1« Mr 3^'^^A R^--' ^ ^ ->^ ^^^ i ^ f '^ ?l^ ' . \ Please handle this volume with care. The University of Connecticut Libraries, Storrs 1^' Date Diie ■***. ^•^^ v;^. '■^m ■'■^^■ g^l^ .••>i i*1^. *;^:: y.»^;«- -^)t'#^" 3l '^''A ■■*^-s,■i(.» ■ .■>«<.■?-. ■.»Tj»*.i'*(- .•... . i*ii,'\ J \ 1 j^^^>^^ /S^J^i- ^^^^/y t,^^^ ^"^^^V^ ¥' \n 4oo Years of Freethoup-ht. By Samuel P. P AMUEL r. rUTNAM. Yet I doul)t not thro' the ajjes one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. NEW YORK. The Truth Skk.kkr Company. 1894. Copyrishted, 1894, BY The Truth Seeker Compant. LIST OF PORTRAITS. i opp. page Adams, Robt. C 294 Andrews, Stephen Pearl 228 Baker, R. L 840 Bennett, D. M 258 Besant, Annie 198 Bird, Henry 750 Bjornson, Bjornstjerne 786 Blodgett,D. A 414 Botsford, W 648 Bradlaugh, Charles VS2 Bruno, Giordano 10 Bruno Monument 852 Biichner, Ludwig 180 Burnham, J. H 510 Butterfield, R 686 Cee, Jean Paul 336 Child, 402 Cilwa, C 330 Close, Converse 420 Coleman, W. E 672 Colman, Lucy N 396 Comenius 24 Comte 66 Conant. Jas. A 846 Cook, J. H 504 Creede, N. C 684 Darwin, C. R 156 Dekker, E. D 546 Denton, William 384 Des Essarts, Jules 324 Emerson, R. W 114 Fergus, Jas '. . . 660 opp. page Foote, E. B., Sr 498 Foote, E. B., Jr 594 Foote, Geo. W 282 Freeman, Mrs. M. A 720 Freeman, Mrs. M. D 618 Freeman, W. F 612 Gage, Matilda J 450 Garcia, J. M. L 318 Gardener, Helen H 444 Garibaldi, Giuseppe 144 Garrison, Wm. Lloyd 138 Gibbon, Edward 48 Gibson, Ella E 270 Girard, Stephen 102 Goethe, J. W. von 72 Goodell, N. D 642 Green, H. L 456 Greenhill, J. A 756 Griswold, N. F 768 Hardee, R. A 762 Haigh, Joseph 312 Hayden, Charles T 678 Heston, Watson 852 Heywood, Ezra H 378 Holyoake, G. J 126 Hugo. Victor 108 Humboldt, A. von 60 Hume, David 30 Hu.xley, T. H 168 Hunt, S 792 Ingersoll and Grandchild 15 Ingersoll, R. G 516 LIST OF PORTRAITS. opp. page Jamieson, W. F 534 Kneeland, Abner 234 Krekel, Mattie P 708 Leland, Lilian 552 Leland, T. C 366 Lennstrand, Viktor E 354 Lick, James 186 Lincoln, Abraham 210 Macdonald, E. M 432 Macdonald, G. E 438 McCabe, J. J 822 Martineau, Harriet 90 Mendum, Ernest 468 Mendum, J. P 246 Mille, Constantin 570 Monroe, J. R 372 Noyes, R. K 802 Oswald, Felix 702 Paine, Thomas 54 Palmer, Courtlandt 306 Parker, Theodore 204 Parton, James 240 Peck, John 528 Pillsbury, Parker 264 Post, Amy 390 Putnam, Samuel P 518 Reichwald, E. C 808 Remsburg, John E 480 Reynolds, C. B 540 Richardson, J. P 666 Rose, Ernestine L 216 Rosenow, A 814 Ross, W. Stewart 288 Rousseau, J.J 42 Rowley, Henry 828 Rush, Reuben 834 Schell, Abram 624 -Schell, Mrs. Caroline A 630 Schroeder, J. Henry 774 opp. page Schwella, Edward 360 Seaver, Horace 252 Shaw, J. D 492 Shelley, P. B 78 Smith, Katie Kehm 726 Specht, Dr. August .564 Spencer, Herbert 174 Spinoza 18 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady 192 Steiner, Franklin 714 Stevens, E. A 606 Sturoc, W. C 696 Taber, Henry M 690 Ten Bokkel, J. G 582 Thompson, Otto 348 Thoreau, Henry 120 Thorne, Robert 796 Toomey, S 742 Tyndall, John 162 Voelkel, Titus ... 558 Voltaire, M. de 36 Vostrovsky, J 654 Wade, Robert 736 Waite, C. B 462 Wakeman, T. B 300 Walker, E. C 588 Washburn, L. K 426 Watts, Charles 276 Watts, Kate E 474 Wettstein, Herman 600 Wettstein Otto 732 Whitman, Walt 150 Wicksell, K 780 Wille, Bruno 342 Wixon, Susan H 408 Wollstonecraft, M 84 Wright, Elizur 222 Wright, Frances 96 CONTENTS. PAGK Proem _____ - vii Introduction - - - - - 11 II. Columbus, Vasco de Gama, and Magellan — The Three Voyages - - - - 18 III. Before Columbus _ _ . . 27 IV. Astronomy - ----- 38 V. The Reformation - _ - - 47 VI. Philosophy : Bruno and Spinoza - . - - 51 VII. Pomponazzi, Telesio, Campanella, and Vanini - '71 VIII. The Critical Philosophy — Descartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, Hamilton, and Comte - - - 93 iv CONTKXTS. IX The Final Scientific Answeu— Monism - - 129 X. Education and Ethics — Bacon, Comenius, Pestalozzi, Froebel, Combe, Herbert Spencer, Huxley, HoLYOAKE, Owen, Haeckel _ . . 143 XI. Literature — Provencal, Rabelais, Montaigne, Cer- vantes, Mysteries and Moralities, Marlow, Shakspere _____ 197 XII. Gibbon _._._. 228 XIII. Yoltaire, The French Revolution, Thomas Paine, Rousseau, the Paris Salon, CoNDORCPn', Volney 248 XIV. Shelley and Goethe— Homer. Virgil, Milton — Modern Poets— Bukns. Wordsworth, Scott, Krats, Byron, Lessing, Schiller - - 314 XV. Geology- -Age of Man — Age of Earth — Order of Evolution _____ 349 XVI. Evolution — Methods, Proofs, Results — Religion — Morality, Progress - - - - 361 CONTENTS. Y XVII. Modern Europe— Politics — Kossuth, Mazzini, Gari- baldi, Proudhon, Bakounine, Marx, Gambetta, Oastelar, Bradlaugh - - - - 397 XVIII. Modern Europe — Literature — Realism — Tennyson, Swinburne, Massey, Hugo. Zola, Ibsen, etc. - 432 XIX. America Before the Civil War— Puritans, Aboli- . tion, the Yankee _ _ _ . 453 XX. Woman's Emancipation — Woman and the Bible, the Church, the State— Before Christianity - 476 XXI. America To-day _ . _ _ _ 517 XXII. I'reethought Organization — America, England, Continental Europe - - _ _ 519 XXIII. American Biographical Sketches - _ _ 680 XXIV. IEnglish Biographical Sketches _ _ _ 830 XXV. Treethinkers of Continental Europe - - 834 \ GIORDANU BRUNO. PROKM. FEEETHOUGHT— PAST, PEESENT, AND FUTUEE. THE PAST — BRUNO. Fair Bruno, looking forth with eyes of fire Upon the world's broad scene ; beyond the sun Thy undimmed glance seems to behold the stars, Countless, and rushing through the endless space, With opulence of life as on earth's breast.; Thyself a star from out the past didst burn, Wakening the darkness with resplendent course Athwart the centuries of gloom and fear ; Herald of morning, of the happy days, With Freedom breathing in the peaceful skies ; With science in the kingly garb of toil, The green earth paradised with loving hearts. O brave Immortal, glorious in the robe Which burned thy body into fruitful dust, They knew not, that wild horde about thy p3're, Who knelt and trembled to a God of hate, And crouched to earth — nor saw its wealth of life ; They knew not what was in thy dauntless gaze, Outsweeping the rude throng and torturing heat — The winged thoughts that all the despot's power Could fetter not, nor blast with fiercest zeal. They saw, that sluuldering and relentless crowd. The frail flesh sink in unconfining tomb, And vainly triumplied o'er that murdered form. For from that blackened spot went forth a word Of wonder, joy, and beauty to all time, yiii PROEM. And millions greet its power and hope unscathed. O martyred Bruno, Science' fearless path, Through regions numberless of earth and sky, Makes laurels for thee, and man's brightest days Flow from the moment of thy bitter death. In thee the past turns from its darkened course, Bursts from tlie gyves of ignorance and fear, Smites down the tyrant from his bloody throne ; And as the earth wheels round the golden sun, And as the sun speeds through unmeasured realms, So doth the mind of man, unchained and vast, From thy red dawn of death move radiant on, In paths of glory broadening to the noon. THE PRESENT — INGERSOLL. And now the present answers to the past. Genius to genius, through the wondrous years ; Bruno and Ingersoll, and on Time's arch What shining names adorn the pregnant space From Nolan's silent ashes to the lips That drop the sweetest words that charm the ear — The eloquence that ceases not with speech, But is immortal music to the mind ! Beloved master of the art supreme To language forth the spirit world within ; To make words flow with new melodious grace. Like waves that beaming break on shores of sense; From the vast ocean of unbodied thought Thv brain hath caught all feeling, all the light Of imageries that rill the poet's eye ; The subtlest thoughts of man ; the dim desires That warm the savage breast ; the dreams tliat haunt And thrill and glorify the toiler's task, Till beauty springs from labor as the sheen Of lilv from th<^ sunless water sproads ; PRO KM. Thou read'sfc the past, not as the bookworm reads, With words and facts strun<^ on a leaden thread, But with imagination's gohlen power, So that the finest effluence of its life, Its heroes, martyrs, songs, philosophies, Resurgent in the living present breathe. Translated in thy miracle of speech To heavens of thought, enriching life to-day. Thus past and present in one glory join To make the marvel of our future hope ; From Bruno's stake to Voltaire's radiant star, To Paine's clear luster in the storms of war, To grace and charm of him wlio gems this hour With reason wedded to the poet's strain What light has gathered on man's toilsome way, What joy and promise, as new births bloom on ! THE FUTURE — THE CHILD. O babe, so beautiful, love's gracious gift ; The sweetest jewel of our mortal life, The happy dawn upon our sorrow's path. The only tyrant that our hearts enthrone, The only monarch Ave obey and bless ! O heir of ages, and the future's glass In which we see the splendors yet to be ; The tiny propliet of untraveled years ; The royal messenger of new domains Embosomed in the unborn wealth of time, To-morrow's king, sceptered in weakness dear. We bring to thee the treasures of the past ; Thou bring'st to us a thousand 'treasures more. For all the boundless future is thy realm ; Thine eyes are gates into the deeps of time, Far shining in their clear and wondering gaze ; In thee are all the imprints of the past— The million years of man's evolving life — PROEM. A thousand generations toiled for thee. Poets have sung, and nations have marched on ; Heroes have died, and martyrs starred the heavens ; The h)ne discoverer hath watched the night, Or tcnled across the ocean's heaving breast, Or pierced the chambers of the sea and land, To make more splendid thy delightful hour — To make thy birth the richest of all time. In thee the past and present find their goal, The fountain of the hope wliich jewels life. Oh, what were life without thy helpless grace, The soft entreaty of thy smiles and tears, The beauty exquisite of dainty flesh Flushed with the rose tints of thy joyous pulse ? O crown of all our toils and all our gains. Bear on the song of life to future years. Oil, take the blessing of the mighty past; Oil, take the love, the glory of to day, Whose face is o'er thee tender as thy look, Which holds the flower of i^romise o'er thy brow. Grow strong and beautiful and brave and free. Fair child, inheritor of sweet renown ; Make thy bright harvest in the fields of time ; Enrich with reason's light thy mingling path With those which front with thine the golden dawn. The great hereafter in thy beams we hail ! INGERSOLL AND (GRANDCHILD. FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. CHAPTER I. Introduction. Four hundred years of Freethought — from 1492 to 1892 — present the most alluring and brilliant pages of human history, Onl}^ those who stand at the end of these crowded centuries can realize the advancing great- ness of humanity. Never was the picture of Shakspere so glowingly demonstrated : " "What a piece of work is man ; how noble in reason ; how infinite in faculties ; in form and moving how express and admirable ; in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god." What lofty intellects adorn the way ! What pomp of music is poured forth ! What radiant discoveries on earth and in heaven are there ! What vast inventions ! what gigantic powers ! It is like looking upon the splendors of the dawn, ever accumulating, as the day ad- vances. Through darkness and struggle ; through bloody war ; through torture and terror ; through superstition, ignor- ance, and tyranny, Freethought has steadily pushed on- ward, with true Promethean fire, with the torch of reason, with undaunted face, with unreceding step, until now it leads the world with victorious colors. 12 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREE;TH0UGHT. But in tracing and unfolding the harmonious grandeur of these spacious centuries, it is necessary first of all that we understand what Freethought is — not a vague and indeterminate coruscation, but a distinct radiance, a mani- fold power, ah intelligence " looking before and after," a destroyer, and a builder. Freethought is a spirit, a method, and a result. The eternal spirit of Freethought is the spirit of doubt, Freethought never ceases to inquire, to question, and to deny. It utterly abhors faith. It makes no terms with a submissive mind. Doubt, says Aristotle, is the beginning of wisdom. It is, indeed. Doubt is the first step to knowledge. It is only through Doubt that we can analyze, judge, and se- lect. Unless we deny, we cannot search. Belief is igno- rance. Unbelief is attainment. Doubt is sanity — faith is insanity. The supreme virtue of orthodoxy is credulity. The supreme virtue of Freethought is skepticism. This has been the eternal battle — Faith on one side, Doubt against it, and Doubt has won and gemmed tlie earth with civilization. Freethought doubts ; but Freethought builds. Truth is its object ; but there is only one way to reach truth — through facts. The scientific method is the one universal method. There is no a priori royal road to truth. There is only the common road, the toilsome common-sense path of ob- servation and induction. In experience alone are the beginnings of knowledge. He who starts with ideas, and labors to accommodate facts to ideas, is no Free- thinker, for he is bound to come to a certain con- clusion, not by the force of truth, but the fiat of an assump- tion. The truth for authority, and not authority for truth, is the axiom of Freethought ; and by truth is meant not an image of the mind, but a fact of the iiniverse. INTRODUCTION. 13 Freethought is observation, experiment, demonstration — beyond that nothing. It therefore rejects all authority — the authority of a book, of a church, of a pope, of a philosophy, of a scien- tific congress even. Science in itself is not authority, but influence — the constant association of facts with reason, not to command but to prove. Freethought furthermore is a result. It is an intel- lectual attitude. It is Agnosticism, as that term is scien- tifically understood, and also Secularism. As all experi- ence is finite, so all knowledge is finite, and relative. The infinite, the absolute are negations of thought — not thought itself. Freethought rejects intuitions, revelations, and high-sounding words, which have no meaning. It rejects God and Immortality as entirely outside of attain- able truth. Freethought confesses the limitations of the human mind. To go outside of those limits is to become the slave of an imperious desire. We are not free when we think in obedience to an emotion. We are free only when we stick to facts. It is folly to assert that Freethought means that we can believe as we are a mind to. We can believe only according to evidence. It is not slavery to conform to reality ; but it is slavery to believe a lie merely because it is attractive. Freethought is not an intellectual result only, but a practical result. It is the application of truth. It is a selection of facts, and a re-arrangement of facts. It is the conquest of nature. It is human happiness, and liu- man improvement by law and not by caprice. AVith Freethought there is no such thing as chance. It takes nothing on trust. It is open-eyed and always on the lookout. It believes in work, and is tlierefore an indus- trial power. It is action. It is forethought, skill, and invention. It is not only the illuminated brain, but the deft hand. Freethought is also liberty, equality, and fraternity in 14 FOUR HUNDRED YKARS OF FREETHOUGHT. the domain of politics. These are not assumptions, but verities. As Freethought recognizes the unity of exist- ence it must also recognize the equality of rights. If the king on the throne has an}' rights at all, the peasant in the hut has exactly the same rights. This is not a " glit- tering generalit}'," but a scientific induction, for rights are not a condition dependent on circumstance and therefore variable, but a quality of life itself. The moment there is an individual there are rights, as the moment there is form there is relation. As well talk of form without re- lation as to talk of an individual without rights. Annihi- lation is preferable to a personality without libert}* and equality. The doctrine of human rights has been of slow growth. It was scarcely recognized in ancient times. It is the result of many experiences, many conflicts, and many evolutions. It has gradually come to the front. It is the chief glory of modern times. Its greatest luster has shone since the birth of our republic. In the daj^s of Columbus it was remote almost as the islands of the South Pacific. Modern science affirms fraternity, not as a sentiment, but as a fact. This is an immense gain upon the Christian theory. We do not inculcate fraternity as a feeling merely, but we recognize it as a part of human knowledge. The race is actually one. The same life is in it, in every age, in every clime. There are no chasms in universal existence, no dualit}^ but unit}'. When, therefore, I use the word Free- thought, I use it in the most comprehensive sense, as an intellectual, moral, industrial, political, and social power. I mean scientific freedom, not a mere capricious freedom. I mean a freedom devoted to high ends. I mean doubt •for the truth's sake. I mean facts correlated into a vast and splendid system of noble i^hilosophy. I mean liberty • whose expression is law, whose spirit is universal equality and universal brotherhood. In this large sense I would picture the triumphs of Freethought for the last four liun- INTRODUCTION. 15 "dred years — in philosophy, in science, in literature, in ed- ucation, and in government. I cannot minutely detail the progress of humanity throughout these vast domains of activity. It is a mighty maze, and volumes would be required to elucidate every current of thought. I can only touch upon the main feat- ures. I can only ascend a few mountain hights and from there record the extensive prospects. In passing through a vast country we cannot look upon every scene. We can not wander through every grove, or by every shining riv- ulet. Many a hill and dale must be neglected. We must hurry on, and from sublime eminences here and there be- hold the limitless expanse, and connect the whole by these radiant glimpses. Or, like the World's Fair, day after day we might haunt its treasured halls, and if we noted every beautiful exhibit it would take years to exhaust the mar- velous display. We must take a few central points of ob- servation, and from these witness what we can of its mul- titudinous scenes. So must we study the Four Hundred Years of Free- thought by the representative geniuses, the lofty minds that in themselves contain and express supreme tenden- cies. I shall try and interpret history by personalities rather than by events, for it is in personalities that we see the hights and depths of human life, that we witness the trend of civilization. I am not giving the daily history of man, but the history of his highest moments, of his tran- scendent altitudes whence flow the thousand common streams of human advancement. Many a philosopher, poet, hero, martyr, discoverer, and inventor I shall not mention, because, however shining and immortal their work, there is some superior mind who is the one grand interpreter of themselves and the age in which they live. I shall not follow a strictly chronological course, for, entering upon some great domain of the world's progress, 16 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. I must outline its history for -centuries, to the neglect for the time being of other parallel and equally important departments of man's growth. Theologians, in endeavoring to reconcile Moses with geology, declare that in regard to creation's dawn and its wonderful events he did not receive a verbally inspired account of the exact process, but that the phantasmagoria of those primeval occurrences passed before his mind's eye, and he relates things not with objective accuracy, but as they subjectively appeared to him in his entranced state. He describes great pictures of the world beginnings as they roll upon his imagination. He is therefore right in his record from his position. What actually occurred would appear to him as he wrote it ; but if his position had been changed, and he had been actually present at the creative period, his delineations would have been more scientifically correct. However true this supposition may be about Moses, it exactly illustrates the method of my history of Free- thought. I shall not write it as if I were present at the unfolding of each event, so that I could photograph it and reproduce it exactly, but, standing at the end of the cen- turies on the gleaming heights of the "World's Fair, these- snowy Alps — not cold, but warm and effulgent as the goklen bosom of the valleys where harvests shine — from these ample scenes and this central brightness I look back upon the morning and the shadows of the night and paint the pictures as they pass before my mental vision, as Moses might have painted the panorama of Creation. The misfortune of the theologian is that Moses failed to reconl his metliod, and it was not discovered until thirty-tive hundred years after his death, and, as a consequence, many glorious intellects have suffered martyrdom wlio otherwise might have been honored and rewarded by the church. I take warning from the tragedy of the " Mistakes of Moses," and state my method and ask foi criticisms on INTRODUCTION. 