies simply in order to their destruction?
Has He in these last days opened to man inexhaustible resources
of happiness and power, only that they may demoralize and
240 THE REALM OF FAITH.
ruin 2 Are the new-born hopes of our race so soon and so mis-
erably to perish 2 Is there no corrective in the treasures of di-
vine wisdom by which the threatened evil may be averted? No
weapon in the divine armory by which the malign power may
be met and turned backwards? Has God suffered the world to
acquire the means of redoubling its assaults on the hearts of
men, without adequate provisions for counteracting its influ-
ence? In the natural world, every bane has its antidote ; every
disease its remedy. Are the disorders of the moral world alone
uncared for 2 Are there here no antidotes, no remedies 2 Yes,
there is one sovereign remedy adequate to the cure of all dis-
eases; one mighty weapon capable of beating back the assaults
of all enemies. That remedy, that weapon, is faith, – faith in
God, and faith in man as the child of God, and destined here-
after to dwell with Him ; faith in moral law and the divine gov-
ernment; faith in virtue and justice and goodness and truth;
faith in right and duty; faith in doing unto others as we would
that they should do unto us; faith in all the precepts and doc-
trines of the gospel of Jesus Christ; that faith which gives
substance to things hoped for, and is the evidence of things not
seen; which sets the two worlds in their proper relations to one
another ; which takes off the glare from one, and dissolves the
mists that obscure the other ; which dwarfs one into its native
littleness, and discloses the other in its true magnitude and im-
portance; which reckons character above station ; honor from
God as of more worth than the good opinion of men ; heavenly
treasures as of greater value than earthly possessions; in whose
estimation the gain of the whole world would be but a poor
equivalent for the loss of the soul; according to whose teach-
ings it is better to give than to receive, to suffer wrong than to
THE REALM OF FAITH. 241
do wrong, to be a poor and humble disciple of Jesus of Naza-
reth than the possessor of all earthly riches and honors; which
thinks God mightier than steam or electricity, death stronger
than title deeds, and eternity longer than time. Faith, such a
faith, is needed in the individual to elevate and fortify personal
character, and to impart to it just proportions and true dignity.
It is only when encased in the mail of strong convictions that
he can safely or successfully engage in the battles of life.
Faith, such a faith, is needed to permeate and purify society;
to give it strength and courage, and the will to rid itself of the
profligacy and corruption with which its highways and byways
are filled, and to enable it to convert the boundless resources
which a prodigal nature offers, from instruments of evil into the
means of unlimited good. And faith is adequate to this. It
can cause the camel to go through the eye of the needle. It
deprives wealth of its power to harm by disclosing its proper
value and true uses; by making it tributary to a higher and
better culture, and a fairer and nobler development of all the
humanities; by finding in it the means not only of alleviating
physical suffering, but of causing the moral desert to blossom
as the rose, and preparing and fertilizing the fields of earth for
the harvests of heaven. Resources however limitless, under
such guidance, are without danger. Were Nature to uncover
all her hidden treasures of wealth and power, and lay them at
the feet of man, thus strengthened and fortified, he would be
able not only to bear the moral strain, but to turn this mighty
accession of means to the direct advancement of the highest
interests of the race.
The special need, the fundamental necessity, of our modern
civilization, — that which alone can give it permanence, — with-
16
242 -l
THE REALM OF FAI TH.
out which it will only repeat with exaggerated features the story
of all past civilizations, is not popular education, nor free insti-
tutions, nor republican forms of government, nor the harnessing
of nature's forces to the car of human progress, but faith, a
vital, operative faith, pervading all classes of society, and laying
the only sure foundation for self-government, the essential condi-
tion of true liberty, and continued social improvement. What-
ever tends to unsettle the moral and religious convictions of men
loosens to that extent the bonds of society, and prepares the
way for disorder, revolution, and anarchy, to end in the strong
repression of despotism. Whatever strengthens those convic-
tions tends to impart stability to the social fabric, and enable it
to resist alike the hand of violence and the shocks of time. The
work of the Christian teacher and preacher is more important
than that of the philosopher, or statesman, or scholar. Back in
the depths of the soul he reaches the springs of action; they
only direct its course. His healing touch is applied to the
sources of moral and social life ; they only shape the channels
in which it shall flow. It is his office to promote the temper
and quicken the aspirations which lead to progress, and which
alone render permanent progress possible ; they only open
paths, remove obstacles, and provide facilities for the advancing
movement. He draws his most cogent arguments from the other
world; their horizon is limited to this. He holds in his hand
a power mightier than king or potentate ever wielded, - these
alter only the condition of men; through his instrumentality
their natures are changed; a power greater than science or art
can boast, — these affect only a brief existence ; upon his min-
istry waits everlasting life; a power which all earthly agencies
combined cannot equal, - the power of a living, abiding, over-
coming faith.
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.1
THE thesis of Mr. Hazard, on first announcement, is startling
and paradoxical. We are accustomed to regard creative power
as exclusively an attribute of Deity. He alone can call into
being that which was not. Man's power is limited to effecting
changes in what already exists. Actual creation, or the pro-
duction of something out of nothing, is so difficult of conception
that some philosophers are led to question its possibility, and to
limit the work of God to the construction of the universe from
préexisting materials. Sir William Hamilton takes this ground.
He says matter must either be coeternal with God, or God must
have produced it from his own substance. We cannot, he adds,
suppose the sum of being ever to have been greater or less than
it is now. Addition to it or subtraction from it is alike unthink-
able. All the being now in existence must have always existed,
either actually or potentially. It is evident, then, that man can-
not be regarded by Mr. Hazard as, in this primary and absolute
sense, a creative first cause.
But if we confine the idea of creation to mere changes of
form, such as we see in progress everywhere around us, and, as
* Man a Creative First Cause. Two Discourses delivered at Concord, Mass., July,
1882, by Rowland G. Hazard, LL.D., author of Language and other Papers, etc.,
etc. Second edition. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1884.
