From 
 
 MRS. GEORGE I. CHACE. 
 
 Providence, i88b. 
 
. j^.^A 
 
 U<2^<^ 
 
/ 
 
 GEORGE IDE CHACE, ll.d. 
 
 a jHetnorial. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 JAMES O. MURRAY. 
 
 NOV 18 1886 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 ^rijiteH at tlje iHitJcri^iDe ^tt^0* 
 
 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 Jind out none more just [<o 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 mil 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. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 1 
 
 LIST OF CONTRIBUTIONS TO REVIEWS 70 
 
 LECTURES AND ESSAYS 71 
 
 The Existence of God 73 
 
 The Materialistic Form of the Development Hypothesis . . . 92 
 Of Some of the Difficulties with which Theism is pressed . 114 
 The Relation of God to the Natural and Moral Worlds . . 138 
 Collateral Proofs of the Argument from Design .... 156 
 
 A Discourse on Francis Wayland 177 
 
 The Realm of Faith 220 
 
 Man a Creative First Cause 243 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 JAMES O. MURRAY, D. D. 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 
 simj)ly 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 
 
2 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 o£ 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 CHACE. 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 of&ce 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 CHACE. 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 jDOsition 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 httle 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 T 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 teacliing 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 Way land, 
 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 
 jjromise 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 weU remember, were fully satisfied by the manner in which 
 
8 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 CHACE. 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 IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 Kev. 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 dema,nded 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 
 sj)irit, 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 IDE CHACE. 13 
 
 nent in various callings, while they fitly supplement from the 
 student's point of view Professor Gammell's admirable sketch, 
 only express Avhat all his classes have gladly acknowledged. 
 The first is from the Rev. George P. Fisher, D. D., LL. D., 
 professor iu 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 
 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. lie 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 CHACE. 
 
 It was the custom of Professors Caswell and Chace to select two 
 students from the class to assist them in preparing exj)eriments 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 wo 
 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 CHACE. 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, o£ 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 zoology, 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 CHACE. 
 
 selves almost demonstrations. He untangled a difficult problem with 
 such simplicity that nien 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 IDE CHACE. 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 ajffiairs, 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 revealinsf 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 imselfish 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 CHACE. 
 
 of toil, and whicli 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 CHACE. 19 
 
 fortunes of the men he had taught. I recall the excursion to Cum- 
 bei'land 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 sj)eculations 
 in departments not closely related to each other. Est mos hominurn 
 ut nollnt enndem j^lunhus rebus excellere. 
 
 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 
 
20 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 mterwi, 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- 
 entific 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 IDE CHACE. 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 CHACE 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. Casvs^ell to the presidency of the 
 college, Professor Chace's labors were entirely devoted to the 
 new department of moral and intellectual j^hilosophy, 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 CHACE. 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 '11 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 ti'uths of this sort he made constant 
 and minute reference to the eye and other j:)arts 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 IDE 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 resum/ 
 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 any thinker whom 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 notions 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 tlieir 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 Cliace 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 OP CLASS OF 1872. 
 
 To QUE Respected and Beloved Professoe Geoege I. Chace : 
 
 Eealizino^ the invaluable character of the instruction which we have 
 received from you, and cherishing at the same time feelings of warm 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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, LL. 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 liappily 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 IDE CHACE. 
 
 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. 
 
 " Resolved, 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 t*he 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 CHACE. 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 strensfth and visfor, 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 sssthetic 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 CIIACE. 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. 
 
34 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 ? Are its contained truths parts of a heritage, 
 originally bestowed upon man before his dispersion over the earth ? 
 Or did they originate, as Bun sen 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, mado 
 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. 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 comj)leteness 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 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 CHACE. 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 cooperation and influence, in 
 no small degree to its successful issue, they have chosen this most 
 emphatic mode of pixblicly 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 IDE CHACE, 
 
 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 reelection, 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 CHACE. 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 discipHne 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 wiU not now inquire. That question 
 
40 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 ? 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 CHACE. 41 
 
 ditionetl 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 hio-her order of men before prosperity can be restored or busi- 
 ness 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? 
 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 ? 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 
 raison d'etre. 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- 
 ness. To turn, at public expense, those born with organizations fit- 
 ting them to become good farmers or skillful mechanics into slow 
 accovmtants, 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, how. 
 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 CHACE. 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, ex 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 CHACE. 
 