17 that basis. I purpose to give a pictorial representation, rather than a narrative ; interpretations, and not reports. Somebody playfully and yet keenly remarked of Macaulay's History that is was indeed " his story." This might be true and not altogether destroy the worth of Macaulay's labors, for a man's thoughts about history are sometimes as valuable as history itself, for truth may be in the thoughts as well as in the events themselves. CHAPTEK 11. Columbus, Vasco de Gama, and Magellan — the Three Voyages. Everybody knows the history of Columbus — that he set sail from Palos with three small ships, etc. ; but what was the influence of that bold, adventurous, successful, and pathetic life upon man's advancement? It was a fateful moment when Columbus placed foot upon the soil of the New World. Not even he could imagine the wonder that would be, the magnificence of the future, whose golden doors he was opening to eager millions. Think of the broad continent that lay before him, glittering in the setting sun. Think of the amazing riches of that unknown land, stretching for a thousand leagues from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Gold and silver were there in the heart of the might}^ mountains. Virgin soil was there ribboned with many a shining stream. Vast lakes were there, blue as the sea itself, and boundless to the vision. Mile-wide rivers flowed from Northern zones to tropic splendors. Untrodden prairies ^spread in flowery billows over spaces more expanded than Europe itself. Gigantic forests, whose secrets it has taken centuries to unfold, extended in verdant gloom their stately ranks. Innumerable hills and valleys were waiting to bloom in harvest. Rich with the records of an illimitable past, a thousand hights fling challenge to man's daring step. Here ^re buried civilizations, and civilizations still living BENEDICT SPINOZA (p. 51). THE THREE VOYAGES. 19 and beautiful as the civilizations of the white invader's own home, and over which shall now fall the black pall of slavery and death. A whole race, roaming over the happy hunting-grounds, is doomed to destruction. Freighted with desolation and glory was the landing of Columbus. Fifteen millions of human beings perished beneath tlie cross that waved in his silken banner, and even though liberty on this soil was to win its most daz- zling triumphs, the church which he represented with drawn sword, darkening to a terrible tyranny, was now to be strengthened by the acquisition of millions of adher- ents and uncounted wealth. It was to own the fairest portions of this new world. Vastness and grandeur of physical scenery, a wide and universal theater on which to act, conduces to freedom of thought ; and in this respect America has added to man's hopes and progress. But superstition wins as well as freedom. The vastness and grandeur that inspire the lofty mind subdue and crush the weaker. The very amplitude of action in a new world prevents fineness of art, delicacy of genius, depth of insight, and nicety of achievement. These things must grow; they must be the result of age. The most superb of physical environments must be associated with centuries of national life before it can produce the most perfect flower. Action is apt to banish thought I have met with thousands of shrewd business- men who are still the slaves of the church. Tliey have not time for reflection. I have noticed that amidst the grandest forms of nature there is oftentimes the greatest mental weakness and cowardice. I have struck miners, bold, reso- lute, adventurous, who obeyed the priest. It does not al- ways follow that sublimity of natural aspect or opportunity for action conduce to liberty or intellectual power. As a matter of fact, in America to-day there is more petty inter- ference with personal liberty than in almost any other por- tion of the civilized globe. And this is because Americans 20 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. are so taken up with the vastness of outward affairs that they will not concern themselves with fine, yet all-important, intellectual and moral distinctions. It does not happen because we are on a big continent and have immense physical vitality that therefore we are doing and thinking the best things. We are not, and the very greatness of our physical opportunities does prevent intellectual acu- men. Not until Americans are crowded together, and ma- terial advantages are lessened, and there is not so much chance for muscle, and one must stop and think before he acts, will there be in our country the greatest poetry, the greatest philosophy, and the greatest art. There is such a thing as having too much room. To make the best of a little is of surpassing educational value. In compact Greece was produced the brightest civilization of ancient times. . The vast countries never did give the world a genius. What did imperial Rome contribute to universal literature compared to what one of its little provinces — Germany, France, Britain — has contributed ? And would Rome, if she had retained her enormous dominion, have rivaled the glories of modern civilization, which seem to be the result of concentration rather than of expansion ? It is not extent of territory that gives the only or greatest element of man's progress. It has its dangers as well as its opportunities. The tyrant avails himself of the unlimited chances and the very immensity of the continent gives him advantages that he would not otherwise possess. The Ro- man church is acquiring more power in America than in any other country. The Vatican, paling before the luster of Bruno's statue at Rome, is enthroned in the metropolis of the New World. Universal suffrage, greater tlian any king, is becoming the ally of this rapacious despotism. But Rome is not the only tyranny that flourishes in this republic through its very vastness. Upon our soil to-day we will find ignorance as dense as that of Africa, persecution as bitter as that of Siberia, and siiperstition as rank as that of the THE THREE YOYAaES. 21 South Sea islands; and it is the abundance of territory that makes these things possible. If all our millions were crammed into one-tenth the space they now occupy, igno- rance and superstition and tyranny would vastly decrease. Extent of territory is a blessing so far as the bread-and- butter question is concerned, but this very facility of ac- quiring a living diminishes thought; and while popula- tions are so widely scattered, so little in contact and ever moving, it is impossible to reach the highest point of human genius and excellence. Therefore while Columbus opened a new world to freedom he also opened a new world to tyranny, and it may be that the greatest and bloodiest conflict of all time will yet take place upon this continent, even as the great- est civil war has already taken place, which would not have occurred but for the immense area over which our population extended. If the people had been in closer contact, the sword would not have been necessary. The magnitude, therefore, of the discovery of Columbus makes it an uncertain benefit to the human race. Organ- ized ignorance and superstition entered upon its conquest in opposition to freedom, which as yet, in 1492, scarcely recognized its powers. Justice for the time being was completely overthrown. The discovery of Columbus was followed by destruction and cruelty unparalleled in the history of the world. Slavery the most pitiless flung its black shadow over these fair regions. Bloody wars anni- hilated a happy people. The cross which Columbus bore and in whose name he took possession of this continent, gilded the blackest flag of piracy and murder that ever cursed humanity. Says Draper : " Those who died not under the lash in a tropical sun died in the darkness of the mine. From sequestered sand-banks where the red flamingo fishes in the gray of morning ; from fever-stricken mangrove thickets and the gloom of impenetrable forests ; from hiding-places in the clefts of rocks and the solitude 22 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT, of invisible caves ; from the eternal snows of the Andes where there was no witness but the all-seein<:^ sun, tliere went up a cry of human despair. By millions and millions whole nations and races were remorselessly cut off. From Mexico and Peru a civilization that might have instructed Europe was crushed out." Columbus was no Freethinker. He was a true child of the church, though he struck one of the keenest blows at the authority of the church ever inflicted by any skeptic. He gave almost undeniable proof that the earth was not flat, as it was declared to be by the standard theology of the church. For centuries the dark and pas- sionate spirit of Augustine had ruled the theologians. On the question of the antipodes this great man had declared : "It is impossible there should be inhabitants on the op- posite side of the earth, since no such race is recorded by scripture among the descendants of Adam." This unanswerable argument was also made against the sphericity of the earth, that " in tlie day of judgment men on the other side of the globe could not see the Lord descending through the air." Columbus demolished a cardinal doctrine when he stepped upon these shores. It was not so much the discovery of America as what the discovery declared as to the form of the earth that gave such immense significance to the voyage of Columbus. His per- sistent courage compelled the recognition of a new truth. Everv wind that wafted him westward rolled back the clouils of a dark tljeology. If Columbus was not a heretic in thought he was certainly a heretic in action. He could not have done a greater service for Freethought. Devout Catholic as he was, his banners were the brightest signals in the broadening dawn of science. It certainly must have taken a man of superior genius to plunge into the unknown waste of waters, not only against night and storm, but the almost universal tradition of the church to which he gave THE THREE VOYAGES. 23 allegiance. I wonder sometimes if in the lone watches beneath the stars, straining his eyes to the westward to discover some sign of land after days of hope deferred, the words of the Christian father Lactantius did not come to his mind and almost make him repent of his audacity. " Is it possible," says this voice of the church, " that men can be so absurd as to believe that the crops and the trees on the other side of the earth hang downward, and that men have their feet higher tlian their heads. I am really at a loss what to say of those who when they have once gone wrong, steadily persevere in their folly." Nevertheless Columbus did persevere, and he did dis- cover trees that " hang downward," and men with " feet higher than their heads," and in so doing lie set reason above faith, and toppled over theology. And although the same ecclesiastical authorities de- clared that if the earth were round, " its rotundity would present a kind of mountain, up which it was impossible for him to sail, even with the fairest wind ; and so he could never come back," yet Columbus did come back, not only revealing America, but the possibility of the vast earth with its continents and seas and peoples swinging through the immensities of space. It was no longer flat, a quadrangular plane, inclosed by mountains on which rests the crystalline dome of the sky. Though con- futed by tlie Pentateuch, the Psalms, the Prophecies, the Gospels, the Epistles, and tlie writings of the Fathers, St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, St. Jerome, St. Gregory, St. Basil, and St. Ambrose, the sturdy sailor knocked over the proudest superstructure of the religion wliich he liimself professed. I wonder if Columbus was at heart a Freethinker. Perhaps lie belonged to that wise company of which D'Israeli relates, " Men of sense have but one religion." ''What is that?" is tlie inquiry. "Men of sense never tell," The church, however, as the final arbitress of all scien- 24 FOUR iirxDRi';i) ykars of frfkthougut. tific questions, had committed itself against the globular form of the earth. Rome the infallible never retracts any- thing, never recedes, unless absolutely compelled to by overwhelming evidence, and even the voyage of Columbus was not sufficient to convince the theologian of the error of the ancient geography constructed out of the texts of the Bible. Possibly the world might still be flat, only of larger extent than hitherto supposed. The four pillars might still be at the four corners of the earth. Columbus did not settle the question beyond the possibility of dis- pute. Other voyages must be made over still unknown seas. Columbus failed in his attempt to reach India by sailing to the west. Vasco de Gama succeeded by sailing to the south. He doubled the Cape of Good Hope and retraced the track of the ships of Pliaraoh Necho which had accomplished the same undertaking two thousand years ago. He set sail July 9, 1497. On May 19, 1498, he reached Calicut on the Malabar coast. The consequences of this voyage were to the last de- gree important. The commercial arrangements of Europe were completely dislocated. The front of Europe was changed. Britain was put in the van of the new move- ment. And now, in consequence of the rivalry between Spain and Portugal, the greatest voyage of all time was under- taken. August 10, 1519, Magellan sailed from Seville. He struck boldly for the southwest. He lost sight of the North star, but held courageously on. A mutiny broke out. One ship deserted and stole back to Spain. His perseverance and resolution were at last rewarded by the discovery of the strait, named by him San Vittoria, in honor of his sliip, Init named ever after Strait of Magellan. November 20, 1520, lie issued from its western portals into the Great South Sea. Admiring its illimitable and placid surface, he gave it the name, "Pacific Ocean." Having burst through this barrier, he steered for the prr .C™""™™*^- JOHN AMOS COMENIUS (p. 155). THE THREE VOYAGES. 25 northwest. For three months and twenty days he never saw inhabited land. He was compelled by famine to eat the sweepings of the ship. Yet he resolutely held on his course, though his men were dying daily. He estimated that he sailed over this unfathomable sea not less than twelve thousand miles. " In the whole history of human undertakings," says Draper, " there is nothing that exceeds, if there is any- thing that equals, this voyage of Magellan's. That of Co- lumbus's dwindles away. But though the church hath evermore from Holy Writ affirmed that the earth should be a widespread plane, bordered by waters, yet he com- forted himself when he considered that in the eclipses of the moon the shadow cast of the earth is round ; and as is the shadow such in like manner is the substance. It was a stout heart — a heart of triple brass— which could thus, against such authority, extract unyielding faith from a shadow." Magellan reached the Ladrones. He thus grandly accomplished his object ; but it was not given him to complete the circumnavigation of the globe. At an island called Zs-bu, he was killed. " The General," his men said, " was a very brave man, and received his death wound in his front." Magellan's lieutenant, Sebastian d'Elcano, directed his course to the Cape of Good Hope, encountering the most fearful hardships. He doubled the cape, and on Septem- ber 7, 1522, in the port of St. Luca, near Seville, the "good ship San Vittoria came safely to anchor. She had accomplished the greatest achievement in the his- tory of the human race. She had circumnavigated the globe." " Doubly immortal and thrice happy is Magellan," says the historian, " for he impressed his name indelibly on the earth and the sky ; on the strait that connects the two great oceans, and on tliose clouds of starry worlds seen in 26 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. the southern heavens. He also imposed a designation on the largest portion of the globe," It was now altogether useless for the church to bring forward the authority of Hoh' Writ that the earth was flat. It remained only to permit the dispute to pass into oblivion ; but this could not be done without discovering the fact that science was beginying to display a vast advantage over Bible theology, and unmistakable tokens that ere long she would destroy her tyrannical antagonist. CHAPTER III. Before Columbus. Draper places these three great voyages as immediately preceding the Age of Reason in Europe. They were the destroyers of ancient faith. They were the illuminators of the morning. Before the time of Columbus were the " Dark Ages," but they were not altogether the dark ages, and anterior to the discovery of America there were wonderful streaks of light in those obscure times. Let us try and understand the condition. Christianity, as it ruled the world in the time of Con- stantine, was indeed a blasting power. It was the greatest curse that ever came upon humanity. It destroyed life, it destroyed science, it destroyed civilization. The murder of Hypatia was the logical result both of the teachings of Jesus and St. Paul — " He who preaches any other gospel let him be accursed"; "Those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me." In its inception and progress Chris- tianity is the most cruel religion that has ever blackened the pages of history. In the pathetic death of Hypatia we behold its immortal infamy. The fate of Hypatia was a warning to all who would cultivate knowledge. Henceforth there was to be no free- dom of human thought if Christianity prevailed. In the sixth century, Mohammed appeared, more won- 28 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. derful and more successful than Jesus himself, for to-day- he is the religious guide of one-third of the human race- Mohammed overthrew and absolutely annihilated the old idolatry. The essential dogma of the new faith, *' There is but one God," spread without any adulteration. The doctrine of the unity of God is ever an advance upon the doctrine of the trinity of God. It is a step to- ward the destruction of God. lu fact, as Bishop Hunting- don shows, the trinitarian philosophy is absolutely neces- sary to the permanency of the God-idea, for only a tri-une God is of any possible service to humanity, or is compre- hensible by humanity. The doctrine of the trinity is not to satisfy the head, but the heart. Cold as it seems to be, it is the outcome of a passionate religious sentiment, which desires to make God real, tangible, and accessible, which he cannot be under the bare idea of unity. The doctrine of the uuity of God logically tends to Pantheism, as it did in the philosophy of Averroes, and Pantheism eventually becomes Atheism. Both in philosophy and science Mohammedanism sur- passed the Christianity of the Middle Ages. Whately views it as a corruption of Christianit3^ It is rather a reformation, and superior in many respects to Luther's reformation. The triumph of the Saracen army was marvelous. Je- rusalem, Alexandria, Carthage fell before its victorious colors. Mohammedanism dominated from the Altai Moun- tains to the Atlantic Ocean, and from the center of Asia to the western verge of Africa. Of its advance in Europe, Gibbon says: "A victorious line of march had been pro- longed above a thousand miles from the rock of Gibraltar to the banks of the Loire — a repetition of an equal space would have carried the Saracens to the confines of Poland and the Highlands of Scotland." The most powerful religious empire that the world had ever seen thus suddenly came into existence. It sur- BEFORE COLUMBUS. 29 passed in extent the dominions of imperial Rome. Chris- tianity found its safeguard not in the sword of Charles Martel or the prayers of the pope, but in the quarrels of the Ommiades, the Fatimitis, and the Abassides. The Nestorians, who were the ancient Unitarians, and the Jews, exerted great influence in the development of Mohammedanism. The fanaticism of the Saracens abated, their manners became polished, their thoughts elevated. They abandoned the fallacies of vulgar Mohammedanism, and accepted in their stead scientific truth. Al-Manun, on the shores of the Red Sea, in the plains of Shinar, estab- lished the truth of the sphericity of the earth. Trans- lations of Greek philosophical authors were made into Arabic. Schools of medicine and law were established. Great libraries were collected. It was the boast of the Saracens that they produced more poets than all other nations combined. They perceived that science can never be advanced by mere speculation, but only by the practi- cal interrogation of nature. The characteristics of their method are observation and experiment. They were the originators of chemistry, and the inventors of algebra, and adopted the Indian enumeration in arithmetic. "The Thousand and One Arabian Nights' Entertainment" bears testimony to the creative fancy of the Saracens. Besides these there were works on history, jurisprudence, politics, and philosophy. They taught Europe the game of chess. The empire was dotted all over with colleges. The mod- ern philosophy of evolution was taught. The beautiful doctrines of Averroes prevailed and even invaded Christ- ■endom ; doctrines which affirmed the indestructibility of matter and force, and that the spirit of man was an ema- nation of the universal intellect. However, before the time of Columbus the brilliancy of Arabian scholarship had declined. Science and phi- losophy were retarded, and orthodox theology began to xeign. The religion of Mohammed returned to the old 30 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. anthropomorphi« conception of God, and of heaven as a mansion of carnal pleasures. Mohammedanism was a tremendous agitator and wide euliohtenment, but it did not usher in the age of reason, though for a time it flamed- with the colors of Freethought. Averroes, in his old age, 1198, was expelled from Spain, and declared a traitor to religion. Other philoso- phers were put to death, and the consequence was that Islam like Europe was full of hypocrites. In 1243 the Inquisition was introduced. Its first duty was that of dealing with the Jews. Under the Saracen rule the Jews were treated with the utmost consideration. They became distinguished for wealth and learning. Their mercantile interests led them to travel all over the world. The}^ were the physicians and bankers of Europe. They were proficient in mathe- matics and astronomy. They were the cause of the voyage of De Gam a. The orthodox clergy excited popular prejudice against them. A bull was issued in 1478 for the suppressiou of heresy. In 1481 two thousand victims were burnt at Andalusia ; seventeen thousand were fined or imprisoned. Torture was relied upon for conviction. The families of the condemned were plunged into irretrievable ruin. Torquemada destroyed Hebrew Bibles wherever he could find them, and burnt six thousand volumes of Oriental literature. Then oame the banishment of the Jews. March 30, 1492, about sis months before the voyage of Columbus, the edict of expulsion was signed. All unbap- tized Jews were ordered to leave Spain by the end of the following July. If they revisited the realm they would suflfer death. The Spanish clergy occupied themselves by preaching in the public squares sermons filled with denun- ciations against their victims, who swarmed the roads and filled the air with cries of despair. Even the ou-lookers DAVID HUME (p. 99). BEFORE COLUMBUS. 