244 MAN A CREATI VE FIRST CA USE.
we learn from the investigations of science, have been going
forward from the remotest epochs of the past, man could with
scarcely more propriety be styled a creative first cause. There
are forces intimately connected with matter, upon whose varied
activity the modifications which it undergoes immediately de-
pend. These forces, although convertible into one another, are
believed to be as indestructible as the matter in which they ap-
pear. Man can neither add anything to them nor take anything
from them. The creation of any of these forces is as impossible
to him as the creation of matter. In fact, matter is known to
us only as the seat and the vehicle of these forces. All its
changes from rest to motion and from motion to rest — all its
myriad transformations — are due to these forces.
If, then, we restrict the idea of creation to the mere transfor-
mations of matter, man can have but little part in it. The most
he can do is to supply the conditions for bringing the required
forces in action. He may hoist the gate of the water-mill, or
open the valve of the steam-engine, or apply the match to the
cannon. It is the forces thus liberated by him that do the work.
But our author is an idealist. He does not allow the exist-
ence of matter as a separate and distinct entity, or the reality of
the forces which make their appearance in connection with it.
All the phenomena usually ascribed to it he refers to the im-
mediate exertion of the divine will. Ideas existing in the mind
of God are made by Him real and palpable to all finite intelli-
gences. Creation is thus a perpetual work — the ceaseless im-
pressing of the divine thought upon the consciousness of per-
cipient beings. Surely the slight control which man has acquired
over nature through the study of her laws bears no resemblance
to this
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE. 245
But Mr. Hazard is not yet content. He rises to a still bolder
and more startling proposition. It is not enough that man is a
creative first cause. In the sphere of his own moral nature, he
is a Supreme, creative first cause. His will, in which the crea-
tive power resides, is his own. No extrinsic force can reach it.
He is self-moved and self-governed. He always acts or refrains
from action in accordance with his own choices. He is free in
willing, as God is free; free as it is possible for any agent to
be. Under the guidance of the aesthetic and moral sense, he
may create within himself a world more perfect than the world
made known to him through the senses. In this creation, like
God in His creation, he is supreme. He is subject to no limi-
tations, as in the material world, either from his own nature or
from forces without himself. By the habitual contemplation
of this inner and more perfect world, and by constant effort to
bring his life into harmony with it, he may build for himself
a pure, virtuous, noble character. Whatever other advantages
metaphysics may offer, this is their chief use and highest end.
The propositions which we have briefly indicated are treated
by Mr. Hazard as not doubtful nor problematical. They are
made to rest upon premises which, certain definitions being ac-
cepted, we are compelled to admit. In surveying the ground of
these premises and in tracing the logical sequences from them,
he shows a breadth and acuteness of vision not surpassed in any
of his previous writings. He treats the subtle questions con-
nected with the will and the almost equally perplexing difficul-
ties involved in the doctrine of causation, with a keenness of
analysis and a delicacy of discrimination which might have saved
Edwards and Mill, two of the ablest thinkers of their times, from
Serious error. Although past fourscore years of age, his intel-
246 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE.
lectual eye is not dimmed nor his mental force abated. The
language, too, is as admirable as the thought. It possesses in
an eminent degree the two chief requisites of a philosophical
style, clearness and precision. If he is not understood, the
fault is not his, but in the reader.
Curiously enough, we chanced to be reading a theologico-
philosophical work of Mr. Mulford, – “The Republic of God,”
— when, by the kindness of Mr. Hazard, this little volume was
put into our hands. On laying aside the former and opening
the latter, we were strongly impressed with the difference be-
tween the two books. In one we found propositions freely
enunciated, appealing for support to principles assumed to be
axiomatic, but to few of which the mind yielded an unqualified
assent ; in the other, premises carefully laid down and conclu-
sions logically derived from them. It was like passing out from
a region of mists and shadows into a land of unclouded day.
Having placed upon a sure foundation his ethical doctrines, Mr.
Hazard, in applying them, does not fear to draw upon the re-
sources of an exuberant imagination. In this part of the work
occur passages of singular grace and beauty.
The propositions maintained by Mr. Hazard are four : 1.
Man is a cause ; 2. Man is a first cause; 3. Man is a creative
first cause; 4. Man, in the sphere of his moral nature, is a su-
preme, creative first cause.
The first of these propositions would seem to require no proof.
We are conscious of putting forth effort, and we observe the
change produced by that effort. We infer by the most exten-
sive and satisfactory of all inductions, that other men put forth
effort, and we see it in like manner followed by change. This
effort is, in the truest sense, the cause of the change. It is not
MAN A CREA TI VE FIRST CA USE. 247
the occasion of the change merely, it is not simply one of the
conditions of the change, it is the true cause — the causa vera
— of the change. I lift, for instance, a ten-pound weight, and
hold it poised in my hand. In doing this, I put forth an effort
of exactly ten pounds, and by that effort exactly balance the
downward tendency of the ten-pound weight. The effort is
neither more nor less than the downward tendency of the weight.
It is wholly expended in resisting that downward tendency.
The effort, therefore, is the true, efficient cause of the suspension
of the ten-pound weight, and is exactly measured by the ten-
dency of that weight downwards.
Again, the laborer takes a sack of grain and transports it a
mile. In this case the effort is greater than the resistance of
the sack to transportation. Besides bearing the sack, the la-
borer must carry himself, a weight, it may be, greater than that
of the sack. The effort of the laborer is the true, efficient cause
of the transportation of the sack, but is not measured by its re-
sistance to transportation. Only a part of the effort is expended
in carrying the sack; another part is expended in supporting
the weight while carrying it, and in carrying himself. Still the
laborer is the efficient cause of the transportation of the sack.