 Incurable Insane, nine are for the Boys' Keformatory, 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 cooperation. 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 C HA CLE. 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 seinrice 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 CHACE. 
 
 of service as a teacher of science at the university. Together they con- 
 stitute a life of that order of usefulness and distinction vs^hich 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 E. 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, LL. 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 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 reenter 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 CIIACE. 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 Ida 
 Chace, LL. D., consecrated the closing years of his valuable life to the 
 cause of prison reform. 
 
 Resolved, 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 diofnilied 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 hojae 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 connect«d. 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 
 
GEORGE IDE C II ACE. 51 
 
 them. Tho 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-w^eighed 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 CHACE. 
 
 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. 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 laziest 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 GEORGE IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 o£ 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- 
 nal." 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 CHACE. 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 CHACE. 
 
 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. 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 hmi 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 stafP 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 jjulpit 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 CHACE. 
 
 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, vdthout 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 CHACE. 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 
 
GEORGE IDE CIIACE. 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, moidded 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 IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 CHACE. 63 
 
 the law, and been committed to the guardianship and keeping of the 
 State, when removed from the temptations which society phices 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 IDE CHACE. 
 
 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-Morning. 
 
 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, 
 ull united in the tribute to his memory, as of one who had 
 
GEORGE IDE CHACE. 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 IDE CHACE. 
 
 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 CHACE. 67 
 
 religion, in connection with charitable and public institutions in Ehode 
 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 : — 
 
 " Nil actum credens, diimquid 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 CHACE. 
 
 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 ofiicei-s 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 IDE CHACE. 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 CONTEIBUTIONS TO REVIEWS. 
 
 Of the Dependence of the Mental Powers upon the Bodily Orga- 
 nization. Bihliotheca Sacra, August, 1849, pp. 534-558. 
 Of the Natural Proofs of the Immortality of the Soul. Bihliotheca 
 
 Sacra, February, 1849, pp. 48-75. 
 Bowen'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. 
 
 Bihliotheca Sacra, April, 1850, pp. 328-352. 
 Of the Divine Agency in the Production of Material Phenomena. 
 
 Bihliotheca Sacra, May, 1848, pp. 342-357. 
 Of Spirit and the Constitution of Spiritual Beings. Bihliotheca 
 
 Sacra, November, 1848, pp. 633-650. 
 Of the Moral Attributes of the Divine Being. Bihliotheca 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, Decemher 1884. 
 
LECTURES AND ESSAYS. 
 
THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.^ 
 
 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 enabled 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 jjhenomenon 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 unagination. 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 
 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 lig-ht 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. 
 Ex nihilo, nihil Jit. 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 
 
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. Eemoteness 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 ? 
 
 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 mah 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 ? May not 
 " the promise and potency of every form and quality of life " 
 be discovered in the primordial constituents of being ? 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 ? Has not time been long enough ? Are not 
 the energies revealed in matter sufiiciently enduring and suffi- 
 ciently obedient to law? 
 
 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 ? 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 ? 
 
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 ? 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 certaint}^, 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 ? Does it not involve less that is incomprehensible and 
 unimaginable ? 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 ? 
 
 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 beHeve it is not, and if it 
 were compatible with observed phenomena and the received doc- 
 trines of science, Avhich 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 
 throuirh that orofanization. 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 THE 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 ? 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 ? 
 
 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 ? 
 
 In examining this hypothesis, which from its imagined sim- 
 plicity is so seductive to merely theoretic minds, and which in 
 
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT 93 
 
 one form or another has always found advocates, I shall inquire 
 first, Is it philosophically admissible ? Secondly, Is it in ac- 
 cordance with observed phenomena and the received doctrines 
 of science ? 
 