31 wept at the scene of agony. And this was in the reign of Perdinand and Isabella. The edict against the Jews was soon followed by one against the Moors. In 1502 all nnbaptized Moors in the kingdoms of Castile and Leon Avere ordered to leave the country by the end of April. They were forbidden to emigrate to the Mohammedan dominions. Such was the fiendish intolerance of t-he Spanish government. No faith was kept with the victims. After a residence of eight centuries they were driven from the land. These instances show what a black night of bigotry and tyranny was over the world in the days of Columbus. And yet there were bright and beautiful signs of the com- ing age. Roger Bacon was born in England in 1214, and was one of the greatest geniuses of his age or of any age. He was familiar with Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic. Of mathematics he truly says : " It is the first of all the sciences. It precedes all others and disposes us to them." He affirmed the principles of inductive philosophy. In him, as Hallam says, "were many prophetic gleams of the future course of science." His life was one of the most pathetic and sublime ever lived upon this planet. He struggled against tremendous odds. He was in an age of ignorance and his glorious discoveries were little regarded. He was hundreds of years in advance of his times. How sigaificant was his famous expression, " The ignorant mind cannot sustain the truth " ! In his letter to Pope Clement he wrote : " It is on account of the ignorance of those by whom I am surrounded that I cannot accomplish more." After a life of noble devotion to knowledge he was re- warded in old age with ten years' imprisonment, and when he died he uttered the melancholy complaint: ''I repent now that I have given myself so much trouble for the love of science." Of him it might be more fitly sung than of Milton : 32 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. " Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart." His lofty genius indeed shone in isolated grandeur, blazing with a light that it took centuries to appreciate. Brave, glorious old man, the brightest star upon the fore- head of that dawn which opened to a boundless day, thou shouldst have lived to enjoy the fruits of thy desolate toil. To-day, thou wouldst have worn the crown. Too late^ too late for thy bruised and martyred spirit hath star-eyed Science poured its glory upon man's path. But thou shalt not be forgotten, though centuries pass before the flowers bloom on thy unlaureled grave. The regeneration of Italy began with the exile of the popes to Avignon, 1309. Dante sang his song in that century, and had the courage to put some of the popes in hell and damn them with melodious verse. The illustri- ous Petrarch, 1304-1374, not only poured forth his own passionate music, but endeavored to make his countrymen appreciate Homer. According to his own confession, the number who read Homer at that time did not exceed ten. Boccaccio, 1813-1375, joiued iu the same effort. He did more, however, by his own immortal productions, which will be a part of universal literature as long as the world stands. Shelley writes of Boccaccio: "How much do I admire Boccaccio ! What descriptions of nature are there in his little introductions to every new day. Boccacio seems to me to have possessed a deep sense of the fair ideal of human life. He often expresses things lightly, too, which have serious meanings of a very beautiful kind. His is the opposite of the Christian, stoical, ready-made and worldly system of morals." This is the tribute of one Freethought poet to another across the centuries. In Petrarch and Boccaccio we see mucli " sweetness and light," notwithstanding the darkness of their surroundings and the hideous theology that ruined the world. It is in lit- erature that we see the life of a people rather than in any JUii'OUK COLUMBUS. 33 series of events, however imposing, and the tales of Boc- caccio, so graceful, so fanciful, so agreeable even to the imagination and culture of to-day, and sparkling with the effluence of the breaking Freethought of his own time, demonstrate that the spiritual bonds of Rome did not very strictly inclose the wit and genius of man — that there was a vast undercurrent of intelligence sweeping far beyond the doctrines of orthodoxy. The " tender and solemn en- thusiasm," as Shelley calls it, of Petrarch, the great rep- resentative of Italian humanism, ranks him also among the skeptics of the Renaissance, using the word skeptic in its philosophical meaning to denote thinkers of an analytic mind who search for truth constantly, and are opposed to dogmatism. Dante was also among the skeptics, m spite of his cruel Christianity, which is an indelible blot upon his otherwise magnificent poem, the greatest of Italian lit- erature, and the most musical epic ever poured forth from the brain of man. In writing his poem in the exquisite Italian language, the great Dante revolted against the su- premacy of the church, for, as Draper points out, the uni- versal use of the Latin tongue was necessary to the abso- lute dominion of Rome. So long as this was the sole lan- guage of the educated classes the church possessed an in- estimable advantage. The growtli of modern languages, the Italian, German, French, and English especially, with their wealth of native literature, has not only been a vast civilizing and Freethought agency, but an enduring and insuperable obstacle to the unity of the church and its universal sway. Language is a most powerful instrumen- tality either for progress or retrogression, and the estab- lishment of the Latin language as the one language of learning and literature did more perhaps than anything else to make Rome supreme. Dante, Petrarch, and Boc- caccio, by their ennoblement of their native speech, were the forerunners of the new Italy of to-day. Another indication of the ocean currents of the human 34 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. mind was the extraordinary popularity of a work ascribed to Thomas a Kempis, "Imitation of Christ." It is said to have had more readers than any other book except the Bible. Its essential intention was to enable the pious to cultivate devotional feeling without the intervention of the clergy. As Draper says: "Such a work written at the present day would find an apt and popular title in 'Every Man His Own Priest' " The celebrity of the book dis- plays a profound distrust of the ecclesiastics both in morals and in intellect. This book was a favorite of George Eliot, one of the greatest Freethought writers of this age, and therefore there must be something in it of permanent value to one religiously inclined as George Eliot undoubtedly was, but whose vigorous and un- trammeled genius would accept only the best of human thought. In a sense the " Imitation of Christ " was a revolutionary book, in that it cultivated self-reliance in religion instead of dependence upon a priesthood. In the "Imitation of Christ" we find the breath of the Ref- ormation. Thomas a Kempis was the John the Baptist of Luther. But the two greatest Freethought forces anterior to Columbus was the restoration of Greek to Italy, 1395, and the invention of printing, 1440. Greek genius worked wonders in religion, in philoso- phy, in literature. Think of these mighty treasures of the incomparable past poured upon a people who had already been stirred by the songs of Dante, of Petrarch, and Boccaccio, who had imbibed the sublime and beautiful ideas of Averroes, and now discovered their fountain head. Gibbon, in one of his most splendid passages, thus de- scribes the Greek tongue : " In their lowest depths of ser- vitude and depression the subjects of the Byzantine throne were still possessed of a golden key that could unlock the treasures of antiquity, of a musical and prolific language that gives a soul to the objects of sense, and a body to BEFORE COLUMBUS. 35 the abstractions of philosophy." Coleridge, also, with ex- quisite eloquence, says: " Greek, the shrine of the genius of the Old World, as universal as our race, as individual as ourselves ; of infinite flexibility, of indefatigable strength, with the complication and the distinctness of nature her- self ; to which nothing was vulgar, from which nothing was excluded ; speaking to the ear like Italian, speaking to the mind like English ; with words like pictures, with words like the gossamer film of the summer ; at once the varietj' and picturesqueness of Homer, the gloom and intensity of Eschylus ; not compressed to the closest by Thucydides, not fathomed to the bottom by Plato, not sounding with all its thunder, nor lit up with all its ardors even under the Promethean touch of Demosthenes." There never was, there never will be, anything like the Greek world of thought again. It shines with peculiar and immortal loveliness, the child of the sweetest clime that ever invigorated and expanded the genius of man. But not only the Greek thought, but the Greek language, is unequalled in its varied and marvelous potency, and so long as civilization endures it will be one of the noblest educators of human speech. And the church dreaded this illustrious innovator, more ancient in its glory than its own hoary creeds, a liv- ing power before Rome was born. No wonder that its influ- ence upon men's minds was a terror to the priest. With a quick and jealous suspicion he learned to detect a heretic from his knowledge of Greek — and of Hebrew, too, for the study at that time of Hebrew assailed the foundations of the church's faith. The discovery of America was not so great a boon to the race as the discovery of intellectual Greece. The one was the revelation of physical grandeur and boundless ma- terial opportunity, the other of the sublimity of the mind, the splendor of art, of poetry, the beauty and the grace that must ever inspire humanity to its greatest deeds, 3(j FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. But mightier than Greek genius or the voyages of Co- lumbus, De Gama, and Magellan was the art of printing, without which the civilization of to-day would be impossi- ble. Society in its highest state depends upon its means of communication and records of the past. Without mem- ory it is impossible to know or to advance. With memory is the first step of progress. Printing has increased a thousandfcjld the memory of man, and so his possibilities of improvement. For one thing, it has made insignificant the pulpit, which was once the sole means of communica- tion with the people, and which thundered its anathemas, from wliich there was no appeah The newspaper now is far more potent than the pulpit, and Avill not enslave the race, for from its very nature it must ever be the battle- field of opinions. The monopoly of the church was de- stroyed by the press. But the printing-press would be of little value without paper. It would be like a chained giant. There were methods of printing in Rome, Babylon, and Egypt, but no paper. Books could not be multiplied. Fortunately, with the modern printing-press came the manufacture of paper in illimitable quantities, and the first manufacture of paper in Europe was by the Moors, and the art of printing came from China ; so it seems that modern civilization is indebted to the disciples of Confucius and Mohammed for its most fruitful instruments, the press and paper, as also the mariner's compass and gunpowder. What honor is there for Christianity ? It is interesting to notice the activity of the press at the close of the fifteenth century. In all Europe, between 1470 and 1500, more than ten thousand editions of books and pamphlets were printed, a majority in Italy. In Venice there were 2,835, in Rome 925, in Paris 751, and in London only 130, at Oxford 7, and St. Albans 4. As late as 1550 but seven works had been printed in Scotland, and among them not a single classic. Italy was nearly as VOLTAIRE (p. 248). BEFORE COLUMBUS. 37 far advanced in 1400 as England was in 1500, says Dra- per. I have thus endeavored to give some idea of the state of the world at the time of Columbus. It was by no means a stagnant world. It was a world of energy, of which Columbus, De Gama, and Magellan are brilliant representatives. For centuries in the " Dark Ages," amidst the glooms of theology, the awful tyrannies of the church, the dense ignorance of the masses, the immorality of the clergy, and their hatred and terror of Greek and science, still were there mighty intellectual movements. The great Mohammedan empire sprang up, and tempo- rarily allied itself with learning, philosophy, and science, and its vast pathway was adorned with the light of poetry, of romance, of glorious discovery and invention, though now the fiat of orthodoxy was upon it. Dante and Pe- trarch had sung ; Boccaccio had made the shadow of death sunny with his immortal fancies ; the radiant Oriental philosophy of Averroes had invaded even the courts of Rome ; the ancient treasures of Greece were filling the world with unexpected light, and the art of printing had scattered millions of books from Italy to England. CHAPTEE IV. Astronomy. After the three great voyages of Columbus, De Gama, and Magellan, with their immense results, changing the whole face of human history, came the still vaster voyages of the mind of man through the infinite heavens. The earth was round. Still it might be stationary and the center of the universe. Bat a more amazing discover}' was yet to be made ; the ponderous earth itself was to be let loose, and, flying swifter than the ships of Columbus, travel space around the distant sun, and the sun itself, with its retinue of planets, was launched forth upon an end- less journey. It was a staggering blow to the church, and no wonder it took centuries for the infallible pope to ac- commodate himself to this stupendous discovery. What an enormous battlefiehl was now opening upon the range of man for the conflict between intellect and superstition. Not simply the solar system itself, but vast spaces wherein millions of orbs millions of times larger than the earth itself were sweeping with illimitable splen- dors. Slowly and timidly began the battle in behalf of the heliocentric theory. It was a daring speculation, a tremendous and fearful blow against the authority of the church, to be most bitterly resented. No wonder that Copernicus waited thirty-six years before he dared to give his discovery to the world. No wonder that he waited until liis dying hour before publishing his heretical book, ASTRONOMY. 39 that was to change the face of the heavens and give the lie to all the teachings of the Christian fathers. Coper- nicus died in 1543. On the day of his death, a few hours before he expired, a copy of his book was placed iu his hands. He touched it and seemed conscious of what it was and then relapsed into a state of insensibility and passed away. He could only thus be safe from the hands of the Christian church for publishing the greatest truth yet made known to mankind — namely, that the earth was not stationary, but was moving around the sun and whirl- ing upon its axis. The doctrine of Copernicus was taken up by the in- domitable Bruno and urged with extraordinary force upon the attention of Europe. Bruno was born in 1548 and died 1600, a martyr to Science. Bruno was an enthusiast, a fiery spirit, marvelously gifted with a vast imagination, and his work on "The Plurality of Worlds " was a most startling production. How insignificant it made the earth appear ; how insignificant the cluirch, with its pompous ceremonies, its popes and its cardinals, its scheme of re- demption, its mother of God, St. Peter and the cross. No wonder that bigotry uttered a cry of horror and crushed the knight-errant of philosopliy, who found no refuge any- where in the civilized world. He was tried, excommuni- cated, and delivered over to the secular authorities to be punished "as mercifully as possible and without the shed- ding of blood," the abominable formula for burning a man alive. With prophetic truth he nobly responded when the sentence was passed upon him, "Perhaps it is with greater fear that ye pass this sentence upon me than I receive it." His illustrious monument now confronts the Vatican at Rome. The solemn pathos of his death scene is eloquently commemorated by a Freethought poet of America : 40 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. In the smiling laud where the Tiber flows On its winding way from the mountains down, The sun of a far-oft' day arose On a seven-hilled city of past renown. It shone on pillar and tower and arch, On church and temple and statue fair, On a mob of black-robed priests who march To a chosen spot in a public square. It sees the man they have brought and bound, It sees them driving the mart3'r's stake, And while they are piling the fagots round Their curses and maledictions break. We look, and the cowled and howling crowd Of Eoman ruffians and Romish priests Scowl dark on their victim, angry-browed With the brutal passions of savage beasts. No friend is present to take his part. Nor venture the protest of groan or sob, Save that some woman of tender heart Weeps low at the outskirts of the mob. The hands of assassins have lit the fire. But the martyr, erect, unawed, unbowed, • Looks out from the smoke of his funeral pyre Serene as the stars look through a cloud. The deed is done, and the crowds disperse, And Bruno, the noble, once more is free. For the waves of the Tiber, a somber hearse, Flow down with his ashes toward the sea. Ah, this was Rome when the church had power, And owned the soil that the patriot trod ; This was the bloom of the papal flower — Yea, this was Italy under God. ASTRONOMY. 41 But the sun shines still, round goes the world, And another era has dawned on Rome ; The vicar of Christ from the throne is hurled. And the land of the popes is the free man's home. On the spot where Bruno died that day A marble statue confronts the eye, While the priests in their cloister curse or pray, And bemoan the worth of a time gone by. And Italy's sons, while the Tiber flows, Will guard that statue from break or fall, And Bruno's lovers shall fame disclose, As the noblest Romans among them all. Ah, this is Italy, free at last From the curse of the sacerdotal clan; Undoing the crimes of a brutal past, Lo, this is Italy under Man. George E. Ma.cdonald. Less than a decade after his death, a great and fortun- ate event occurred, which, by increasing the vision of man, destroyed the last hopes of the ecclesiastical party. This was the invention of the telescope, by Lippershey, a Dutchman, in 1608. Galileo, hearing of the circumstance in the following year, invented a form for himself. He applied it to celestial objects. On turning it to the moon, he found that she had mountains and valleys like those of the earth. He discovered innumerable fixed stars, hitherto unseen by man, an insuperable objection to the fallacy that they were made to illuminate the earth by night. He discovered the phases of Venus, which indubitably established for her a motion around the sun, and removed one of the weightiest objections to the Copernican theory. In 1611 he wrote a letter for the purpose of showing that the Bible was not intended to be a scientific authority. 42 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OK FRKKTHOUGHT. He thus repeated Bruno's offeuse. He was summoned to Rome. His sentence was that he must renounce his heretical opinions and pledge himself that he would neither publish nor defend them for the future. He assented to the required recantation. The Inquisition then proceeded to denounce the new system of the universe as "that false Pythagorean doctrine utterly contrary to the Holy Scrip- tures." This was in 1616. In 1632 the irrepressible spirit of Galileo burst forth again, and he ventured on the publication of his work, "The System of the World," its object being to establish more fully the Copernican doc- trine. He was again summoned before the Inquisition. He was put into solitary confinement — an old man in ill health. His trial completed, in penitential garment he received judgment. He was made to fall upon his knees before the assembled cardinals, and, with his hand on the Gospels, abjure his heresies. He was then committed to prison. After five years' confinement he was permitted to remove to Florence for his health. His infirmities and misfortunes now increased. In 1637 he became totally blind. Shortly after he became totally deaf. He died in 1642, a prisoner of the Inquisition. He was denied burial in consecrated ground. But the church could not quench the immortal thought of Galileo any more than it could stop the stars upon their courses. It could not make the earth to stand still and the sun to roll about it. It could not make one iota less the interminable spaces through wliich sparkled un- counted suns. The thumbscrew could not vie with the telescope. Sufi"ering might make Galileo blind, but naught could close that miglity eye — increasing in brightness until two hundred million suns glittered in its enormous circuit. The sublime Kepler, with marvelous patience, with somewhat mystic insight, unfolded still further the har- monies and grandeurs of the solar system. The mind of Kepler seemed akin to the motions of the planets. He JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU (p. 274). ASTRONOMY. 