Again, the engineer opens a valve and lets steam on the pis-
ton of the locomotive, and quickly the train of cars attached to
it is in rapid motion. In this case, is the engineer the cause
of this movement? Does the force required for the continued
motion of the train originate with him 2 He has simply opened
a valve. He has put forth an effort equivalent to the resistance
of the valve to being opened. He is the true and efficient cause
of the opening of the valve. That is all. Other causes of great
energy have come into action by which the train is hurled along
248 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.
the track. Over these causes he has no control. He can neither
add to nor take from their energy. When the proper condi-
tions are supplied, their action is instantaneous and inevitable.
A few years ago an effort was made to widen and deepen the
passage in the East River known as Hell Gate. The engineer
to whom the work was committed, conceived the idea of perfo-
rating the bottom and sides of the channel with drilled holes,
sufficiently large and deep to receive heavy charges of dynamite,
and then of firing these at the same instant by means of elec-
tricity. Having made all his preparations for carrying out this
idea, he gave public notice of the day and hour and minute when
the terrific explosion might be expected. In the presence of a
great multitude of spectators, his little daughter, away from all
danger, touched a spring that closed the galvanic circle, and
instantly huge masses of rock were torn from their base and
thrown upwards, as if by the shock of an earthquake. What
was the cause of this majestic phenomenon 2 Was it the touch
of the child 2 Was that touch the equivalent of the mighty
forces brought into action ? Of course not. The child’s touch
was the equivalent of the slight resistance of the spring that
closed the circle. It was the true and efficient cause of the clos-
ing of the circle, – only of that. For the gigantic forces
evolved in the explosion we must look to the energies indissol-
ubly connected with matter.
But let us return to the instance of causative power first sug-
gested. Take the effort of which I am conscious in supporting
in my hand a ten-pound weight. Bodily effort, as ordinarily
understood, takes in, besides the volition, the swell and play of
muscles of which we are at the same time conscious through
what has been named the muscular sense. Effort is not synony-
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE. 249
mous with volition, as Mr. Hazard seems to suppose. It is voli-
tion and something more. It is the embodiment of volition in
action. The question then becomes, Is the volition by which
the effort is made the equivalent of the weight supported ?
Suppose the arm to be paralyzed. I may will as vigorously as
before, but the arm is not raised, the weight is not supported.
I am incapable of effort with the arm. Something more than
volition is required to effect any outward change. The will must
have a prepared instrument. Without such an instrument it can
do nothing ; it is powerless. In ordinary effort who can tell
how much of the work done is due to the volition and how much
to the forces liberated in and applied by the instrument? We
must be careful not to mistake the child’s touch for the cause of
the explosion. The touch of the will in ordinary effort may
bear as slight a ratio to the work accomplished. Still, the will
is a force, and man has causative power — is a true cause, how-
ever insignificant a one when compared with the mighty ener-
gies which pervade his own frame and extend through all na-
ture. It is these material forces without him and within him
that man calls to his aid when anything is to be done, and it is
through their agency that the work is accomplished.
According to the received teachings of science, these forces
are all resolvable into two kinds of energy : kinetic energy, or
the energy of moving bodies, mechanical force ; and the energy
of position, or chemical force, manifesting itself in forms of at-
traction and repulsion. These two kinds of energy are convert-
ible into one another. In the never-ceasing phenomena trans-
piring around us they are undergoing such conversion, their
sum always remaining the same. The principal agents by which
this conversion is effected are the leaves of plants and the lungs
250 MAN A CREATI VE FIRST CA US E.
of animals. The great office of the vegetable kingdom is to
change kinetic energy, as it pours from the Sun, into the energy
of position ; which latter is in turn changed back again into
specific forms of kinetic energy by the animal kingdom. Each
of the two kingdoms thus supplies food and the possibility of
life to the other. Besides the respiration of animals, there are
processes of decay everywhere going forward, which also yield
food for plants. The sun is the primary cause of all the trans-
formations which are taking place on the surface of our planet.
According as he shines or withholds his beams, he spreads over
it a sheet of perennial verdure, or leaves it to ice and barrenness.
In the sun is stored a supply of force which the geologic ages
have failed to exhaust. Should it ever be expended by diffusion
through space, all change upon the earth would cease. It might
still turn daily upon its axis and trace its annual course along
the same orbit, but not as now, clothed with beauty and the
home of innumerable forms of life, but shrouded in darkness
and locked in frost, the abode of eternal silence and death.
Mr. Hazard, it is hardly necessary to say, does not accept
this view of nature. He does not allow to matter any causal
power. He doubts the persistence of the first kind of energy, =
the energy of moving bodies. His words are, “If the tendency
of matter is to stop, then it can have in itself no power or
force whatever ; ” and again, “I confess myself unable to find
any solution of this radical question; but until it is settled, I
do not see how matter, though in motion, can properly be re-
garded as a force.”
He thus calls in question the postulate by which, in connec-
tion with the law of gravitation, Sir Isaac Newton explains the
orbital motions of the planets, and upon which La Place built
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 251
his “Mécanique Céleste.” The second kind of energy of
which philosophers tell us — the energy of position — he
wholly ignores.
For all the forces that appear in matter he substitutes the
energy of the Supreme will. According to him, the explosion
in Hell Gate was the simple thought of God, timed by the
imagined touch of the child, made palpable to the mind of each
one of the multitude who supposed they were looking on and
witnessing an unusual display of force.
“We know nothing of matter,” he affirms, “except by the
sensations which we impute to its agency, and these sensations
are as fully accounted for by the hypothesis that they are the
thought, the imagery, of the mind of God, directly imparted or
made palpable to our finite minds, as by that of a distinct ex-
ternal substance in which He has embodied this thought and
imagery.” On this hypothesis, the action of the will, of what-
ever nature it may be, is transferred from the forces of mat-
ter to the mind of God. God, instead of these forces, does the
work. A man travels, as he imagines, and visits different cities.