 Before wjb 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 ? 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 ? 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, suj^posed 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 MATERIALISTIC 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 
 same. 
 
 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 ? Under what conditions have they been 
 formed ? These infinitesimal structures, so minute as to be be- 
 
96 THE MATERIALISTIC 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 ? 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 MATERIALISTIC 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 sjDring, 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. 
 
98 THE MATERIALISTIC 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 aro wasting in like 
 manner their stores of energy. Somo 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 MATERIALISTIC 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 reen- 
 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 MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 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 MATERIALISTIC 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 j)re- 
 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- 
 niscient 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 MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 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 ho is led, as ho 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 
 throuo-h 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 MATERIALISTIC 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 hete 
 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 perj)etuated, 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 Anally 
 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 #ind 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 THE MATERIALISTIC 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 
 evidence 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- 
 ent it takes place, no matter what the consequence may be. 
 The supposition of will and a contemplated end determining 
 
THE MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 107 
 
 their action is as completely negatived by the experiments o£ 
 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 ? What reason for assuming that they 
 have a common substratum ? If the phenomena be so unlike, 
 why should not the noumena be equally unlike ? 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 matter and mind ? Have 
 we any other warrant for supposing their existence but the 
 causal judgment ? 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 ? 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 MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. 109 
 
 the four organic elements. Why not suppose the powers o£ 
 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 ? 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 ? 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 MATERIALISTIC FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. HI 
 
 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 
 organism is evolved from psychoplasm." " The soul derives its 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 113 
 
 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 ? Do we not see in 
 the world around us much that is irreconcilable with the idea 
 of a benevolent, wise, and all-powerful Creator ? 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 ? 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. 115 
 
 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. 
 GraAaty 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 DIFFICULTIES 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. 
 
 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 roua;hened 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. 
 
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 117 
 
 All the other prunary 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, arisino' 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 
 nothino: 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 lenoth falls into a mass of ruins. 
 
 o 
 
 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 ? — 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ? 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 ? Doe^ 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 ? AVas irrigation 
 ever objected to by any intelligent man on such a ground ? 
 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 DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 
 
 clashed 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 o» 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 conijected 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 ? the object of contrivance, as much 
 
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 123 
 
 SO as the means devised for preventing the evils that would arise 
 from them ? 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 medicatrix naturce 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 mora 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- 
 
DIFFICULTIES 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 prejf- 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 ajipropriate 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 iu 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. 
 
 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 hirti 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 Hne 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. 
 
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 
 Hght and heavy, or both at rest and in motion, or do a hundred 
 other things including hke 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. 
 
 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 ? 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 ? 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 e\dl, 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 
 
DIFFICULTIES WHICH PRESS THEISM. 131 
 
 way of any imagined or imaginable improvements beyond the 
 power of omnipotence to remove ? 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 preTented 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 DIFFICULTIES 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 J)een 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 ? 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 j)Ower, 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 
 veiy 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 ? 
 
 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, 
 Hfe, 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 DIFFICULTIES 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 o 
 
 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 ? with what 
 temper meet them, and what lesson learn from them ? 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 ? " 
 
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 sujDposes 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 
 seK-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 thouo^ht, 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 tlie first supposition we have theistie realism, on the sec- 
 ond theistic dynamism, on the third theistie 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 Avidely they differ among themselves, they all 
 agree in this, that they refer the universe, whatever it may be, 
 whether real, or virtual, or j)henomenal, 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 ? Are they not continu- 
 ally before us ? Do we doubt their reality, or the reaKty of the 
 cause producing them ? And is there anything clearer or more 
 familiar to us than the distinction between voluntary and invol- 
 untary power ? between the power of a man or a horse, and 
 wind-power, or water-power, or steam-power ? Are we in any 
 danger of confounding in thought, or of mistaking in reality, 
 these two kinds of power ? 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 ? How much and what does it in- 
 clude ? 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 ? 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 ? or hoist the gate of the water-mill ? or 
 open the valve of the steam-engine ? or apply the match to the 
 loaded cannon ? Is power of body or limb exerted in obedience 
 to the will, in any proper sense, will-power ? 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 ? 
 