43 was a splendid guesser, but every guess was submitted to inexorable computations. He himself said : " I considered and reflected until I was almost mad." But he held on with philosophical determination to the grand idea that there must be some physical inter-connection among the parts of the solar system. At length he hit upon the three great laws. He demonstrated them. It was an important step to the establishment of the doctrine of the government of all the world by law. In the movement of the planets around the sun there was correlation and harmony. But what was the cause of these exquisite and beauti- ful mathematical movements? It would not do any longer to guess. There must be a slow and toilsome advance from the mechanics of the earth to the mechanics of the heavens. In the fall of a coin of gold and feather were to be traced the mighty laws of the movements of remotest worlds. Leonardo da Yinci, born 1452, was one of the most radiantly gifted minds of his century. He was well ac- quainted with the earth's annual motion. He knew the law of friction. He described the camera obscura, the nature of colored shadows, the use of the iris. He occu- pied himself with the fall of bodies on the hypothesis of the earth's rotation. He treated of the times of descent along inclined planes and circular arcs, and foreshadowed one of the great discoveries of geology, the elevation of continents. Leonardo da Vinci is certainly the man whose genius has the best right to be called universal of any that ever lived. He was the most accomplished painter of his gen- eration. He was sculptor, architect, musician, critic. He was mechanician, anatomist, botanist, physiologist, as- tronomer, chemist, geologist, and geographer. He set himself to perform tasks and solve problems too arduous and too manifold for the strength of any single life. With 44 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OK FREETHOUGHT. his labors, however, was the beginning; of Natural Philoso- phy, and his name will always shine in the annals of scientific progress. He made possible the Principia of Newton. Along with Copernicus, Bruno, Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler he helped to reveal the immensities of the starry regions and to place them under law. Galileo, in 1638, states the true law of the uniformity and perpetuity of motion, the knowledge of which lies at the basis of physical astronomy. Through the labors of Torricelli and others the principles of mechanics were solidly established, and everyone had become ready to ad- mit that the motion of planetary bodies would find an explanation on these principles, but it wanted the master mind to demonstrate the theory. In April, 1686, the " Principia " of Newton was pre- sented to the Royal Society, As a purely intellectual work it is the greatest that has ever appeared in the world's history, and it probably will never be surpassed as an exhibition of the gigantic powers of the human mind. Newton not only laid the foundation of physical as- tronomy, but carried the structure very far toward its completion. He unfolded the theory of universal grav- itation. Newton was led to his discovery by reflecting that at all altitudes gravity appears to be undimin- ished. Might not gravity extend to the moon? In his first calculations, Newton found that the moon is deflected from the tangent thirteen feet every minute ; but, if tlse theory of gravitation were true, the deflection should Ix^ fifteen feet. He put aside the subject for several years. At length, with new and more accurate measures of a de- gree which affected the estimate of the mugnitnde of the earth and the distance of the sun, he repeated the calcula- tions. As they drew to a close, he became so agitated that he desired a friend to finish them. It was demon- strated that the moon revolved around the earth by the ASTRONOMY. 45 force of terrestrial gravity, and that its orbit was elliptical, and so also must be the orbits of planets around the sun, and the cause of Kepler's laws was thus made plain. Thus ended the greatest conflict in history between the church and science. It had been most bitterly contested. The church disputed every inch of ground. It impris- oned, it tortured, and it burned at the stake. The Ptolemaic system of astronomy was established in the second century, and maintained its ground for nearly fif- teen hundred years. It was the " Principia " of Newton that destroyed it forever. That ancient system was neces- sary to the prestige of the church. It would not do to declare the infinity of worlds. It would not do for the earth to be a mere speck of light in the midst of number- less constellations. It would not do to declare that law pervaded the universe, and that there was no room for any miracle. It would not do for the telescope to penetrate space until the sun itself was but a mist upon the bound- less expanse, and no God, no heaven anywhere — not a scintilla of angel or golden throne. It was a tremendous conflict — hoary ages and hoary superstition, the pope with his thunders of excommunication, the church with its everlasting hell, the dungeon and the fagot and the sword, the Inquisition with its awful horrors — all tliese were mustered against the rising glories of science, Coperni- cus died before he dared to blazon forth the truth he had through laborious years silently accumulated. Galileo bent the knee. Bruno imperiously perished in the flames. Yet the mind of man was unconquerable. It would not be chained, it would be free ; it would scale the heavens, and how magnificent has been the result. What an elevation what a splendor has been given to human life — though the earth itself shrinks into insignificance — for man finds him- self part of an infinite universe, of infinite power, of infinite light, of infinite law. There is no end. Night after night the amazing spectacle passes before his eyes. Night after 46 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGPiT, night a thousand telescopes sweep the glittering plains. Vast systems extend before the gaze — some in perfect order, some in the nebular glow of formation, and some in the throes of destruction. Stars, comets, asteroids, planets, suns, in inconceivable and measureless pomp overwhelm the imagination with suggestions of still grander spaces and vaster orbs. What a battle-ground this has been, and what an ennobling victory has been won ! The flag of Freethought is gemmed with stars, and it floats from an impregnable hight. CHAPTEK V. The Keformation. The Reformation, lurid and destructive, marks an epoch in human progress. It soon reached its culmination and ceased to be of any benefit. It was a furious protest backed by the sword and cruel persecutions of its own, but it was a stroke for liberty. Millions of men were struggling for their own rights, though careless of the rights of others. It is something, however, for one to have the courage to defend himself rather than to submit. The Reformation was as relentless as Rome m its own way — but still it was better, and also by its opposition made Rome better. I doubt if science could have so grandly won its way if the despotic unity of Rome had not been destroyed and its very existence involved in a life-and-death struggle for political power. Luther him- self was opposed to science. He had no use for Coperni- cus. He said of this astronomer : " People gave ear to an upstart astrologer who strove to show that the earth re- Tolves, not the heavens or the firmament, the sun and the moon. Whoever wishes to appear clever must devise some new system which of all sj'stems is of course the very best. This fool wishes to reverse the entire science of astronomy. But sacred Scripture tells us that Joshua commanded the sun and moon to stand still and not the earth." Calvin burnt Servetus with a refinement of cruelty that 48 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. would have rejoiced the heart of the inquisitor-general. The gain of the Reformation for science was not in any direct help that it afforded, but by precipitating the world of Europe into a mortal struggle on theological questions ; for the time being it withdrew the attention of authorit}^ to a certain extent from the transactions of science, which pursued its way as in the case of Newton somewhat unob- trusively, and Avon its splendid victories without the church a]:»parently realizing their vast significance — and when the church did have a chance to turn its attention to these lields and supervise them as of old it was too late. The *■ Principia " had been published. The Reformation was an enormous help to the literarv activity of the people. The printing-press was used as an engine of war. Luther invoked its aid and Avas thus enabled to strike a terrific blow at Rome from Avhich it has never recovered. Rome would have burned every printing- press if it had had the power. Rome wanted no means of communication with the people except the pulpit, and through an accredited priest. The power of the pulpit was the bulwark of Rome. On the other hand, the print- ing-press was the salvation of Luther. He could not have won without it. It enabled him to arouse vast masses of people — and to give them an opportunity to judge for themselves. His translation of the Bible into the common language was a masterstroke. To give the Bible to the people was an immense advance for liberty. No matter what the Bible is in itself, its distribution by hundreds of thousands of copies in the time of Luther Avith an appeal to private judgment was the source of a tremendous agitation. It brought into play forces of rev- olution that Luther and his princes could not control. Besides, Luther made the German language a literary power. It took the place of Latin as a vehicle for song and philosophy. Luther's translation was the fountain Lead of the glorious poetry of Schiller and Goethe. It EDWARD GIBBON (p. 228). THE REFORMATION. 49 showed what the language was capable of doing. It was the beginning of a national literature. And also, as Luther dissented from Rome, and Zwingle dissented from Luther it was inevitable that there should be dissent and protest everywhere. The era of individuality had set in, and Luther could not make its currents move according to his wishes. It swept beyond him. It swept beyond the power of any man or any church to regulate. There were numberless sects, divisions, separations, strifes, quarrels, and these indicated that there were plenty of private judgments, more than Luther ever bargained for ; but it was the logic of the situation. Luther himself might retreat, but the tide went on, and the waves of contro- versy multiplied, and there was no knowing when the ocean of human thought would end its tumultuous course. In fact, there is no end, no finality, as we have found out in these latter days. The separation from Rome once begun, has no bounds. It goes on infinitely in every direc- tion. There is an everlasting break up, not only away from the pope, but away from Ciiristianity, away from the Bible, away from all religions. Luther put man upon a vaster voyage of discovery than Columbus or Magellan. One can circumnavigate the globe, but who can circum- navigate the truth or map out the intellectual reaches of inquiry ? So swift was the progress of the Reformation that at the close of Luther's life it seemed as if the piip;icy must end in total ruin ; yet it recovered itself and is now stronger every way than before. The Reformation did not have in it any universal power, it did not represent any universal principle. Its chief value was in its destructive tendencies. The Reformation was simply a fight for an opinion — it was not a battle for world-wide freedom. Hence it was limited in its action and must soon reach the acme of its success. After the colossal political struggle was over — when the Thirty Years' war closed with tho 50 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. peace of Westphalia and the great potentates lay down their arms — came the era of construction on other bases than mere force, and in this the papal church had superior advantages to that of the Protestant. It had age, culture, art, letters, the elegance of the da}'. It was logically the true conservative power, and kings naturally allied them- selves with it rather than with the disintegrations of Protestantism, that must some day, to the far-seeing mind, end in democracy. And then when the Reformation became crystallized — when it ceased to be dynamic and became static, no longer a flowing energy, but an institu- tion — what was there to choose between it and Rome, which had learned lessons from the struggle, was purged of its outward immoralities, and through the might}' spirit of Loyola consecrated itself as never before to a spiritual dominion over mankind? The churches of the Reformation kindled the flames of persecution. They were opposed to science and progress — they would bind people by the superstitions of the past ; they would make a slave of the human mind, and they equally with Rome were the instru- ments of oppression. As a result, there was nothing to choose between the Reformation and the new papacy, as we might call it. I do not wonder that scholars and thinkers like Erasmus and Grotius accepted Romanism in the place of Protestantism. Intellectually there Avas no gain in the latter ; and for a mind tliat delighted in beauty, order, and learning Rome offered the greater advantages. The spirit of Protestantism was what made its chief value; but that spirit after the peace of Westphalia was soon banished from the churches of the new faith. If there had not been something in the world to reform the Refor- mation the Reformation itself would have been as great a curse as Rome. Fortunately the logic of the Reformation is the irresistible power that will eventually destroy both it and Rome. CHAPTEE VI. Philosophy: Bruno and Spinoza. We are now to consider philosophical advance — repre- sented by Bruno and Spinoza in one direction, and Des- cartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, Hamilton, and Comte in another. What is philosophy? Bruno defined it to be the search after unity. This certainly was the sense in which Bruno and Spinoza were philosophers ; this was the goal of their ceaseless effort, the unity of the universe — the one in the many, the harmony of all worlds, all life, matter and spirit, God and man. If they did not solve the problem aright they certainly adorned their age with the brightest productions of human genius. They have given a noble impulse to Freethought. They have been the source of many a golden stream of poesy over the fields of time. The world will never cease to be a debtor to these immortal dreamers. Bruno was not a man of science like Galileo or Darwin. He was not a plodder, infinitely painstaking, slow, patient, wary, advancing step by step. He assimilated the dis- coveries of his time with wonderful accuracy — but rather by genius than by investigation ; and he leaped to con- clusions far beyond even the daring speculations of Gali- leo and Kepler. Philosophy was his domain, not science. He was not analytic — but synthetic. He was a creator — a builder— out of the facts furnished by others. A more active or richly-gifted man never was on this planet. He 52 FOUR IinXDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. was like a flame. He was born for agitation — for con- trovers}'. He called himself " The awakener of sleeping minds." He was indeed that. He was an intellectual athlete. He was armed and equipped for battle at every point. His learning was prodigious — and it was wrought together like chained lightning. No wonder the church dreaded this imperious knight whose armor was always shining, whose blows were always telling. And Avhat a glorious philosophy he proclaimed — beauti- ful and enchanting as the sweet poetry of Shelley. In- deed, Shelley is the modern Bruno, and the magnificence of the poet's genius is the twin glory of the sixteenth- century martyr. If we desire to realize the spirit of Bruno, and the splendor of his powers, we must read Shelley. The one interprets the other. On the firmament of time they shine with the same intensity. One might think that the poet was singing of the philosopher in this glowing music : *' He is made one with nature ; there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that power may move, Which has Avithdrawn his being to its own, Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from below, and kindles it above." Bruno proclaimed the immanence of God ; that nature, at no point, was separate from God — but everywhere was his flowing divinity. Nature is the universal mother. There was no real discord. There was no creation — but constant emanation. As Goethe sings. Nature is the ** garment we see Him by." God is not on a throne, but is an eternal presence. There is no need of any priest — only the open soul. PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 53 Bruno infuses matter with the noblest qualities. Spirit is not der^radecl by any association with it. As I under- stand Bruno, he makes matter and spirit co-eternal, both unbeginning and unending. They are two different ex- pressions of the same being, which being is incomprehen- sible in itself. But matter and spirit, however different their expression, are one in God — the universal soul. The word God to Bruno was simply the term for the unity of existence. He did not define God, or give him any character or personality, or any attribute except sim- ply to make him the totality of existence, all-embracing. As Goethe sings : " The all-enfolding, The all-upholding. To head and heart the force Still weaving its eternal secret Invisible, visible round our life." And Pope declares the same : •' See through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick and bursting into birth ! Above, how high progressive life may go; Around, how wide ; how deep extend below. From nature's chain, whichever link you strike. Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike." And modern science still echoes the thought in Tyndall: " I prolong the vision backward across the boundary of the experimental evidence, and discern in that matter which we, in our ignorance, have hitherto covered with opprobrium the promise and potency of every form and quality of life." Bruno does not identify the universe with God. It is the expression of God — but not God himself. Withdraw God and the universe would cease to be, but Bruno seems to affirm that so long as God is, so long must he con- 54 POUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. stantly express himself in the universe ; that is, God must, in his very nature, be action, eternal action ; he cannot be merely a thou^^ht, or a dream, or a sleep. Therefore the universe is co-eternal with God. The relation of the universe to God is not one of identity, but of expression, or revealing. The universe is the constant revealing of God, and is one with God in the sense that language is one with the thought it expresses. The universe is the language or the word of God. It is best, however, to give Bruno's own words, so that we may most clearly understand his pantheistic philosophy. He says : " There is only one absolute possibility, one only reality, one only activity. Whether it be form or soul, matter or body, it is but one — one only being, one sole existence. Unity is, therefore, perfection ; its char- acter is impossibility of being comprehended, in other words, it possesses neither limit, bound, nor definitive de- termination. The one is infinite and immense, and there- fore immovable ; it cannot change its place, because out- side of it there is no space ; it is not engendered, because all existence is only its own existence ; it cannot perish, because it can neither pass into nor transform itself into anything else. It cannot increase nor diminish, because the infinite is susceptible neither of augmentation nor of diminution. It is liable to alteration neither from with- out, because nothing exists outside of it, nor from within, because it is at once, and at the same time, everything it can become. Its harmony is an eternal harmony since it is unity itself. Because it is self-identical, it cannot form two beings ; it has not two kinds of existence, because it has not two modes of being; it has not different parts, for it is not composite. It is in the same manner, the whole and parts, all and one, limited and unlimited, formal and informal, matter and void, animate and inani- mate. In the universe solid body does not differ from a mathematical point, nor the center from the circumference. THOMAS PAIXK. PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 55 nor the finite from the infinite, nor the infinitely great irom the infinitely little. The universe is only a center, or rather its center is everywhere, its circumference no- where. Again he explains : " The supreme being is the sub- stance of the universe, the pure essence of all life and reality, the source of all being, the force of all forces, the virtue of all virtues. If nature is the outward originating cause of all existence, divinity is its deeper foundation, and the more profound basis, both of nature and of each individual. God being the cause of all causes, the ruling principle of all existence, may become everything ; being also perfect he is everything. In him existence and power, reality and activity, are inseparably united, indeed they cannot be conceived separately and apart from him. Not onlv is he alone the external cause of all things, he is also the inherent principle which maintains them in life. By means of his omnipresence and his boundless activity, the existence and motion of all beings constitute but one sole life, one immense and inexhaustible reality. The cause of all causation, the supreme being is at once the formal, material, efficient, and final cause of all that exists. He is the nature of all nature, being the univer- sal cause and in perpetual action. He is the universal reason, in other words, the intelligence which conceives all and produces alL Being also the universal power — that which determines and differentiates everything the world contains — the supreme being is the soul of the world, the spirit of the