God, in attendance, manifests to him, makes real to his con-
sciousness, whatever he imagines that he sees, by awakening in
him the proper sensations. God is doing this for every human
being when, by change of place, he takes in new objects of
sight. Nay, He is doing the same for all living things which
have feeling and will, in all their infinite variety of movement.
At the bidding of a million of human wills, God devised and
daily makes palpable to the multitudes who pass over it the
marvelous structure which, spanning the East River, joins the
city of Brooklyn to the city of New York. In the same way
He reared the elevated railways of the latter city, and every day
252 MA N A CREA TIVE FIRST CAUSE.
renews the vision, with cars whirling along the iron tracks, to
half its population. The young lions roar and seek their prey
from God. He satisfieth them by awakening the sensation of
a repast upon human flesh or the flesh of some animal. The
ravens cry unto God, and He feedeth them in like manner with
sensations. The wants of the little ant, so active and indus-
trious, are provided for in a similar way. The oyster, which is
regarded by the author as “a creative first cause,” and justly
so on his definition of creation, on raising its movable valve
to take in food, is obliged to be content with its imagined
taste.
Idealism does not increase the causative power of the will.
According to this theory, the imagination of the desired change
is awakened in the mind by the direct act of God. Accord-
ing to the theory ordinarily received, the change itself is pro-
duced by the forces inseparably connected with matter. On
neither theory is anything or can anything be done by the
unaided will. On both theories, however great a deduction it
may be necessary to make from the apparent efficiency of the
will, it has a certain part in the production of changes in the
outward world. This is true in the case of idealism, if we sup-
pose that the human will acts causatively upon the divine will ;
that it is not merely an antecedent to the volition of God, but
is the true and efficient cause of that volition. Mr. Hazard
virtually says this, and it is necessarily implied in his teach-
ing. For if the human volition were a mere condition of the
change produced by God, and had no agency in the production
of that change, it could not then be regarded as the “causa
causans,” the original and efficient cause of the change. With
this understanding, therefore, whether we adopt idealism or
MAN A CREA TIVE FIRST CA US E. - 253
realism, man is a cause in the truest and strictest sense of the
word.
2. Man is a first cause. By this is meant, not that he is first
in point of time, but that he is an original and self-acting
cause, in contradistinction from a cause that is acted upon, and
simply transmits that action. The question really is whether
man is a free agent, or whether his actions are controlled by a
power without himself, as absolute as that which governs the
course of physical events. Or, in other words, whether the
mind is free in willing, or whether its volitions are determined
by something beyond and outside of itself.
To this question there can be but one answer. The mind is
free in willing. Its volitions are determined by itself. They
are its own unrestrained, uncontrolled acts. This is the high-
est and most perfect freedom which we are able to conceive.
President Edwards, from the controversial character of his
work on the will, was led to consider another and different
question, “Is the will free?” This was supposed by his oppo-
nents to be essential to human accountability. He therefore
argues this question, and maintains that the will is not free or
self-determined in its action ; that a man's volitions are con-
trolled by the man himself; that they depend upon his charac-
ter, and are consequently determined by that. The will, there-
fore, is not free.
Such is the argument of President Edwards. It is, as it was
intended to be, a reductio ad absurdum. It contemplates a
freedom which is impossible, – a freedom of the will, - the will
acting independently of all motives, volition without choice, or
preference, or end. It is of the very nature of will to act from
motives and towards ends. It is this which distinguishes the
254 MA N A CREA TI VE FIRST CA USE.
action of intelligent, voluntary agents from that of insensate
matter. “A constrained or coerced willing,” Mr. Hazard very
justly and acutely remarks, “a willing that is not free, is not
even conceivable. The idea is so incongruous that any attempt
to express it results in the solecism of our willing when we are
not willing.” But when the proper question is put, Is man a
free agent? and not, Is his will free ? we are compelled to
answer in the affirmative. His volitions are determined by him-
self, and this is the most perfect freedom that any being can
have.
President Edwards lays too much stress upon what he calls
the strongest motive. He seems to forget that into every mo-
tive there enter two factors, – the object to be obtained, and
the desire on the part of the individual to obtain it; and that
the latter is the determining factor. To say that a man is
always governed by the strongest motive is simply to say that
a man always adopts the course of action to which he is most
strongly, inclined, or which, all things considered, he chooses
and prefers to any alternate course of action. And this again
is the same as saying that a man free from external restraint
will, within the limits of his power, act just as at the time he
chooses to act, — which is the highest and most perfect freedom
that we can suppose any person to possess, the highest and most
perfect freedom conceivable.
The principle of causality, one of the clearest intuitions of
the human intelligence, precludes the supposition of a larger
liberty of action. It connects conduct with character by an in-
dissoluble tie. Even if we could suppress this intuition so far
as it relates to volitions, and set them wholly free from depend-
ence upon the agent, instead of enlarging his freedom we
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 255
should destroy it altogether. Every effort to establish a more
perfect liberty than this, – which is conceded by all, - that a
man is free to do just as he chooses, his choice depending upon
his character, is a vain struggle against the causal judgment.
It is because a man's conduct depends upon his character —
grows out of it—that he is responsible for his voluntary acts.
Were there not a causal tie between the two, between character
and conduct, a man would be no more accountable for his own
acts than for the acts of his neighbor. This intimate connec-
tion between what a man is and how he conducts himself is
recognized in the self-reproach inflicted when he is conscious of
having behaved unworthily. All the phenomena of conscience
recognize such a connection.