 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 ? Do we not apply the brake in vain ? 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 supjDosing 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 o£ 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 ? 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 ? 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, jj'erhaps, 
 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 WORLDS. 
 
 finished ? Is not space large enough to receive continually new 
 creations from the hand of the Almighty ? 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 suf&cient 
 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 ? 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 ? 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 ? 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 NATURAL 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 ? 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 ? Are not infinite re- 
 sources at the Divine command ? 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 ! 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 sufl&cient 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 
 causes. 
 
THE NATURAL AND MORAL WORLDS. 155 
 
 That there is no reason in the known constitution of thinofs 
 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 V. 
 
 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 
 
PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 TEE ARGUMENT 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 
 
PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 ! 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 ARGUMENT 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 ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN. 161 
 
 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 o£ 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 ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN. 1G3 
 
 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 efPected, 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 tern- 
 
164 PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 ARGUMENT 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 ? 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 PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN. 
 
 human mind or soul which might be expected i£ 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 mankmd 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 ARGUMENT 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 tho 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 ? 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 ARGUMENT 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 
 rehgion 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 
 doingf 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 ARGUMENT 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 imj)ortant support to all the truths of natural 
 reliofion — 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 PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 j 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 
 
PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 Hable 
 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 ARGUMENT 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 
 sources. 
 
 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 men 
 feel real contentment in the expectation of vanishing out of conscious 
 existence, henceforth, like the great Buddha, to exist only in their 
 
PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 generation. 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 ? Shall it be atheism, or mate- 
 rialism, or pantheism ? 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 ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN. 
 
 and eternal processes ? Better this than atheism. Shall we 
 worship masses and forces and processes ? 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 ? 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 eternity 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 ARGUMENT 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 ? " 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 ? 
 
 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 PROOFS OF THE ARGUMENT 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 ? 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 ? 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 DISCOURSE 
 
 COMMEMORATIVE OP 
 
 FRANCIS WAYLAND, 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 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 WAYLAND. 
 
 Soon after leaving college, lie 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 WAYLAND. 181 
 
 the Theological Semmary 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 WAY LAND. 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 FMANCIS 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 WAYLAND, 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 WAYLAND. 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 opisosition 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 tho 
 latter, with a due regard to order and connection. 
 
188 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 This mode of conducting recitations proved, in the hands of 
 able and skillful teachers, a most efl&cient 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 pernicious 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. Afterivards 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. 
 
190 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. 191 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 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 nothins*. 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 
 mtensity of its pent-up forces. The billows of passion rose and 
 
 13 
 
194 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 fell like tlie 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 WAYLAND. 195 
 
 the most unwearied and unremitting labors. During periods 
 of irritation and disturbance, it was out of his thouglits 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 
 w^ere 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 WAYLAND. 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 19V 
 
 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 liim, 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 5 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 Avhich it 
 has ever since held. Of almost equal value was the sound prac- 
 tical sense which he brought to every question of discipline and 
 povernment. To the aid of his rare wisdom in the counsels of 
 
 o 
 
 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 Avise 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 cooperated 
 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 DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 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 preeminently 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 WAYLAND. 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 jn-osperity and success. 
 
 Reference to these important and cooperative 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 sj)irits 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 o^ood of the communitv, 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 vv'hich 
 they were founded. He also ventured to imagine that knowl- 
 
202 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 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 nox 
 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 RoQfer Williams down- 
 wards could have added nothing to his pride in their fair fame. 
 