universe, the hidden life of every form of existence. The infinity of God, his presence and activity in every part of creation, as well as its immeasur- able totality. His omnipresence and persistent energy constitute the most wonderful character of his being." Bruno, notwithstanding his mysticism, was a born skep- tic. Doubt with him was the starting-point of all philos- ophy and all reasoning. This is affirmed again and again 56 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. in various parts of his works, and is exemplified in his own career. However much the abstractions of the In- finite and the One satisfied for the time his intellect and soothed his emotional needs, there was a prior stage of doubt of a sweeping and comprehensive character. " He who wishes to philosophize," says Bruno, " must begin by doubting all things." Bruno affirms that the human mind is made for knowledge and freedom. He lays it down that thought, by its own nature, cannot be the subject of puni- tive justice, for if sincere it can be no offense to God or human law. Thus political freedom is the outcome of his doctrines. " Our opinions," he says, " do not depend upon our- selves ; evidence, the force of circumstances, the reason, impose them on us. If no man, therefore, thinks what he wishes nor as he wishes, no one has the right of compel- ling another to think as he does. Every man ought to tol- erate with patience, nay, with indulgence, the beliefs of his neighbor. Toleration, that natural faith graven upon all well-born hearts, the fruit of the enlightened reason, is an indispensable requirement of logic, as well as a pre- cept of morality." Bruno was an ardent worshiper of nature, because, in nature, he saw the ever-flowing divinity of the supreme being. He describes the charms of nature in the passion- ate language of a lover. Nature, moving, fluctuating, changing, instinct with life and energy. Bruno was something like Milton, rather furious against personal enemies. One of his opponents he calls a pig. There was a kind of grim, elephantine humor in him — a fierce cynical mockery, which gives a sort of gro- tesque light to his otherwise magnificently earnest spirit. Neither Bruno nor Milton was born to be a wit, but their efforts at comedy are worthy of preservation. Bruno erects Asinity into a goddess and sings her praises thus : PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 57 " O sainted Asinity. Ignorance most holy ! Stupidity most sacred ! Devotion most profound, Thou alone canst make us learned, good, and sound. While human thought and study are void of value wholly. Little availeth the search that men so fully Employ by every art or science-operation, Little availeth their sky-ward contemplation, To gain the heavenly seat which is thy object solely. What boots then, ye curious, your persistent exploration? The wish to learn the secret of nature's laws and ways, If the stars be water, earth, or Q.erj exhalation ? Holy Asinity despises wisdom's rays ; Folded hands and knees form her sole occupation. Expecting from Providence the luck of better days ; All passes, nothing stays, Save the fruition of that eternal peace, Which God will give her after her decease." In another strain, more befitting his royal nature, he afterwards sings : " AAvay from the prison cell, narrow and gloomy. Where so many years error closely hath bound me, Leaving the fetters and chains which around me My foe's cruel hand hath entwined to entomb me. Securely to the air my pinions I extend — Fearless of all barriers, feigned by men of old, The heavens I freely cleave — to the Infinite I tend. So leaving this, to other worlds my upward flight I wend. Ethereal fields I penetrate with dauntless heart and bold, And leave behind what others deem a prospect without end." And then, wonderfully, he seems to predict his own immortal martyrdom : 58 FOHR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. "Since I my wings to sweet desire do lend, The more the air uprises 'neath my feet, Tiie swifter on the gale my pinions beat, And, earth despising, toward heaven I tend. Nor for the son of Daedalus' guilty end Feel I dismay, nay, rather bouyant heat ; His deadly fall I joyfully would meet. Peer to such death, what life could mortal spend? Soaring, I hear my trembling heart's refrain, ' Where bearest me, O rash one ? The fell steep Too arduous is not climbed without much pain.' ' Fear not,' I answer, ' for the fatal leap. Serene I cleave the clouds and death disdain. If death so glorious heaven will that I reap.' " Such was the magnanimous soul of Bruno — a mighty light indeed shining at the beginning of the Era of Man. Maurice says of him: "Grace and beauty of every kind speak to his soul, and exercise a dominion over him which one would fear must have often been too much for his judgment and loftier aspirations. His countenance testifies how mightily he must have been attracted, and how he must have attracted." Professor Berti gives this description of Bruno : " Short in stature, agile in frame, of meager body, a thin and pallid face, thoughtful expression ; a glance both piercing and melancholy ; hair and beard between black and chestnut ; a ready, rapid, imaginative tongue, accom- panied by vivacious gestures, a manner courteous and gentle. Sociable, amiable, and pleasant in conversation, like the Italians of the South ; adapting himself without difficulty to the tastes, usages, and habits of another ; open and candid, both with friends and foes, and as far from rancor and revenge as he was quickly moved to anger." After fifteen years' wandering over Europe Bruno ar- PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. q(^ rived at Venice about 1591. He paid occasional visits to Padua and gave private lessons to some German students. The chronology of Bruuo's life shows that he could have had no personal acquaintance with Galileo, who did not commence lecturing at Padua until soms months after BruucVs long incarceration had begun. On Friday, May 22, 1592, Mocenigo, of infamous memory, his former pupil and patron, and now his betrayer, forcibly entered the bed-chamber where Bruno was asleep, accompanied by his servant and five or six gondoliers of the neighborhood^ and, on the pretext of wishing to converse with him, con- ducted him to a garret and then locked him in. He wa& removed on Saturday, the 23d of May, into the prison of the Inquisition. With this ends the free life of Bruno. Before him was a cruel captivit}' of eight long 5^ears, ter- minating with the stake. He was sent to Rome, January, 1593. " Never did malignant destiny," says the historian, " provide a fate so atrocious and pitiless as that which be- fell Bruno. His whole life had been a warfare with re- striction. The limits of earth itself were too narrow for his soaring intellect. Incarceration in a dark and loath- some dungeon, for a man whose every breath was an aspiration for freedom, whose every thought centered in her divine attributes, and whose every act was part of a life-long strviggle to possess her, imparts to his lot a pecu- liar aspect of intense liarshness and grim irony. What Bruno's trials were ; how often his limbs were stretched on the rack ; what other tortures, mental and physical, he was compelled to endure ; what cunning and ruthless efforts were made by his jailers to break down his indom- itable spirit; to crush, fully and finally, his irrepressible yearnings after freedom ; to transform the Freethinker into a religious slave, we shall never know. The long duration of his imprisonment seems to imply that unusual pains were taken to convert a heresiarch whose fame was European." In 1599 Bruno was the only prisoner in 60 FOUR HUXDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. charge of the Roman Inquisition whose incarceration commenced in 1593. On Thursday, January 14, 1599, Bruno was brought before the Congregation of the Holy Office, when eight heretical propositions, extracted from his works, were placed before him for recantation. Another summer and autumn roll slowly over his head, and on Tuesday, Decem- ber 21st, he is again brought before the Congregation. On this occasion Bruno said, " he neither ought, nor wished, to recant. He had nothing to recant." Thus passed 1599. Three weeks of the new year had gone by and Bruno again stood before his inquisitors. Once more Bruno refused to recant. The resolution was thereupon made that Bruno be delivered over to the secular arm. This was done on Tuesday, the 8th of February. He was brought forth to die on Thursday, the 17th of February. '' The scene must have been remarkable," says the histo- rian. "The year 1600 was a jubilee year. There were then in Rome not less than fifty cardinals. The streets were crowded with pilgrims. In every direction might be seen troops of strangers dressed in the different costumes of their own country, wending their way from one church to another, imploring pardon for their sins. There was ringing of bells, marching of processions, singing of peni- tential psalms, oflfering of vows and prayers at different shrines from morning till night." " While it might have seemed," says Berti, " that all hearts ought to have been inclined to mercy, and attracted lovingly to the gentle re- deemer of humanity, the poor philosopher of Nola, pre- ceded and followed by crowds of people, accompanied by priests carrying crucifixes, and escorted by soldiers, was wending his way to the Campo di Flora, to die for free- dom and the riglits of conscience. As the lonely thinker — the disciple and worshiper of the infinite — passed through the streets, clothed in the san-benito, but with head erect, and haughty, fearless glance, what thoughts ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT (p. 450). THILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 61 must have passed through his mind. The feeling of utter isolation could not but have been felt by him. He must have found — it was the conclusion of his intellectual ca- -reer, the inevitable destiny, too often, of the single-hearted truth seeker — that he was alone in his researches, in his passionate quest for truth. " At length he comes to the fatal spot where the stake had been erected. He submits himself to be bound, and in a few minutes the fire blazes round the martyr. But not a word or moan escapes the Hrm-set lips, no expres- sion of suffering or weakness passes across the v/an and pale, but still handsome, features. One single gesture of impatience he gives way to when his tormentors thrust the crucifix before his dying gaze. Then he averted his eyes with a threatening glance. "Bruno died. His impassioned words were like thunder bolts and lightning shafts, and his course like that of a comet. Prometlieus-like, he brought the vital flame, not only from the single sun of our own S3'stem, but from the numberless orbs scattered through space. His perpetual warfare was with darkness and voluutarj* blindness. The eagles and birds of daylight were glad in his presence ; the owls and bats detested him. He dis- appears from earth in a flame of fire, giving him new birth and eternal freedom. " Bruno was one of those gigantic intellects, those myr- iad-minded men, whose multifarious erudition, eclectic methods, and many-sided sympathies, render a summary of their operations very difficult, if not impossible. Like a survey of a widely extended landscape, or an enormous building, the conspectus will only be a piecing, more or less rude and imperfect, of separate and fragmentar}' points of view. Employing his own illustration of the infinite powers and feelings of the human mind, we might almost say of his own intellect that its center is every- where, its circumference nowhere. A child of the six- 62 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. teeutb century, bis speculatious comprehend and his sj'mpathies embrace methods of thought, current in an- cient times on the one hand, and in our own day on the other. The immense range of his studies is proved by the fact that there is hardly an author, certainly not a subject known in his day, to which he does not seem to have paid attention, and on which he has not thrown some light/' Bruno did not reach the unqualified Pantheism of Spinoza. Spinoza affirmed the absolute identity of the universe with God. The universe was God, and God was the universe. The universe was not the expression, but the very being of God himself. Draper says : " Bruno may be considered among philo- sophical writers as intermediate between Averroes and Spinoza. The latter held that God and the universe are the same ; that all events happen by an immutable law of nature, by an unconquerable necessity ; that God is the universe, producing a series of necessary movements or acts in consequence of intrinsic, unchangeable, and irresis- tible energy." Spinoza. Spinoza was born at Amsterdam, Nov. 24, 1632. At an early age he was denounced to the heads of the Jewish synagogue as an apostate from the true faith. He with- drew from the synagogue. Dreading the force of his ex- ample, the synagogue offered him an annual pension of a thousand florins if he would only consent to be silent and assist, from time to time, in the ceremonies. He refused. Excommunication was pronounced. " Let him be accursed by day, and accursed by night," read the malediction. " Let none hold converse with him, or do him any service, or abide under the same roof with him." It will be seen that the Jewish synagogue could damn as well as the PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. §3 pope. Notwithstanding all their own sufferings, the or- thodox Jew^s were no more tolerant than their enemies. Matthew Arnold says the excommunication " made Spi- noza a child of Europe, and not of Israel." When he heard of it he said, " Well and good, but this shall force me to nothing I should not have been ready to do with- out it." He left his home and native city. He devoted himself entirely to philosophy. He endured a hard and griping kind of poverty. The heritage which at his father's death fell to him, he resigned to his sisters. The pension offered him if he would dedicate a work to Louis XIV. he also declined. He desired to be absolutely inde- pendent. His ordinary daily diet consisted of a basin of milk porridge, with a little butter, costing about three half pence, and a draught of beer costing an additional penny. He died in his forty-fifth year in the full vigor and ma- turity of his intellect. Says Schleiermacher : " The great spirit of the world penetrated him ; the infinite was his beginning and his end ; the universe his only and eternal love. He was filled with religion and religious feeling ; and therefore it is that he stands alone, unapproachable ; the master in his art, without adherents, and without even citizenship." To the common mind there is, practically, little differ- ence between Pantheism and Atheism ; whether one says, " all God," or " no God." The distinction is intellectual, and not moral. Both are absolutely anti-orthodox. Spi- noza, Bruno, and Averroes were called Atheists, although they were Pantheists, and Spinoza has been called the " God-intoxicated " one. Buddhism has been called an Atheistic religion, although it is Pantheistic. Modern Pantheism, like Atheism, is the bitter foe of church and priest. It utterly abolishes heaven and hell, total depravity, vicarious atonement, a personal God, a personal devil, and a personal immortality. If all the 64 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. universe is God, then tliere is no need of any special means of communication with liim — Pantheism is demo- cratic. There is neither high nor low in Pantheism. All are equally divine — all on the same level — whatever that level may be. Tennnyson has beautifully expressed the idea of Pantheism : " Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies ; Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is." Pantheism, in its spirit, is certainly Freethought. It declares for human worth and human freedom. The ques- tion is not, Is it beautiful ? for it is exceedingly beautiful, but is it true ? Is the universe God ? The only difference between Pantheism and Atheism is in the use of the word God. The Atheist affirms that all existence is one ; he affirms the universality of law ; he affirm.'* natural morality equally with the Pantheist. Does Pantheism mean anything by the use of the word God ? And, if so, what does it mean ? The God-idea is not simple, but complex, and in the ordinary conception there are included many human qual- ities. But throwing away as far as possible all anthropo- morphic conceptions we must, as the ultimate, accept Swedenborg's definition of God, namely, infinite wisdom and infinite love. It seems to me that you can no more throw out the element of love from the God-idea, than the element of intelligence. Therefore, when one calls the universe God, he not only gives it the attribute of thought, but also of love ; but the idea of love brings in the idea of purpose. It is teleological, and Pantheism naturally sings with Teun3'Son of PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 65 " Some far-oj6f, divine event, To which the whole creation moves." I can conceive of pure thought without a purpose — pure intelligence expressing itself spontaneously, recklessly, without a regard of consequences — but it cannot be so with love. If this universe is infinite goodness, then there must be a plan in it — a choice — a desire — ^a hope — an effort — a final goal. If there are gods, they must be as Keats describes them : " With God-like exercise. Of influence benign on planets pale, Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above men's harvesting. And all those acts which deity supreme Doth ease its heart of love in." While Atheism affirms law, it does not affirm plan, or final purpose, or teleology. And that is why it does not use the word God. Science does not use the word God. It is a term which expresses a desire, but not a truth. We may hope that all things will be well, but we do not know it, and we never can know it. Spinoza, however, excluded the attribute of love from the universe. He affirmed only two attributes of God, in- finite thought and infinite extension. But we cannot conceive of infinite extension, of infinite time, or infinite space. We say " infinite time," " infinite space," but these are mere words, they do not represent ideas. Try to conceive infinite space. You cannot do it. You can add conception to conception, but every concep- tion is a finite conception. If, in one mental act, you could conceive " infinite space," you could neither add to nor diminish that conception, but you can add to or di- minish every conception of space possible to the human mind. You cannot conceive of any space so large but 66 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. what YOU can conceiYe of a larger. We haYe not, therefore, and cannot have, any idea of infinite space, and cannot affirm it of the universe. We can only affirm finite spacp. How much less can we affirm thought to be an infinite, an eternal attribute of the universe or God. We must admit that space is everywhere in our experience, but not thought. The telescope reveals 200,000,000 suns in enor- mous realms of space, but it discovers no thought. The spectroscope reveals the same colors, the same elements, the same fire in these millions of stars as in earth, but it reveals no thought. We can concieve of matter without thought, but not of matter without space. It is pure as- sumption to affirm that in the universe is infinite thought. It may be so ; but experience declares that thought only exists in certain conditions. It is simply a particular pro- cess, and not the universal energy. Spinoza originated a splendid, but vanishing, system of philosophy, a system, however, which has exerted a prodi- gious influence upon the human mind. He has reared one of the most dazzling intellectual structures in the whole history of human thought, and, for a time, it seemed as if it would command the world. However, ''the majestic struggle with the mysteries of existence failed, as it always must fail ; but the struggle demands our warmest approbation, and the man our ardent sympathy. Spinoza stands out from the dim past like a tall beacon, whose shadow is thrown athwart the sea, and whose light will serve to warn the wanderers from the shoals and rocks on which hundreds of their brethren have per- ished." A braver, a nobler, a grander man than Spinoza never lived. He was absolutely unselfish. He was thoroughly devoted to the truth, and while the world does not accept the whole of his magnificent system, it does accept manj' a priceless treasure of wisdom. Spinoza did not pursue a mere phantom. In the elaboration of his philosophy AUGUSTE COMTE (p. 119). PEIILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 67 he has unfolded a knowledge of nature and man which is of priceless value. In 1670 he put forth, anonymously, a "Treatise on Theology and Politics," in which he examined and criti- cised the Hebrew scriptures. He is called the " Father of Biblical Criticism." From his learned, investi- gating and critical spirit has flowed those scholarly inter- pretations of the Bible and its inspiration which, to-day, are shaking the church to its very center. The biblical researches into the depths of history, thus begun by Spi- noza, have been a vast influence in modern development. As Matthew Arnold has well stated it, the Bible is no longer " dogma; it is literature. " Spinoza gives these reasons for writing the book: "I am now engaged in the composition of my treatise on the scriptures, moved to undertake the work, First, By the prejudices of theologians, which, I feel satisfied, are the grand obstacles to the general study of philosophy. These prejudices I therefore expose, and do what I can to lessen their influence on the minds of people accessible to reason. Second, By my desire to disabuse the world of the false estimate formed of me when I am charged with Atheism. Third, By the wish I have lo assert our title to free philosophical discussion, and to say, openly, what we think. This I maintain in every possible way, for here it is too much interfered with by the authority and abus- iveness of the vulgar." The Ethics, the great work of Spinoza, was not pub- lished until after his death. It has swayed and illumi- nated the minds of Lessing, Jacobi, Herder, Goethe, Fichte, Schelling, Schiller, Schleiermacher, Feuerbaeh, Auerbach, and a host of other philosophers, poets, and novelists in Modern Germany and throughout Europe. In Spinoza's philosophy the conception of God is fun- damental. In the first part of the Ethics he gives a defi- nition of God as the absolutely infinite being or substance 68 FOUR IIUNDRKD YEARS OF FREETHOUGMT. — infinite in extension, as well as infinite in thought, eternal, without beginning or end, self-existent, uncaused, or, to use the expression of Spinoza, causa sui, its own cause, or cause of itself. Tliis conception is admirably and clearly set forth. In the second part the philosopher treats of the origin and nature of the human mind. In the third, fourth, and fifth parts the source and nature of the human passions are investigated, their power defined, and the way pointed out whereby their excessive and, therefore, hurtful action may be controlled so that man may be enabled to live in accordance with the dictates of reason, and enjoy that supreme felicity which the practice of virtue, and the intellectual love of God, will surely give. Spinoza is almost Shaksperean in his knowledge of human nature, and in this lies the chief value of his won- derful work — its description of man — not his conception of God. Says J. A. Eroude : " After a masterly analysis of the tastes, tendencies, and inclinations of our mental compo- sition, the most complete, by far, which has been made by any moral philosopher, Spinoza arrives at those princi- ples, under which unity and consistency can be obtained, as the condition upon which a being, so composed, can look for any sort of happiness." Says Dr. Maudsley : " Spinoza's admirable account of the passions has never yet been surpassed, and certainly will not easily be surpassed." The identity of Spinoza's philosophy with modern, scientific, Atheism and Agnosticism, and his opposition to theology, is seen in his definition of good and evil. He says : " Perfection and imperfection are, in fact, merely modes of thought, that is, notions which we are accustomed to form by comparing individual things of the same genus, or species, with one another ; and it is for this reason that I have said that, by reality and perfection^ I understand one and the same thing. PHILOSOPHY: BRUNO AND SPINOZA. 