It might be desired, if it were possible, that a man should
have direct voluntary power over himself, - that he should be
able to change a bad character into a good one and a good
character into one still better, by simply willing it. But such
is not the prerogative of will. It can only act upon character
indirectly, by long and continued exertion, under the guidance
of the moral sense, as shown by Mr. Hazard in another part of
his work. te
In like manner the agriculturist might be glad, if such a
thing were possible, to change his rocky and barren lands into
rich and fertile fields, by simply willing the transformation. But
he knows that it is not within his power. He is therefore con-
tent to take the more roundabout course; to remove one after
another the rocky obstructions, and gradually mellow and en-
rich the soil by careful tillage. He in this way arrives at the
same result as if the change were under the immediate control
of his will, or as if it were caused by the direct act of God.
256 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.
There is in reality no difference between President Edwards
and Mr. Hazard as to the nature of the connection between
a voluntary agent and his unrestrained acts. It is the connec-
an intelligent and free cause
tion between cause and effect,
acting out itself, and thus manifesting its true character. It is
for this reason that such an agent is held responsible for his
acts, and is praised or blamed on account of them. Did not his
acts proceed from himself and reveal his character, he would
not be a fit subject for moral government.
These acknowledged masters of thought agree in respect to
all that is essential to human freedom and human accountabil-
ity. They alike maintain that man is a free agent, having as
perfect liberty of action as it is possible to conceive, and that
at the same time there is a causal tie between his character and
his conduct, such as to make him accountable for the latter,
and therefore a fit subject for government by rewards and
punishments. President Edwards places “Freedom of the
Will” on the title-page of his work, and conducts the dis-
cussion throughout under that heading. Most of his argu-
ments are designed for the refutation of that doctrine. He
might have saved himself much tedious reasoning by stating
at the commencement the true and proper question, “Is man
a free agent 2" instead of the improper and almost unmean-
ing question, “Is the will free ?” He was aware of the
incongruity of the language of the question, and particularly
points it out, but conformed to the usage of those whose argu-
ments he met. For this reason his work lacks the clearness
and demonstrative vigor which characterize the briefer pages of
Mr. Hazard. - *
But this perfect liberty of action does not put all men on the
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 257
same footing before God. A man is free to do as he chooses,
but his choices will depend in part upon his original constitu-
tion, and in part upon his acquired habits of thought, feeling,
and action, or, in other words, upon his character, which is the
resultant of all these combined. His original constitution was
not of his own choosing. Whatever it may have been, he is not
responsible for it; he is only responsible for acting according
to his best lights under it. For his acquired habits of thought,
feeling, and action, by which the nature given him has become
modified, he is to a certain extent, but by no means wholly,
responsible. It is these differences among men, from the very
start, together with their different surroundings, that make
obedience to the moral law more or less easy, more or less diffi-
cult. It is their freedom to act as they choose that causes these
differences to appear in their conduct. If a man's volitions were
determined by a power without himself, he would be incapable
of obedience or virtue, and whatever his conduct, he would be
no more a subject for praise or blame than the material ele-
ments around him.
The second proposition of Mr. Hazard, therefore, we think
fully established. Man is a first cause, first in the sense that
he is not a cause acted upon, and simply transmitting that
action, but an original, voluntary, and self-acting cause, capable
of starting within the sphere of his activity a new order of
events, which but for him would never have taken place. The
argument, so far as I see, is unassailable, the conclusion incon-
trovertible ; and this, too, whether idealism or realism be ac-
cepted as the theory of the universe.
3. The third proposition of Mr. Hazard, that man is a crea-
tive first cause, with his definition of creation, follows necessarily
17
258 - MAN A CREATIVE FIRST - CA US E.
from what has gone before. Creation is defined to be the al-
teration of the future by an intelligent, voluntary effort. No
power can change the past. “Every being,” he says, “that
wills is a creative first cause, an independent power in the uni-
verse, freely exerting its individual energies to make the future
different from what it would otherwise have been.” “The cre-
ation of this future for each successive moment is the composite
result of the efforts of every being that wills.” “Whatever
its grade of intelligence, if it make successful effort to produce
change, it so far acts as an original creative cause in producing
the future. The power and knowledge of such a being may be
very limited, but within the limits of these attributes its action
is as free as if it were omniscient and omnipotent.” “Its effort
must be to make the future different from what, but for such
effort, it would be. Such a being is a co-worker with God and
other connative beings in creating the future, which is always
the composite result of the action of all such beings.” “If
we suppose an oyster with no other efficient power than that of
moving its shell, and with the knowledge of only one mode of
doing this, and this instinctive, still, when by its own effort,
directed by its own knowledge, it effects this moving, it so far
makes the future different from what it would have been, and
so far performs a part in the creation of the future.”
In all of these passages creation is not used in its primary
sense to denote the production of something, whether real or
ideal, out of nothing, but in a wider and more general sense, to
denote the modification of what already exists. There is little
advance, except in phraseology, upon the doctrine already set
forth, that man and all other voluntary agents, whatever the
degree of their intelligence, are original and efficient causes.
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE. 259
An oyster takes its evening meal, a bird constructs her nest, a
man purchases a horse, another carries to the miller a sack of
grain, a third plants a vineyard, a fourth invents a sewing-ma-
chine, a fifth makes a picture, a sixth carves a statue, a seventh
writes a poem, an eighth, by thought and action, builds up for
himself a virtuous and noble character. Under the wide gen-
eralization of Mr. Hazard these are all creators. They have all,
by their voluntary efforts, acting as first causes, made the future
different from what it would otherwise have been. In their ca-
pacity of original or first causes, they are by definition creative
causes. All that is necessary to constitute a creative cause is
original action. We do not see that the affix “creative ’’ adds
anything to “first cause.” He seems to have been led to its
use from the supposed resemblance of the work of an artist, or
inventor, or poet to an act of the divine creation. But this Sup-
posed resemblance, as we shall see further on, can hardly be
maintained, if his own ideal hypothesis be the true theory of the
universe. Whether we adopt his view as to the nature of the
divine act in creation or the one more commonly entertained,
we are persuaded that, on a careful examination, there will not
be discovered in any of the instances given, or in any work of
man, a species of agency entitled to be regarded in philosophic
discourse as creative. The word must be extended beyond its
usual and proper meaning, to cover so wide a generalization.