204 A DISCOURSE ON FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 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 hav6 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 DISCOURSE 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. JSfec viget qiiic- 
 qiiam, 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 ? 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 WAYLAND. 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 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 ^ 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 hear 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 WAYLAND. 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 pojDular 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 sesthetic 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 WAYLAND. 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 unexj)ected thrust from a more 
 agile foe, the well-wrought mail of principles with which he was 
 panoplied saved hini 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 fidehty 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 WAYLAND. 
 
 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 WAYLAND. 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 coordinate 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 WAYLAND. 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 Avell 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 ? 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 justice ! 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 ujDon 
 the effulgent, unutterable Glory. We wait on earth yet a little, 
 and then will foUow 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 REALM OF FAITH. 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 ? 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- 
 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 knowledore lacked this voucher. And here we think 
 he was right. We have no power of direct cognition beyond 
 ourselves. Between the world Avithin and the world without, or, 
 
222 THE REALM 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. 
 
 H 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 hiw 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 evolvinfj' the chanofes 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 FAITH. 
 
 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 coordinated 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 ? 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 hyj^otheses 
 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 Avitli 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 Qgg 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. 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. 
 
 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 ? 
 Can we suppose Him to have endowed us with a faculty for 
 
THE REALM 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 ? 
 
 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 Scrij)- 
 tures as the evidence and exponent of character. The highest 
 
230 THE REALM OF FAITH. 
 
 spiritual blessings are promised to it. " He that belie veth 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 5 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 iUustration, 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 bilUonth 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 indwelHng spirit ani- 
 mates her frame nor breathes its quickening influence through 
 her members. No intelligence beams in her countenance. No 
 Hght 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 o£ 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 accomphshment 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, ichthiau, 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 ujjon 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 ? 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 ? 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 develop: ment, 
 
234 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 ? 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 ? For so beggarly a possession are we 
 to open faith's treasury and pour out of her riches ? 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. 
 
 meat 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 FAITH. 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 ? 
 
 But it is not from the direct influence of positivism, deadly 
 as is the atmosf)here 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 FAITH. 
 
 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 greats 
 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 
 ano-el for the bat-wine^s 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 ? Are the new-born hopes of our race so soon and so mis- 
 erably to perish ? 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 ? Are there here no antidotes, no remedies ? 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 5 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 'i'^^P^ REALM OF FAITH. 
 
 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.^ 
 
 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 
 preexisting 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 
 
 1 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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 
 
 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 CAUSE. 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 CAUSE. 
 
 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. Mulf ord, — " 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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 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 exf)ended 
 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 ? 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 ? Was it the touch 
 of the child ? 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 throusfh 
 what has been named the muscular sense. Effort is not synony- 
 
MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 249 
 
 mous Avith 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 hmi 
 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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 
 
 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 " Mecanique Celeste." 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 ni 
 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 MAN A CREATIVE 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 efiicient cause of the change. With 
 this understanding, therefore, whether we adopt idealism or 
 
^fAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 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 l^eyond 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 ahsurdmn. 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 MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 
 
 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 voHtions 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. 
 
 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- 
 tion between cause and effect, — an intelligent and free cause 
 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 ? " 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 reahsm be ac- 
 cepted as the theory of the universe. 
 
 5' 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 CAUSE. 
 
 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 
 verv 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 ef&cient 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 ef&cient causes. 
 
. MAN A CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 259 
 
 An oyster takes its evening meal, a bird constructs her nest, a 
 man purchases a horse, another carries to the miller a sack o£ 
 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 creatorSo 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 philosoiDhic 
 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 ere- 
 
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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 
 
 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 
 changfe 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 CREATIVE 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 reachinij it is innate or gfiven 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 CAUSE. 
 
 immediately by the sensation of hunger, without the sHghtest 
 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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 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 CAUSE. 
 
 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 CREATIVE FIRST CAUSE. 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 Avould be objec- 
 tively as real and material to the vision, even of others, as the 
 
268 ^lAN 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 ? 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 CAUSE. 
 
 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 ? 
 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 ? 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 CAUSE. 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 ? 
 Why insist upon unitarianism, inlnd or matter, when dualism, 
 mind and Tnatter, 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.