69 " The terms, good and evil, as applied to things con- sidered in themselves, do not indicate anything positive in their nature. For one and the same thing may be, at tlie same time, both good and evil, or it may be indifferent. Lively music, for example, may be good to a melancholy person, bad to one who mourns, and neither good nor bad to one who is deaf. By good, therefore, I shall understand that which we know for certain is a means of approach- ing, more and more closely, to the exemplar we wish to hold up ; and b}^ evil, that which we know for certain to be a hindrance to the attainment of our exemplar. Fur- thermore, we shall speak of men as being more or less perfect and imperfect in the degree that they approach more or less near to our exemplar. Lastly, as I have said, I shall understand by perfection, reality in general, in other words, the essence of each particular thing in so far as it exists and acts in certain ways, and luithout reference to its duration. For no particular thing can "be said to be more perfect by reason of its continuing a longer time in existence than another. '•' By good I understand that which we know for certain to be useful to us. " By evil, I understand that which we know for certain to be a hindrance to our enjoying something good. " A passion is hurtful only in so far as it prevents the mind from thinking." We can sometimes understand a philosopher's ideas better through the attacks of his enemies than by any elucidation of our own, and the following dogmatic de- crees of the Vatican Council in 1870, directed mainly against the doctrines of Spinoza, together with the teach- ings of modern science, will give a fair idea of the Panthe- ism which has dominated modern thought, and of which the church is in fear : " Canon I. — 3. If anyone shall say that the substance 70 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. and essence of God, and of all things, is one and the same, let him be anathema. "4. If an3'-one shall say that finite things, both corpo- real and spiritual, have emanated from the divine sub- stance ; or that the divine essence, by the manifestation and evolution of itself, becomes all things ; or, lastly, that God is a universal or indefinite being, which, by determin- ing itself, constitutes the universality of things, distinct according to general species and individuals, let him be anathema. " 5. If anyone confess not that the world, and all tilings wliich are contained in it, both spiritual and material, have been in their whole substance created out of nothing ; or shall say that God created, not by his will free from all necessity, but by a necessity equal to the necessity whereby he loves himself ; or shall deny that the world was made for the glory of God, let him be anathema. " Canon IV. — 2. If anyone shall say that human sciences are to be so freely treated that their assertions, although opposed to revealed religion, are to be held as true, and cannot be condemned by the church, let him be anathema. " 3. If anyone shall assert it to be possible that some- times, according to the progress of science, a sense be given to doctrines propounded by the church different from that which the church has understood and under- stands, let him be anathema." It will thus be seen that the " God-intoxicated " phi- losopher is as much under the maledictions of the church as the modern Agnostic and Atheist. The church knows that the triumphant Pantheism of Bruno and Spinoza would sweep its towers and steeples and pulpits forever from existence. CHAPTER VII. PoMPONAZzi, Telesio, Campanella, and Vanini. It is well, iu connection with Bruno and Spinozf^, to consider the minor philosophers of this great transition age ; those who represent the streams of human thought which finally flow into the ocean expanse of Bruno and Spinoza, or lind fuller fruition in the supreme pliilosopby of Descartes ; men who have nobly helped the human race to liberty and knowledge, but are not its vast repre- sentative geniuses. We can better understand Bruno and Spinoza and Descartes when we understand these men, for they were tlie forerunners and aiders of these princely leaders; they helped to blazon tiie way; to cut the patli of human progress in lonely and desolate martyrdom and self-sacrificing toil. They labored in the dawn, but through them has come the magnificence of the present day. Let not oblivion close over them, nor let the curses of the church hide their immortal virtues. Though they reached not all the hights of human glory, they flashed many a brilliant ray. They were pioneers iu a tangled maze, and children of their age did not possess the skill and wisdom of modern times, but nevertheless they were in the van — Freethinkers in spirit, though not always in the line of scientific advance — hedged in by limitations which they could scarcely pass beyond, since they were men of radiant talent, rather than of transcendent genius. It is not simply for what they did, but for what they tried to do, that we honor their memorv. In the luster of to- 72 FOUR HUNDRED YKARS OF FREETHOUGHT. (lay the results of their toil pale into insignificance, and yet they began that which is so infinitely beyond their vision. They builded better than they knew. POMPONAZZI. Pomponazzi is the philosopher of the Italian Renais- sance, a movement that must be considered as both philo- sophical and literary. It was not simply an age of freer and nobler expression of man's imaginative being — it was also an opening into new vistas of thought. It was not simpl}' the beginning of modern poetry, but the begin- ning of modern science ; and to understand the vastness of that movement we must not only peruse the works of Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Pulci, and Ariosto, but Mach- iavelli in politics, Guicciardini in history, and Pompo- nazzi in ])hilosophy. Pomponazzi takes us l)ack before Columbus, and, by a consiileration of his fervid and active life, we discover the immense agitations of that age of which Columbus is but the fruit. It is an unworthy conception of those times to regard Columbus as an exceptional man ; that he did what he did by the force of an extiaordiuary genius. Columbus dill not lift himself above his age. His aere pushed liim on, and if Columbus had not obeyed the im- pulse, somebodv else certainly would. The discovery of America was in the air, for the mind of man at that time and anteriorly was intensely, was volcanically active. The discussions of Abelard in the thirteenth century were tremendous mind awakeners. They were like the .surges of the sea. They stirred people profoundly, and set tliom to thinking in new channels. What vigor and ani- luation is there displayed! The whole scene is instinct with full, fresh, and free intellectual life. Even the tur- bulence of the students is only an expression of mental excitation. There never was such a brilliant school of philosophy. It was like a ])lay. It was a battle royal GOETHE (p. 333). POMPONAZZI, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA, AND VANINI. 73 between knights armed with syllogisms and spears of logic. It was an encounter of wit, of sarcasm ; and the spectators cheered to the echo. A certaiu writer says: " Compare such a scene with the dull routine of an Eng- lish [or Amei'icanj university lecture-room in our own days, and who would not prefer the life and freedom of Paris in the thirteeuth century to the staid and respecta- ble but hopelessly apathetic proceedings of a college lec- ture of our own day? Moreover, what a reflection upon our boasted advance in liberty and civilization — the remark, I may say, does not apply to German universities, which have never given up their prerogative of free trade in teaching — that if a modern Abelard or Pomponazzi were to appear in one of our great seats of learning he could not find a room in which to deliver his lectures." Pomponazzi at Padua, in the fourteenth century, was the successor of Abelard as a great philosophical debater and agitator, and one who dared to dispute accepted authorities. Pomponazzi was born in 1462 in the town of Mantua. He was a student of philosophy and medicine in the uni- versity of Padua. In the year 1487 he took his degree. When only twenty-six years of age he was established as extraordinary professor in the university — a sufficient tes- timony to the precocity of his intellect. It was the cus- tom in the Italian universities at that time to have public disputations between professors holding different views, and these tournaments excited great interest among the people. They were popular and fashiouable iu spite of ecclesiastical frowns. They seem to have been connected with the municipal rights and privileges of the free town, and were not, and perhaps could not be, legally forbidden by the theological inquisitor. To understand the ferment, the curiosity, the interest of the populace in these debates, and as a picture of tliat restless age in which Columbus lived, it is well to epitomize 74 FOUR HUNDRED YKARS OF FREETHOUGHT. the vivid description of one of these scenes, by the histo- rian : "We may imagine ourselves in Padua on a summer's day of the year 1488, time 8 a.m. The narrow streets of the old town are crowded with citizens and students, who not only fill the arcades, but, to a considerable extent, the middle of the roadways. Among the students are to be seen men of various ages, from the beardless youth of six- teen to the man of thirty-five or forty years. Hardly less varied are their nationalities. Here a group of Eng- lislimen, conspicuous by costume, language, and physiog- nomy, is followed by another of Frenchmen, with their national dress and characteristics. Spaniards and Ger- mans, Hungarians and Bohemians, not to mention natives of smaller European states, are discernible among the crowd. Occasionally a university professor passes in broad-sleeved gown and long train. All seem hastening in the same direction. Whither are they going ? To the Pal- ace of Reason to see the combat — a discussion between the renowned Achillini and young Pompouazzi on the profound and interesting question of the simplicity or multiplicity of the intellect. We enter with the crowd into the great hall, the enormous proportions of which still astonish the vis- itor to Padua. The hall, notwithstanding its size, is crowded with students and citizens, and the hubbub is almost deafening, arising mainly from vehement and volu- ble discussions as to the merits of the two professors, intermingled with somewhat free expression of opinion on current political events. Never could one have imagined that among such a crowd an interest so passionate could have been evoked by questions so speculative and meta- physical The commotion is subdued by the entry of the rival champions, accompanied by the rector and a few of the ofl&cials of the university. This is the signal for an outburst of vociferous applause; partisans on either side clamorously shout the name of their favorite. We turn POMPONAZZr, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA. AND VANINI. 75 our attention to the heroes of the fray, who are taking their assigned positions in the center of the hall. Achil- lini is a striking looking man of about thirty years of age. He is rather tall, and stout in proportion, though a student's stoop of the shoulders detracts somewhat from his hight. He possesses an intellectual countenance, which in repose seems placid and reflective, with large, dreamy-looking eyes. He walks to his desk with a careless, slouching gait. His professor's gown is torn in several places, and is remarkable by its narrow sleeves and general scanty proportions. Instead of forming a train behind him it scarcely reaches below his knees — evidently a man regard- less of personal appearance. His adversary, on the other hand, is almost a dwarf, with a powerful looking face, a broad forehead, a liooked nose, which imparts a somewhat Jewish cast to his features ; small, piercing black eyes, which, as lie turns here and there, give him a peculiar ex- pression of restless vivacity. His thin lips are almost continually curled into a satirical smile. He has scarce any hair on his face, so there is nothing to hide its sudden and perpetual change of expression. " The preparations for the combat are characteristic of the men. Achillini has on the desk before him a row of ponderous folios which an assistant, a favorite disciple, is marshalling in due order. Pomponazzi has nothing but a few papers containing, apparently, references and notes. At last the moment arrives. An usher proclaims silence. The rector announces the subject to be debated and the wordy battle begins. Achillini with loud and rather coarse voice, but with great deliberation of manner, lays down in a short speech the proposition he intends to defend, ' The intellect is simple, uniform, indecomposable. This clearly is the opinion of Aristotle as testified by Averroes, his greatest commentator.' A storm of applause greets the speaker, but still greater cheering arises when Pompo- nazzi stands forward at his desk and throws his restless. 7(5 e FOUR HLTNDRKD YKARS OF FRFETHOUGIIT. af'er glauce over the noisy crowd. Iii a tone of voice full, loud, and clear, which makes itself heard in every part of the hall, he takes exception to Achilliui's argument. The intellect is not simple, but multiple, and this, he will prove, is Aristotle's real opinion, etc. "Achillini is evidently a man of immense erudition and he seeks to overwhelm his adversary with some formida- ble and crushing dictum, or to ensnare him in the meshes of an involved and insidious argument. He is utterly foiled by the caution and vigilance of his foe. Pomponazzi is too wary to be impaled on the horns of a dilemma, or cauglit in a dialectical trap. He is prompt to turn the tables on his powerful but somewhat unwieldy antagonist. Each of his witty sallies or comic arguments is hailed with boisterous laughter and applause, in which even Ach mini's partisans are compelled to join. It is an un- equal combat, like that between a whale and a sword-fish, or between the ponderous Dominie Sampson and the face- tious Pleydell." These literary duels of the century of Columbus are significant of the increasing divergence between ancient and modern thought. Achillini tj^pifies scholasticism — formal, ponderous, elaborate, unelastic. Pomponazzi represents modern thought — keen, eager, restless, viva- cious, caring little for the traditional authorities and much for tlie clear, simple dictates of unfettered Iniman reason. The fact that such a debate as this was possible is a nota- ble indication of the sweep of thought in Italy and throughout the world. A centurj' later, Bruno engaged in debates of the same nature, and proved himself a for- midable antagonist. Pomponazzi continued his professional labors until 1509. In that year, owing to the disasters which fol- lowed upon the League of Cambray and the policy of Pope Julius II., the University of Padua was closed and its professors and students scattered throughout Italv. POMPONAZZI, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA, AND VANINI. 77 Pompouazzi found a temporary refuge in Ferrara. From Ferrara, in 1512, he moved to the university of Bologna, which was destined to become the seat of his greatest lit- erary activity as well as his abode during the remainder of his life. To the magistracy of Bologna and their sym- pathy for intellectual liberty and progress Pomponazzi was indebted for much kindness and support during the most critical period of his life. In 1516 he published his famous treatise on the " Im- mortality of the Soul," the foundation both of his charac- ter as a Freethinker and his fame as a philosopher. " In this work," says Fiorentino, " he reveals himself as an original thinker." At this time Aristotle was no longer outside the pale of Christianity. Tacitly and unofficially he had been re- ceived into the church. His works had been authorita- tively reconciled with its dogmas. This had been effected "by Thomas Aquinas and Albertus Magnus, the most gigantic intellects among the schoolmen. Doubts about Aristotle, therefore, were closely akin to doubts about the Ohristian dogmas. Pomponazzi dared to doubt even Aristotle. The question of Immortality was an all-important question. Rome had discovered that the " future world " was the most valuable appendage pertaining to the church. " It was," says the historian, " the El Dorado whence it was enabled to draw the greater portion of its enormous revenues. Immortality, the reward or rather the necessary outcome of virtue and goodness, according to Christianity, had become a marketable commodity, to be sold on the one hand and bought on the other, on as favorable terms as buyer or seller could obtain. The re- wards of the unseen world were treated just as a Euro- pean government in our own day sells farms and settle- ments in a distant colony. This excessive and interested ■" other-worldliness" required, men thought, to have its 78 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. foundations closely examined. Hence arose numberless inquiries as to the nature of the soul, its relation to the physical organization, what reasonable grounds existed for predicating its immortality, etc. For some time this formed the main topic of lectures in all the Italian univer- sities. We are told that whenever a new professor at any of these seats of learning prepared to address his hearers for the first time, no matter what the topic which he had appointed for the purpose, he was met by the clamorous demand, 'Tell us about the soul.' On minds so excited the treatise of Pomponazzi operated like a spark on a pre- pared train." Pomponazzi takes the ground, almost, of pure Material- ism. The dependence of the intellect upon matter was necessary, according to his philosophy, for four principal reasons. 1. Because matter undetermined and regarded as a potentiality is the genetic principle of all forms. 2. Because matter defined and determined as an organic body is the sine qtia non of the existence of the soul, as its true form. 3. Because there is no plurality of substantial forms in man, but a unity of form and nature. 4. Because the necessity of considering the universal in tlie particular, the idea in the imagined picture, the in- telligible in the sensible, proves that the functions of the intellect, in tliemselves spiritual, cannot be exercised with- out the organization. It is obvious that this argument amounts to a denial of immortality as held by the Christian church, that is, it is a denial of natural immortality. Pomponazzi, however, admits a possible immortality, dependent, not upon man's nature, but upon circumstances. He opposes the Panthe- ism of Averroes, but at the same time declares his belief in a divine or abstract intelligence, which has no need of organism or matter of any kind. In the human soul there SHELLEY (p. 314). POMPONAZZI, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA. AND VANINI. 