Its use, however, gives a picturesqueness to his doctrine, and as
he expressly states that he applies it to all voluntary actions
which change the future, there is no danger of its becoming a
source of error.
Were the author a realist instead of an idealist, did he con-
ceive matter, not as the creation of mind, but as the eternal, un-
260 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.
formed substance out of which God has from the beginning
been fashioning and peopling worlds, then there would be a real
analogy between His works and the work of man. On this
supposition the case would stand thus: Matter is employed
alike in the divine creation and in human creations, as an in-
strument for accomplishing the purposes of mind. It is taken
just as it is. Its unaltered properties are made, through special
devices, available to these purposes. It is the innumerable con-
trivances looking to intelligible and important ends through all
nature that furnish the surest basis for the theistic argument.
It is similar contrivances in the constructions of man that show
the human intelligence to be kindred to the divine. But the
resemblance in the two cases, it should be observed, is limited to
the device and employment of appropriate means for the attain-
ment of desired ends. It touches only the intelligence. The
human and divine power are too unlike to admit of comparison.
The will of man is restricted in its influence to his bodily organ-
ization, and can effect changes in the outward world only
through that. The will of God must be coextensive in its reach
with the universe, and be capable of controlling by its exertion
the subtlest forces of nature. -
4. The fourth and last proposition of Mr. Hazard is that man,
in the sphere of his own moral nature, is a supreme creative
first cause. This is perhaps the most instructive and valuable
portion of the work. It is an illustration of what he intimates
in its opening pages, “that the special field of metaphysical
utility is in our moral nature; that every one has within himself
a domain as illimitable as that of the external world in which to
exert his energies in the construction of a moral universe, and
that within this domain the finite intelligence is not only a cre-
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 261
ative but a supreme creative power, and that therein, by exer-
cising its faculties upon itself, it may devise new modes of form-
ing and moulding the moral character, and supply a demand
which, always important, has now, by our progress in other di-
rections, become the prominent and urgent necessity of our
time.” He shows with admirable clearness how an elevated
moral character may be acquired by one who was not fortunate
in his original endowments; how, under the guidance of an in-
fallible moral sense and with entire freedom in willing and ac-
tion, he may check the wrong tendencies of his nature and en-
courage and strengthen the right tendencies; how, among his
various and conflicting desires, he may, by power of will, give
ascendency to those which favor virtue, and suppress and ban-
ish those which lead to vice; how the malevolent passions may
be made to give place to the benevolent; how selfishness and
greed may be converted into generosity; how one can mentally
construct a moral world, better arranged and inhabited by
beings more perfect than those around him; how he can without
hindrance make efforts to realize such a world, and bring his
conduct and life into harmony with it; how these moral efforts,
persistently maintained, become at length habits; and how these
habits, incorporating themselves with his very being, grow into
character. In this way an elevated, pure, and noble character
may be formed where it did not previously exist. Such a char-
acter is within the reach of every one if he will only put forth
the effort for it. He is free to do just as he chooses. His voli-
tions are under his own control. He has a monitor and guide
which, so far as his actions are concerned, is infallible. Every
effort he makes in obedience to its promptings is a virtuous
effort, whatever may be its consequences. The virtue is in the
262 MAN A CREA TIVE FIRST CA USE.
effort. No matter how imperfectly instructed his conscience
may be, if he act in accordance with the best light he has, he
performs an act of the highest virtue of which, under existing
conditions, he was capable. Of the character he gains thereby
he is the sole author. He is the supreme creative first cause of
the change produced in himself, and of all the changes which
subsequently spring from that change.
The author illustrates his fourth proposition at some length
and with a variety of interesting and instructive details. The
subject is so important that we need no apology for transferring
to our pages some of his thoughtful and suggestive paragraphs.
See page 63, section 18: “But it is in " . . . down to “Su-
preme creative first cause.” The word “creative,” we would
remark, has a degree of propriety in this connection which it
lacked in the previous cases, where the change effected was in
the external, material world. A man who by his persistent,
voluntary efforts has achieved for himself a lofty character may
be said, with hardly a figure of speech, to have exercised crea-
tive power. He has brought into existence all that is best in
himself.
The author adds certain cautions to be observed in the work
of building up a virtuous character. Page 71. “We must be
careful to distinguish between " . . . down to “all possible
acquisitions.”
In what the author says of the limitations of Omnipotence,
he does not mean, as we understand him, that God could not
change the character of a bad man so that he should become a
good one, and his voluntary actions be virtuous; but that, the
man's character remaining the same, God could not, by mere
pressure upon his will, make his actions virtuous.
MAN A CREA TITVE FIRST CAUSE. 263
Incidental to the main discussion and subsidiary to some of
the positions taken in it, are speculations not inferior in interest
to the discussion itself. One of these is his theory of instinct-
ive actions. He supposes these to be voluntary and intelli-
gently performed. The knowledge, however, of the end to be
attained and of the means of reaching it is innate or given in
the constitution of the being. He has this knowledge prior to
all experience, and is able to act intelligently without aid from
that source. Instinctive actions, therefore, differ from rational
and deliberative actions simply in the way in which the knowl-
edge guiding the will is acquired. In the first case it is innate,
or constitutional; in the second case it is gained from experi-
ence. In both cases the action is voluntary and the will is
guided by intelligence. He is forced into this position by the
dogma to which he constantly adheres, that matter is incapable
of acting as a cause ; that it cannot even put itself in motion ;
that original action can be affirmed only of mind; and that
mind acts voluntarily under the guidance of its knowledge. If
these instinctive movements could take place without the inter-
vention of intelligence and will, then matter properly organized
may put itself in motion.