79 is something of this abstract intelligence, and therefore, while the soul is inherently mortal, by peculiarity of func- tion or circumstances, it might be immortal, for instance, by the miraculous resurrection of Jesus. The doctrine of Pomponazzi is somewhat akin to that of the modern Adventist ; man is not b}' nature immortal, but he may be- come immortal by an act of faith. On grounds of ps3^cliology Pomponazzi absolutely denies immortality, which, of course, was a bold and dar- ing affirmation, for the power of the church is based on the natural immortality of man, not on his accidental im- mortality. The doctrine of Pomponazzi abolished at once hell and purgator}^ and left only a possible paradise for an indefinite few. As the result of his Materialistic philosoph}', Pompo- nazzi is the first writer within the pale of the church who maintains the principle of disinterested and unconditional morality, and in this lies the radical value of his work. In this he is a true Freethinker. He says: " The essential reward of virtue is virtue itself ; the punishment of the vicious is vice, than which nothing can be more wretched and unhappy. Whether the soul be mortal or immortal, death must be despised ; and by no means must virtue be departed from, no matter what happens after death." Pomponazzi faced the portentous fact that the doc- trine of immortality had not been a moral power in the world — that the future rewards and punishments of the church had become utterly ineffectual as preservatives of, or stimulants to, morality among its chief ministers, as well as in the very citadel of Christendom itself. In 1520 he published a noteworthy treatise on "The Causes of Marvelous Effects in Nature." He takes essentially the position of Hume. " It would be ridiculous and absurd," he says, "to despise what is visible and natural, in order to have recourse to an invisible cause, the reality of which is not guaranteed to us by any solid reality." He asserts 80 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. the supremacy of reasou. One cannot will his belief, and faith therefore is not a moral act. " Given the premises, the consequence follows, and it is not in our power to dis- sent from the conclusion. We may do without reasoning alto^i^ether ; but we cannot grant the antecedent and deny the consequent." He also asserts the doctrine of Human Liberty. He makes it the absolute source and condition of all moral- ity. Pomponazzi was thoroughly sincere. He grappled with the problems of the universe with a zeal which was almost appalling. Speaking of his attempts to reconcile God with human liberty, and the evils of the world, he cries out, " These are the things which oppress and em- barrass me, which take away my sleep and almost my senses ; so that I am a true illustration of the fable of Prometheus, whom, for trying to steal secretly the fire from heaven, Jupiter bound to a Scythian rock, and his heart became food for a vulture which gnawed continually upon it. Prometheus is the true philosopher who, because he will know the secrets of God, is devoured by perpet- ual cares and cogitations. He is incapacitated from thirst, hunger, sleep, or from satisfying the most ordinary needs of human life ; he is derided by all, is regarded as a fool and heretic ; he is persecuted by inquisitors ; he becomes the laughing-stock to the multitude. These, forsooth, are the gains of the philosophers. This is their wages." Pomponazzi's place in the Italian Renaissance, says Owen, " is as an exponent of its profounder and more deeply-seated forces. He represents the craving of the human mind for freedom. This is the phase of the Re- naissance which gives it its permanent value, and which constitutes the main ground of its kinship with modern thought. In this respect there is a considerable differ- ence between Petrarch and Pomponazzi. Petrarch may be said to include every phase of the Renaissance, not only POMPONAZZr, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA, AND YANINI. gl its free tendencies as a new effort of thought, but its high- est expression as a yearning after ideal beauty. But we should not refuse to Pomponazzi his due share in the sum total of those forces which make up the composite whole which we call tlie Renaissance." While Pomponazzi was peacefully lecturing at Padua, Florence was under the vehement spell of Savonarola. Luther had already commeDced his campaign against the papacy. Rumors and portents of imminent convulsions were everywhere prevalent. These nascent forces, des- tined to change the face of Europe, seemed to pass un- heeded by Pomponazzi. " His wdiole existence," says M. Frank, '' was taken up by his books, his teaching, and his studious contemplation, so that one might say of him, as of Spiuoza, ' he was less a man than a thought.' He died on the 18th of May, 1525." Professor Fiorentino draws a noble parallel, and thus describes the last hours of the philosopher : " Socrates, on the approach of death — a martyr for the truth — did not flee from his fate. He did not wish to escape from the prison in which he was confined. Undisturbed, and in all serenity, he fixed his attention on Future Life. A most beautiful woman appeared to him in a dream, and appointed him a place in one of the fortunate islands. * Three days hence, Socrates,' she said to him, ' you will arrive at fertile Phthia.' Hence Socrates resisted all the entreaties of Krito, and contemplated with firmness the poisonous draught, and even death itself ; and he talked with Phsedo, with Cebes, and with Simmias, as with men from whom he would be parted only a short time, and with whom there would afterwards be a common meeting in a place more beautiful and serene. The aureole of martyrdom, the anticipation of a blissful futurity, soothed the bitterness of parting, and gave the dying Socrates a foretaste of the felicity which he expected — the reward re- served for his constant virtue. i4-e"T'5?> 82 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. " Let us now look at another picture. Pomponazzi, worn out by years, harassed by sickness, extended on the bed of pain, without the splendor of martyrdom, fought out the battle with his enemy unseen, tardy, irresistible. Un- sustained by the hope of the future, he placed before him only austere virtue, without reward and without hope, as the true and final end of the human race. Out of sympa- thy with the beliefs of his relifijion, and with the traditions of so many centuries; mocked by contemporaries and in danger of the stake, he had no future blessedness to which to turn. He was not cheered b}' the smile of the beahtiful woman who invited Socrates to Phthia. He was soothed neither by Homeric fantasies nor by the more spi ritual, but not less interested, promises of the Chris- tian Paradise ; and notwithstanding all this he was not disturbed by his imminent death. It behooved him, he said, to prefer duty to life. He sacrificed everything, affections, pleasure, knowledge, and the future, to rigid virtue." Was not this a magnanimous and sublime intel- lect ? It may be wondered why so bold and radical a thinker escaped the Inquisition. He did so mainly by that intel- lectual maneuver termed " the double truth," or " twofold truth." This, at that time, was, perhaps, the only method of escape for the philosophers who dared to differ from the Christian dogmas. It was quite a popular method with those who wanted to think, and yet keep their heads upon their shoulders, and it is quite popular to-day with those who desire to hold Liberal opinions and, at the same time, enjoy fat salaries in the pulpit. It was a sort of necessary makeshift for Pomponazzi, Bruno, Galileo, and others, but to-day it is simply moral cowardice. The doctrine of the " twofold truth " is that there are two ways of finding the truth — faith and reason — emotion and intellect — theology and philosophy. These two ways ma}', at times, clash, they may even be contradictory, but POMPONAZZI, TELESIO. CAMPANELLA, AND YANINI. §3 nevertheless both are true. It is not in the province of the human mind to reconcile them, because of the little- ness of human knowledge, but it is assumed that if hu- man knowledge was sufficiently great it could reconcile them however opposite they might seem to be. Under this assumption one, as a theologian, might believe what, as a philosopher, he would be compelled to deny. So Pomponazzi said," I do not deny immortality as a Chris- tian, I only deny as a philosopher. What I think as a philosopher has nothing to do with m}' faith as a theolo- gian. Theology and philosophy occupy two differeut spheres, they are different worlds to the human conscious- ness. They may agree or disagree. That has nothing to do with the truth or falsity of either. Philosophy is veritable on its own grounds, and so is theology on its grounds, and the conflict between them need not disturb one. There is no necessity for harmony, since truth is so infinite that both may be equally right." As a Christian Pomponazzi professed to accept the miracles of Jesus, which as a philosopher he was com- pelled to reject. By this distinction between what one believes as a Christian and knows as a philosopher, many a radical thinker has escaped martyrdom. Let us not condemn Pomponazzi for intellectual dis- honesty, for Galileo, Bruno, ainl Vanini availed themselves of the same distinction. Kant and Lessing also, John Stuart Mill, even, declared that, in another part of the univeise, two and two might not make four, and thus al- lows the foundation principle of the " twofold truth," namely, that we really don't know anything, and there- fore theology may be just as true as philosophy. Mansel, in his Bampton lectures before a modern audience, affirmed that God's morality might be different from men's moi'ality, and so our highest conceptions of virtue might not apply to God at all ; and Faraday said, " I do not think it at all necessary to tie the study of the natural 84 FOUR llUiSIDRKl) YKARS OF FREETHOUGHT. sciences and religion together ; and so in my intercourse with my fellow creatures that which is religion, and that which is philosophy, have ever been two distinct things." Of course, Free thought and science absolutely repu- diate " twofold truth." Truth is one, man is one, and there is only one way to find out the truth, only one way to reach knowledge, and that is the scientific way. Faith, emotion, revelation, dogma have never given this world one particle of truth. We may forgive Pomponazzi, Bruno, Galileo, for resorting to this intellectual legerde- main, for they were compelled to by the fierce fanaticism of their time, and even these men, when the real issue came, abandoned the subterfuge, and stood before the world simply as philosophers, and suffered martyrdom. But I can scarcely, in this century, forgive a thinker who resorts to the " twofold truth " to save his salary or his popularity, or for the sake of mental ease. What a shame for Faraday to make sucli a declaration as he did ! It is like the cowardice of a soldier in the front of battle. Telesio. During the life-time of Pomponazzi, Telesio was born (1509), and while we might say the former was the fore- runner of Descartes, the latter was the forerunner of Ba- con. He was hostile to both Plato and Aristotle, or rather to these as accepted by the schoolmen. He insisted upon uatui-e rather than dialectics, upon observation, experi- ment, induction. He said, "The construction of the world, and the mag- nitude and nature of the bodies in it, is not to be sought after by reasoning as men in former times have done ; but to be perceived by sense, and to be ascertained from the things themselves. We use our sense to follow nature, which is ever at harmony with herself, and is ever the same in her operations." Telesio was mainly a natural philosopher and Freer MARY WOLLSIOXECRAFT (p. 486). POMPONAZZI, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA, AND VANINI. 85 thinker. He was opposed to dogmatic authority. He in- curred the hatred of the monks and theologians. He died in 1596. His works were pLiced on the Index Ex- purgatorius, an honor of whicli he is well deserving. He gave noble hints of modern science. Campanella. Campanella was born in 1568, at Stilo, in Calabria. In his fifteenth year he entered the order of Dominicans. He soon became desirous, not only of reading Aristotle, but the book of nature. An accident drew his attention to the works of Telesio. He was delighted with its free- dom of speech and appeal to reason and experience, rather than authority. His first efibrt was a defense of Telesio in 1591. The boldness of his attacks brought him into disfavor with the clergy. He left Naples and proceeded to Rome. For seven years he led a wandering life through Padua, Bologna, Venice, and other towns, everywhere attracting attention by the brilliancy of his talents. He returned to his native place in 1598. In tbe following year he was arrested and committed to priscMi. He had joined himself to those who desired to free Na- ples from Spanish tyranny, and had excited them by his fiery eloquence and independence of spirit. The unfort- unate philosopher remained in captivity for twenty-seven years. He composed sonnets, and prepared a complete system of philosophy which was published at a later date. In 1626 he was set at liberty. He came to Paris in 1634. He died on May 26, 1639. The philosophy of Campanella was Cartesian and Ba- conian. He says, " Our knowledge begins in doubt. We know neither the past nor the future. The first proposi- tion is, that I myself think ; the certainty of self- consciousness is the primary truth. " The sciences are not to be constructed from defini- tions by deduction, but proceed by induction to definition." 86 i'OUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. His view of God is somewhat like that of Bruno, Pan- theistic. " God," he says, "is the ultimate unit; his three manifestations may be called wisdom, power, and love. All things are of the same nature ; otherwise there could be no mutual action. The soul of man is in nature cor- poreal, but IS immortal, being endowed with a striving after happiness never attained in this life. In politics Campanella was an extreme reformer. In his work, " The City of the Sun," he sketches an ideal state in which the principles of communism are fully car- ried out. Campanella was a brave, restless, indomitable, and truth- seeking spirit — a lover of humanity, a defender of liberty, a student of nature, an honest man, a brilliant thinker, and an original philosopher. Vanini. Vanini has won imperishable renown by his pathetic martyrdom at thirty-four years of age, and though he does not soar to the loftiest hights of the empyrean with Bruno, he was one of the most fascinating, learned, elo- quent, and gifted men of his time, and worthy of all honor for his splendid life and heroic death. Vanini was born at Taurisano, in the south-east ex- tremity of Italy, in 1585. He early manifested an extra- ordinary aptitude for study and investigation, which in- duced his father, on the completion of his elementary education, to send him to Naples to study theology and philosophy. Vanini attributes to the writings of Bacon- thorp and Pompouazzi a principal share in the formation of his intellectual conclusions. He continued his studies until he graduated as doctor in 1606, when he was only twenty-one years of age. At some time or other he took the vows of a Carmelite friar ; and in one place he de- scribes himself as preaching, as well as having taken priestly orders. He went from Naples to Padua. His POMPONAZZr, TELESIO, CAMPANELLA, AND VANINI. 87 passionate ardor for study, he says, rendered the priva- tions of poverty, and even the inclemency of winter, com- paratively unfelt. He devoted himself mainly to physical science and philosophy, and regarded the methods and teachings of the schoolmen with supreme contempt. From 1606 to 1615, when he published his llrst work, we have only incidental and scattered allusions as to the mode in which he passed his time. Conforming, like Bruno, to the custom of errant-scholarsbip which then prevailed, he wandered from one country to another, taking up his abode, for a longer or shorter period, in most of the cap- itals and university towns of Europe. He spent two years in- England, and suffered imprisonment for the space of nearly two months. In 1615, at Lyons, he published the Amj^lutlieater ; in 1616 was issued the Dialogues, after which he took his ill- fated journey to Toulouse. These are the only works of his now extant, out of many others. He was a very in- dustrious writer; but his books, most of them, were ut- terly destroyed by order of the church. Vanini was not an Atheist, although he was condemned as one. His first Avork closes with the following ode of praise and aspiration. He addresses the Supreme Being, as Bruno would : " Of all existing things Thou art both source and ending ; Of Thyself art fountain, origin, commencement ; Of Thyself as well art end and termination ; Yet equally without both ending and beginning." It is by tlie JDiaJogiies, however, that Vanini ^is judged by posterity, and hi.^ real position as a pliilosopher ascer- tained, but it is pretty difficult, even in these Dialogues, to discover the actual opinions of the philosopher. As a matter of fact the Dialogues were not written by Vanini himself, but by his disciples. They are a collection of 38 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. discursive conversations embodying the master's opin- ions on those points of physical knowledge on which his disciples asked for information. They were, prob- ably, written down from memory. Vanini gave his sanc- tion to the transaction, as the anthors hoped he would, and thus approved the essential correctness of the record. In this book we have Vanini's most secret thoughts — what he poured forth to a few chosen disciples — but there is no systematic declai'atioa of his pliilosophy, and only those fully cognizant of his general line of thought could clearly understand his discourse. While in his first work Vanini is a theologian, in the second and far greater work he is a student of medicine and of natural philosophy. He treats as of secondary importance all tliose questions which pertain to ecclesi- astical dogmas. His aim is to unravel, a« far as he can, the secrets of nature. He treats of the firmament and the atmosphere ; of water and earth ; of the generation of animals ; and of the religion of the Gentiles. Vanini's idea seemed to be as expressed in Bacon's words, "What- ever deserved to exist, deserved to be known," and some parts of his Diahx/nes to-day would be regarded as too obscene for publication ; but Vanini, Telesio, and physi- cists of that age, thought it not only right, but useful, to explore every department of nature. Vaumi was one whose eager curiosity and passionate love of liberty made almost every kind of restraint intolerable. God and nat- ure only excepted, he acknowledged himself as subject to no law. As to Christianity, he avoids the issue by avow- ing what doctrines and opinions lie would maintain if he were not a Christian, that is, he resorts to the " twofold truth" of Pomponazzi. Still there was in Vanini an in- dependence of character which made lum regardli^ss of popular opinion. The calmness with which he met his fate shows that he was not destitute of the solid qualities of intellectual manhood. He had no sciuple in contra- POMPONAZZT, TELESIO, CAMPAXELLA, AND VANINI. S9 dieting the authorities of the past, even Aristotle himself, when his dictum appeared opposed to reason and experi- ence. In Vanini, as in Bruno, there was a genuine love of nature, of natural sights and sounds and scenery. It is a pure, spontaneous enjoyment. There is the freshness of the summer's morning, the music of the birds, the per- fume of the roses ; the fruit trees in the orchard, where master and pupil walk together, and groves and gardens overlooking the terraced streets of the town ; while at the foot of the declivity, and as far beyond as the eye can reach, roll the blue waves of the Mediterranean. In 1617 Vanini went to Toulouse, whei'e he enjoyed an undisturbed existence for two years. ToAvard the end of 1618 the storm began to gather about his path, which, in the following year, finally overwhelmed him in its mad fury. He was apprehended on the 2d of August, 1618, and suffered on the 9tli of February the following year. The process against him lasted six months. There are no details of the transaction. The chief evidence against him was oral. The Dialogues were not put in evidence against him, except that in them he had impiously dared to style nature as the Queen of the Universe. The historian gives the following picture of his trial : " The prisoner is brought in manacled and guarded by jailers. Vanini advances slowly to the bar. He is, in all respects, a striking looking man ; tall, rather thin, with a student stoop of the shoulders, a face of unusual intelli- gence, of which the most noticeable features are a long, slightly curved nose, and large, brilliant eyes, which he flashes around him with pretty much the expression of a caged lion. He has auburn hair, and the olive tint of his skin betrays his Spanish ancestry. Altogether a model of restless, vivacious intelligence, as his judges are of dogged, immobile stolidity. " Vanini is questioned as to his belief in God. In re- 90 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREBTHOUGHT. ply lie picks up a piece of straw from the ground near him, and exclaims, ' This straw compels me to believe there is a God. Corn cast into the soil seems, at first, to lan- guish and die. Presently, as if from corruption, it begins to whiten, then it becomes green and starts from the ground, it grows visibly, it is nourished with the morning dew, it is strengthened by the rain which it receives, it arms itself with pointed spicule to keep away the birds, it grows in the form of a stalk, and puts forth leaves ; presently it becomes yellow, droops its head, languishes, and dies. We thresh it, and, the grain being separated from tlje straw, the former serves for the nourishment of man, the latter for the nourishment of animals created for the use of man.' " Before these gloomy judges thus spoke a thinker of a new type — the augury of a future whose dawn was just becoming discernible on the horizon — a man who studied nature. Clearly the interval between the judges on the bench, and the prisoner at the bar, though locally meas- urable by a few yards, was, in point of time, to be meted only by centuries. Vanini was condemned to die on the 9th of February, 1619, and the sentence was carried into execution the same day. 