Unfortunately for the theory of Mr. Hazard, it derives sup-
port from the teachings of neither psychology nor physiology.
There are actions which take place not only without the stimu-
lus of the will, but in direct opposition to its most strenuous ex-
ertion. Some of these, as laughing, weeping, coughing, sneez-
ing, are described by physiologists as consensual, in distinction
from voluntary actions. The muscular contractions and relaxa-
tions by which the infant first draws nutriment from the mater-
nal breast are undoubtedly of this class. They are prompted
264 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA US E.
immediately by the sensation of hunger, without the slightest
knowledge of the necessity of food or of means of procuring it.
There are other actions in which neither the will nor sensa-
tion has part. They are caused by the mere contact of the ap-
propriate stimuli. Such are the alternate lengthening and
shortening of the muscles upon which respiration ordinarily de-
pends. Such is the combined action of the heart and arteries
in forcing the blood in microscopic streams through all the tis-
sues. Such are the peculiar motions of the alimentary tube
which carries the food, as fast as it is prepared, along its devi-
ous way. Such are all the functions which serve for the imme-
diate maintenance of life. They are traced to a connection with
different parts of what is known as the excito-motary system of
nerves. They are carried on in a state of profound uncon-
sciousness. Were they dependent upon our voluntary powers,
sleep, instead of bringing refreshment, would cause immediate
death.
The author explains in a similar manner the philosophy of
habit, — how habit becomes second nature; how the repetition
of an action makes it easy, so that at length we perform it with-
out conscious effort. The first time we perform the action there
is necessarily thought and deliberation as to the best mode of ac-
complishing the object which we have in view. This occasions
delay. The second time we perform the action the deliberation
is shorter and the delay occasioned less. The third time the
delay is still further diminished, and so on, until we at length
come to act with the knowledge, although acquired by experi-
ence, as immediately present to the mind as if it were innate.
This is part of the explanation of the influence of habit. But
is it the whole explanation ? We think not. The change is
MAN A CREA TI VE FIRST CA USE. 265
not simply mental. It is corporeal too. Habit is a thing of the
body as well as of the mind. It is the outcome of the law of
association. This law may be thus stated : Whenever two acts,
whether bodily or mental, have been either simultaneously or
successively performed, one act has a tendency to introduce the
other. This is why ideas flow through the mind in a train, the
order of the train, unless interrupted by external perceptions,
being determined by previous habits of thought. This explains
why the fingers of the pianist fly over the keys of his instru-
ment so rapidly and with touch so unerring. Each movement
tends to produce the next in the train of movements which has
been voluntarily established, but which, once commenced, is now
continued with hardly a conscious volition. Indeed, it would
seem, as some physiologists tell us, that actions associated by
habit are transferred from the voluntary to the involuntary or
automatic system of nerves, – that the work to which such ac-
tions are subsidiary was done for us rather than by us. Cer-
tainly we do not experience fatigue from it as from work which
requires our continuous attention. Who does not know that
the best intellectual work is done when thought, quickened by
feeling, flows spontaneously, and the brain has not to be urged
by the spur of the will?
We should not do justice to the volume if we did not refer
briefly to the two modes pointed out so clearly, by which the
mind seeks for and arrives at truth. They are by intuition and
ratiocination; or, by direct insight and the drawing of infer-
ences; or, as he prefers to designate them, by the poetic method
and the prosaic or logical method. Before the prosaic or log-
ical method can be practiced, objects must be classified, and the
properties common to each class must be gathered up and repre-
266 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA U SE.
sented by general terms or symbols. This process is called in-
duction. If it has been correctly performed, the general truths
arrived at are the major premises of syllogisms, and can be used
as such till their contents are exhausted. Their employment in
this way is called ratiocination. The truth is not directly seen
and apprehended, but is simply inferred from a comparison of
ratios. These ratios are expressed by general terms or symbols,
and, in reasoning, we need not and do not usually extend our
thought beyond the symbols to the things denoted by them.
The science of algebra furnishes the purest illustrations of this
mode of arriving at truth.
The other mode, by direct insight, has nothing to do with
definitions or terms, but deals immediately with things. It con-
templates these and apprehends directly their qualities and rela-
tions. The mind accepts nothing at second hand, but sees for
itself. Percipiency is the attribute or faculty which it chiefly
employs. It analyzes and distinguishes and separates. It notes
resemblances and differences. It ascertains the contents, not of
general terms, but of individual things. It cleaves to things,
with little attention to the words denoting them. When at-
tempting to convey an idea of them to others, it chooses the
most simple and picturesque language at its command. This
intuition, this marvelous insight, is the gift of the poet, of the
philosopher, of the man of strong common sense in ordinary
business affairs, and especially of woman, whose quick and clear
perception of circumstances and sound judgment upon them is
willingly acknowledged by the sterner sex in all the more deli-
cate relations of life. Persons of this class, reaching conclu-
sions by a species of intuition, are frequently unable to give
reasons for them that are satisfactory to others. One party has
MAN A CREATI VE FIRST CA USE. 267
not the language, the other has not the sight. We cannot re-
sist the pleasure of quoting one or two of Mr. Hazard's beautiful *
illustrations of his doctrine.
Page 57. “All general propositions must " . . . to page 60:
“reason for their consequent action.”
The personal freedom and moral accountability of man lie at
the foundation of most of the propositions of Mr. Hazard. It
is the establishment of these beyond the possibility of question
that constitutes the chief value of the little volume. The vari-
ous fallacies which have gathered about these truths, so as more
or less completely to disguise them, he has unmasked and scat-
tered to the winds. For this, no easy or unimportant work, we
owe him a debt of gratitude.
Of his ideal theory of matter, which is interwoven with the
entire discussion, we cannot speak with the same commendation.
We do not see that it adds anything to the weight or clearness
of his argument. No one of his conclusions rests upon it.
They would be equally true on any other hypothesis, or without
any hypothesis at all. The theory seems to be kept abreast with
the discussion, not so much for lending support to the conclu-
sions reached as for showing its compatibility with them. The
author thinks that on the ideal hypothesis creation is more con-
ceivable than on any other; is brought within the range of
powers which we ourselves possess. He says that “we already
have and habitually exercise all the faculties essential to mate-
rial creation, and with the requisite increase in that of impressing
our conception upon the minds of others, we could design and
give palpable persistent existence to a universe varying to any
extent from that which now environs us, which would be objec-
tively as real and material to the vision, even of others, as the
268 MA N A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE.
heaven and earth they now look out upon.” This seems to us
wholly illusory. Whatever theory of intelligent creation we
adopt, the conception of the thing to be created must precede the
act of creation. The act of creation, on the ideal hypothesis,
consists not in forming the idea, but in making that idea real
and palpable to all intelligences. It is not, be it remembered,
one idea that is to be made real and palpable to a single mind,
but an infinite number of different ideas are supposed to be im-
pressed at the same time upon an equal number of different in-
telligences; and that, too, not for one moment only, but for
every instant of recorded time. Have we any power akin to
this 2 Can the human mind even take in so vast and complex
a conception ? God creating each moment the infinitely varied
perceptions of which his creatures are conscious, from an oyster's
faint and glimmering apprehension of something without itself
to the wonders of the starry heavens, as revealed to the eye and
mind of a Newton |
The supposed analogy of creation, thus conceived, to the
work of an artist, to which the author attaches importance,
is, we think, wholly imaginary. There is no such analogy.
There is not even the remotest resemblance between the two
cases. The sculptor, for instance, chooses a block of marble
— that is, a fragment of the divine thought, detached and
raised from the quarry — in which to embody his ideal. By the
continued application of the hammer and chisel, he prevails upon
God gradually to change this fragment of the divine thought
until it comes at length to represent his own thought, and serves
to convey it more or less perfectly to others. Although thus
modified, it is still God’s thought ; and it is God, and not the
artist, that makes it real and palpable to all who look or imagine
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 269
they look upon the statue. The work is done by God in obedi-
ence to the will of the artist. God does everything; the artist
nothing. The only capacity in which the artist can possibly
act is that of a guide and assistant to God in modifying His orig-
inal thought and bringing it into its present representative form.
There is but one theory of creation that seems to us more im-
probable, or with which we have less sympathy. It is that which
supposes matter to exist, but to be in itself wholly inert. The
forces that appear in it are not of it. They are dependent,
each moment, upon the exertion of the divine will. Why, it
may well be asked, suppose the existence of matter if it has no
part in the production of the phenomena ascribed to it? All
that we know of matter is through these phenomena.
Although we would not press any hypothesis on a subject so
far beyond our comprehension, we are inclined to look upon
matter not only as real and substantial, but as eternal, and as
having possessed from all eternity the properties with which we
now find it. These properties make it a fit material for the
creations of mind, - creations which cannot transcend, but must
conform to, the powers of that in which it works. This suppo-
sition is favored by the very wide distribution of matter having
everywhere the same elementary constitution, and by the very
remote epochs to which the worlds achieved from it look back.
It will also go further, as we think, than any other hypothesis
towards explaining some of the profoundest mysteries of the
universe. As the subject is one of which we really know noth-
ing, it is perhaps well that different minds should look at it
differently. That view of the creative work which to any one
seems the most worthy, and which fills him with the deepest rev-
erence for the Author of nature, will be for him the best view.
270 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE.
For Mr. Hazard, idealism fulfills most perfectly this condition.
He has been accustomed, in contemplating the changes of the
outward world, to substitute for material causation the orderly
movements of the divine will. This has become to him the
most simple and natural mode of looking at the phenomena
transpiring around him. It saves him from the unreasonable-
ness, as he thinks, of ascribing active powers to a substance
whose best known characteristic is inertia, and excludes the idea
of physical necessity, so baleful in its influence, from the sphere
of human conduct. It at the same time elevates and ennobles
man by bringing him, in all the offices of life, into immediate
intercourse and communion with the Author of his being.
These ideas are presented with singular beauty in the closing
pages of the work. Page 96, line 3: “It is clear, therefore,”
. . . to page 99, closing with “pronounce it good.”
There can be no doubt of the immense superiority of idealism
in every respect over a low and gross materialism. But is it
necessary to choose between these two extreme views of nature ?
Is there no intermediate conception having more to commend it
to the common sense of mankind, and at the same time answer-
ing better the requirements of a sound philosophical theory 2
Are the manifestations of mind and matter so identical in char-
acter that it is necessary to refer them to the same one essence?
On the contrary, are they not as strikingly distinguished from
one another as light from darkness 2 so unlike as to have noth-
ing in common, except that they both exist? one making itself
known to the intelligence only, the other palpable to the senses;
one self- conscious, acting voluntarily under the guidance of
knowledge, with reference to some desired end; the other un-
conscious, as we have every reason to believe, acting without
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CA USE. 271
knowledge, or choice, or end, but determined in its manifesta-
tions of energy solely by antecedent conditions? Why place
essences phenomenally so contrasted under the same category 2
Why insist upon unitarianism, mind or matter, when dualism,
mind and matter, mind directing the activities of matter, making
use of matter as an instrument for accomplishing the purposes
of mind, building up from it worlds and peopling them with in-
numerable forms of life, is more simple and better fulfills the
conditions of the sublime problem? But we will not argue the
question. We have only desired to call attention to a remark-
able book, full of original thought expressed in language so clear
and simple as to be readily understood by all. The little vol-
ume deserves and will repay a careful perusal.
|VERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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