'Nothing," says Cousin, "could save him; neither his youth, nor his learning, nor his eloquence." This unfortunate martyr to philosophy and Free- thought was drawn on a hurdle through the streets of Toulouse. His behavior, like that of Bruno, was marked by the utmost fortitude. On coming forth from prison he exclaimed, " Let us go joyfully to die as becomes a philosopher." Vanini is bound securely to the stake. The executioner then requests him to put forth his tongue in order that the sentence of its amputation might be car- ried out. Vanini refuses ; not, perhaps, that his human feeling shrank from the torture, though this surely would be only natural, but he would not by any act of his sane- HARRIET MARTINEAU (p. 487). POMPONAZZr, TELKSIO. CAMPANKLLA, AXD VANINI 91 tion the iniquitous proceedings of which he was made a victim. Alas ! his refusal avails not. His mouth is for- cibly wrenched open, the shrinking tongue is seized witli iron pincers and drawn so far forward that the execution- er's knife can do its work. The stream of blood which followed the brutal operation was accompanied by a loud and violent shriek of pain. After this the poor martyr to Freethought had not long to live. When he was dead by strangling, his body was consumed to ashes by the fire prepared for the purpose at the stake. "O tyranny, at once both odious and impotent!" cries Cousin. " Do you think that it is with pincers you can tear the human mind from error. And do you not see that the flames which you set blazing by exciting the hor- ror of all generous minds protect and propagate the doc- trines you persecute ?" Thus perished Vanini in the prime of youth and manly beauty, under circumstances of treachery and barbarity not easy to be paralleled. His enemies, who scattered his ashes to the wind, did their utmost to exterminate his writings, with such success that his works have now be- come exceedingly rare. Says Owen: "The spirit of Freethought of Bruno and Vanini rose like a phoenix from the embers of the murder- ous stake-fires. Yanini was one of the last instances in modern Europe of a thinker of some note being put to death for free philosophical speculation. The sun of science was already above the horizon. While his dis- figured and mangled corpse was being consumed at Tou- louse, Bacon, in a freer atmosphere, had completed a new system of philosophy and natural inquiry, much of which coincides in form and substance with Vanini's Dialogues. Galileo had set on foot a method of direct observation and experiment still more irreconcilable with the claims of ecclesiasticism, and Descartes was preparing the way for the skeptical philosophy which was destined, with 92 FOr'R HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. that of Bacon and others, to revolutionize the thought of Europe. Henceforth mental freedom of every kind be- gan to flourish and increase. " The memory of Vanini, like that of Bruno, is now being cherished by his countrymen. With the recovery of her long-lost liberty, Italy is turning her materual re- gards and affectionate regrets to the memories of those noble sons, pioneers of European Freethought, to whom she gave birth in the fourteenth and two following cent- uries, but who, as children of a slave-mother, were driven from their homes, and compelled to seek a precarious sub- sistence, and often to find death, in foreign lands. The attachment of these poor wanderers to their native country was second only to their passion for liberty and truth. Sometimes, as in the case of Bruno, it lured them, like a wrecker's light, to their destruction. Vanini dwells again and again in his writings on the beloved Taurisano of his birth ; he recounts the incidents of his early childhood, the stories told him by his mother ; the people, and the events of his youthful and happier life ; the woods and valleys of ' that fairest of all lands,' ' that precious stone in the ring of the globe,' as he enthusiastically calls his native province. And now the country he so fervently loved, after two centuries and a half, has begun to recipro- cate that affection. On the 24th of September, 1868, a bust of Yanini was placed in the district hall of Lecce, the chief town of Taurisano. The house in which lie first saw the light is still carefully preserved, and now T;iuri- sano has no higher boast, and no more valued historical possession, than that she was the birth-place of Julius Caesar Vanini." Of Bruno, of Vanini, we can say, as Tennyson sings of knowledge itself : " She sets her forward countenance, And leaps into the future chance." CHA.PTER VIII. The Critical Philosophy — Descartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, Hamilton, and Comte. In the eyes of Bruuo and Spinoza the highest aim of Philosophy was to discover unity, the one in alh Kant gives a different definition to Philosophy, and, I think, a wiser one. The business of Philosoph}-, says Kant, is to answer three questions : What can I know ? What ought I to do ? and, For what may I hope ? "But it is pretty plain," says Huxley, "that these three resolve themselves in the long run into the first. For rational expectation and moral action are alike based upon beliefs ; and a belief is void of justification unless its subject-matter lies within the boundaries of possible knowledge, and unless its evidence satisfies the conditions which experience imposes as the guarantee of credibility." What Can we know? therefore, is the question of all questions which philosophy sets itself to answer and wherein Philosophy is distinguished from Science. lu another place Kant gives utterance to one of the wisest and most pregnant thoughts in regard to the true sphere of Philosophy, and in which he expresses the spirit of Freethought itself : " The greatest and perhaps the sole use of all phi- losophy of pure reason is, after all, merely negative, since it serves not as an organon for the enlargement of knowl- edge., but as a discipline for its delimitation ; and instead 94 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. of discovering truth lias only the modest merit of preventing error.'' When Philosophy is thus modest it is of real service, and absolutely necessary to human progress. It is not the province of Philosophy to soar beyond the stars, to discover the secret of all things, to unfold the absolute unity, but to sit in wise humility by the side of vigorous Science and prevent her from falling into error, to define the limits of science so that human energy can be pre- eminently useful. Science attains truth. Philosophy pre- vents error. I do not know of any better distinction between the two, so far as intellectual progress is concerned. " They " (the sciences), says Huxley, "furnish us with the results of the mental operations which constitute thinking, while Philosophy, in the stricter sense of the term, inquires into the foundation of the first principles which those operations assume or imply." Such is the philosophy of Descartes and his successors as contrasted with the philosophy of Bruno and Spinoza. It is the all-triumphant philosophy of to-day, before which even the star of Hegel must pale its ineffectual fire. • Descartes.— 1596-1650. The object of Descartes was certainty. How can we be certain? That was the supreme question. In order to answer this question, in order to arrive at certaintj', Descartes was the Arch-Infidel, the arch-doubter of the human race. He doubted until it was no longer possible to doubt. He could not doubt that he doubted. Thence he said, "I think, therefore I am." Doubt is the path to all knowledge, affirms Descartes. We must doubt in order to be sure of anything, for it is by doubt only that we can examine. We travel through doubt to certainty and there is no other road. We must doubt even the truth in order to know the truth. This prin- DESCARTES. 95 ciple of doubt in science is directly opposite to the principle of religion. Religion says, Believe ; do not question, do not deny. To do so is a mortal sin. In announcing his method, therefore, Descartes annf)nijcpd opposition to the creeds of the past. There must be a re-examination, a sifting of all that the world had hitherto believed. In accepting the method of Descartes we do not necessarily accept his results, although he added wonderfully to the treasures of human knowledge ; for doubt is not a tempo- rary expedient. It must be constant!}" applied. The truth of yesterday must be demonstrated anew to-day. There is no permanent stamp for truth. It must be continually fresh-coined. Truth cannot be crystallized. It must be flowing. Truth is not to be gray-haired ; it is to be ever young. No truth can be so old as to be accepted on faith. It must always give its credentials. It must always be ready for proof. It must eternally confront the interrogation point. The supreme question of Philosophy, What can we know? can only be answered in the way that Descartes endeavored to answer it — by doubt. By doubt is not meant universal skepticism like that of Pyrro, but what Hume terms "mitigated skepticism," that is, skepticism with a well-defined purpose — skepticism as a means, not as an end. As we sail the pathless ocean in order to reach golden shores, so we enter upon the sea of doubt in order that every continent of truth may be discovered. This is the true Freethought philosophy, and it could not have had a more illustrious advocate than Descartes, nor could anyone give a more brilliant example of its capa- bilities. The four following rules of Descartes are well worthy of consideration by every searcher after truth, and admirably state the essential features of his system of philosophy. " 1. Never to accept anything as true but what is evi- dently so ; to admit nothing but what so clearly and dis- 96 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. tiuctly presents itself as true that there can be no reason to doubt it. "2. To divide every question into as many separate parts as possible, that, each part being more easily con- ceived, the whole may be more intelligible. " 3. To conduct the examination with order, beginning by that of objects the most simple, and, therefore, the easiest to be known, and ascending, little by little, up to knowledge the most complex. "4. To make such exact calculations, and such circum- spections, as to be confident that nothing essential has been omitted." Buckle says of the merits of Descartes that he " was the first who successfully applied algebra to geometrj^ ; that he pointed out tlie important law of the sines ; that in an age in which optical instruments were extremely imperfect, he discovered the changes to which light is subjected in the eye by the crystalline lens ; that he di- rected attention to the consequences resulting from the weight of the atmosphere, and that he detected the causes of the rainbow." " Descartes," says Saintes, " throwing off the swaddling- clothes of scholasticism, resolved to owe to himself alone the acquisition of the truth which he so earnestly desired to possess. For what else is the methodical doubt which he established as the starting-point of his philosophy, than an energetic protest of the human mind against all external authority?" Hegel describes Descartes as the founder of modern philosophy, whose influence upon his own age and modern limes it is impossible to exaggerate. Bradlaugh writes of him : " It is certain that Des- cartes gave a sharp spur to European thought, and mightily hastened the progress of heresy." FRANCES WRIGHT (p. 487). LOCKE. 97 Thomas Hobbes.— 1588-1679. In the same Hue with Descartes was Thomas Hobbes, " the subtlest dialectician of his time." He was one of the earliest English advocates of the materialistic limita- tion of the mind ; he denies tlie possibility of any knowl- edge other than that resulting from sensation. "What- ever we imagine," he says, " is finite. Therefore there is no idea, no conception, of anything we call infinite." He professed, however, to admit the authority of the magistrate and the scriptures to override argument. Per- haps that was the reason why he was protected from his clerical antagonists b}^ the favor of Charles II., who had a portrait of the philosopher hung on the walls of his private room at Whitehall. In this connection it is worthy of note that Hobbes was the first to declare the doctrine of " equal rights," which was so pregnantly em- phasized in after times by the splendid eloquence of Rousseau. Hobbes was a Freethinker, but he masked his batteries in such a way that the church could not easily attack him. He evidently was not born to be a martyr. He wrote somewhat in cipher; but the church felt and resented the keenness of his logic, and in his apparent submission to the "powers that be," realized the icono- clastic blow of a determined thinker. Locke.— 1632-1704. John Locke, born 1632, carried forward the skeptical philosophy of Descartes. It is an interesting fact that Spinoza was born the same year, almost the opposite of Locke in his philosophical purpose. Spinoza endeavored to transcend the limits of human knowledge ; by pure genius to build an intellectual temple far bevond the boundaries of experience — to solve the problem of the uni- verse by a transcendent effort of the will ; while the whole purpose of Locke was to emphasize the inability of man to do what Spinoza was gigantically laboring to do. 98 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. The critical philosophy of Locke cannot be better stated than in his own words, and wiser words were never written : "If, by this inquiry into the nature of the understand- ing, I can discover the powers thereof, how far they reach, to what things they are in any degree proportionate, and where they fail us, I suppose it may be of use to prevail with the busy mind of man to be more cautious in med- dling with those things exceeding its comprehension ; to stop when it is at the utmost end of its tether; and to sit down in quiet ignorance of those things which, upon exam- ination, prove to be beyond the reach of our capacities. "We should not then be so forward, out of an affectation of •universal knowledge, to raise questions, and perplex our- selves and others with disputes about things to which our understandings are not suited, and of which we cannot frame in our minds any clear and distinct perception, or whereof (as it has, perhaps, too often happened) we have not an}' notion at all. Men may find matter sufficient to busy their hands with variety, delight, and satisfaction, if they will not boldly quarrel with their own constitution, and throw away the blessings their hands are filled Avith, because they are not big enough to grasp everything. We shall not have much to complain of the narrowness of our minds, if we will employ them about what may be of use to us ; for of that they are very capable ; and it will be an unpardonable as well as a cbildish peevishness, if we undervalue the advantages of our knowledge, and neg- lect to improve it to the ends for which it was given us, because there are some things that are out of the reach of it. It will be no excuse to an idle and untoward servant, who would not attend to his business by candlelight, to plead that he had not broad sunshine. The caudle that is set up in us shines bright enough for all our purposes. Our business here is not to know all things, but those which concern our conduct," ' HUME. 99 No wonder that the clergymen were opposed to Locke. In this statement he undermines theology, for if the hu- man mind is thus limited, it cannot affirm anything con- cerning God. Locke's argument against ''innate ideas" is unanswerable, and the chief reliance of faith is over- thrown. If the idea of God is not innate, how is it possible to discover him by experience, since experience is always limited ? If all ideas originate in sensation and reflection, as Locke says, must not all those ideas be finite ? The stream cannot rise higher than its source. Sensation and reflection cannot produce an infinite idea. As well say that the earth could produce a sun, that a part can equal the whole, or that two and two are more than four. Locke did not see and acknowledge the full sweep of his philosophy, but, in conjunction with Descartes, he made way for the keener insight of David Hume. Hume.— 1711-1776. In Hume we reach one of the loftiest intellectual liights of man, where there are no mists and fogs. Clear sunshine is all over the landscape. It is a pleasure to view human history from such an elevated and noble posi- tion. I do not know of anyone who has exercised a greater influence upon philosophy. Modern science is much more indebted to Hume than to Bacon. What we can know was more clearly answered by Hume than by any preceding writer. He studied nature and the human mind at first hand. He was an original investigator, and he was courageous. The only point on which he bowed to popular opinion was in the profession of a vague and faint Deism. While he affirmed the impossibility of proving the existence of substantial mind, he did seem to affirm the validity of the argument from design. But this was simply a ripple. The overwhelming stream of his argument was to pure Atheism, but he never admitted this logical result. 100 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. But the value of Hume is not in the personal results of bis philosophy, but in its direction. He did not map out the human mind with thorough accuracy, but he showed how it was to be done. He got rid of an immense amount of rubbish. He made a revolutionary statement as to the course of human inquiry. Having stated his principles, he says : " Wiien we run over our libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make ! If we take in our hand any volume of divinity or school of metaphysics, let us ask this question : Does it contain any abstract reason- ing conceruiug quantit}' and number? No. Does it con- tain any experimental reasooiug concerning matter of fact and existence ? No. Commit it, then, to the flames, for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion." Wiiat volumes, according to this, we have the blessed privilege of burning up — volumes of theology, volumes of metaphysics, that do the world no particle of good ! What a clearing away there is to the pathway of human knowl- edge ! How much time is saved, how much vexation and weariness of spirit ! Hume's argument against miracles has been so thor- oughly triumphant that we might say that from his day miracles have been practically abandoned. The original definition of a miracle is : A violation of the fixed laws of nature in order to prove a divine revela- tion. But Hume has demonstrated be3^ond question that there cannot be a violation of the laws of nature, so far as human experience is concerned, that it is impossible to demonstrate such a violation, for the fixed laws of nature are declared by universal human experience itself. It is impossible for a violation of the law to have such experi- mental evidence ; and, as we must judge by evidence, we must necessarily reject the miracle, for the weight of evi- dence is always enormously against it. If, in favor of the HUME. 101 miracle, you have the universal testimony of mankind, then the miracle is no longer a miracle, according to the defini- tion, but a fixed law of nature. The very evidence that miglit prove the miracle must destroy its miraculous quality. Universality of evidence, which would be neces- sary to prove the actual occurrence of a " miracle," would at the same time prove that the miracle was a part of the course of nature itself. Huxley, on this point, says : " The definition of a miracle as a ' violation of the laws of nature,' is in reality an employment of language which on the face of the matter cannot be justified. For 'nature' means neither more nor less than that which is ; the sum of the phe- nomena presented to our experience ; the totality of events, past, present, and to come. Every event must be taken as a part of nature until proof to the contrary is sup- plied. And such proof is from the nature of the case impossible." The old definition of a miracle, therefore, has been abandoned. No theologian to-day calls a miracle a " viola- tion of the laws of nature." A miracle uow-a-days is "an extremely wonderful event." Extremely wonderful as an event may be, it is still a part of nature and, therefore, cannot demonstrate a "" divine revelation." Its validity as proof is gone, for it remains that the "'miracle," whatever it is, is the result of previous natural conditions. It might be true, as Huxley says, that five thousand might be fed with five loaves and a few small fishes, and twelve baskets full be left ; if we grant that, whatever is distinctly conceivable by the human mind is possible. But what would be the result? It would not prove the divinity of Jesus, that he was a god, or supernatural being. It would only show that he had a peculiar knowledge of the laws of nature. It would prove no move than a sleight-of-hand trick. It might amaze the multitude, but, scientifically, it would only 10^ FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. show that there were more possibilities in nature than our experience has hitherto justified. The performance \vould not prove the truth of a single saying of Jesus, or justify his claim to the messiahship. It would not prove that Jesus was a wise or learned man on any other point than that particular event. If a scientific man, like Huxley or Tyndall, were present on such an occasion, he would simply " set to work to investigate the conditions under which so highly unexpected an occurrence took place, and thereby enlarge his experience and modify his hitherto unduly narrow conceptions of nature." But he would not think for a moment of ascribing divinity to Jesus any more than to Hermann or Edison. If the old definition is retained, it is impossible to prove a miracle. If the new definition is admitted, then the '■ miracle " loses all logical value to the theologian, for it proves nothing on his side of the question. Every way, therefore, Hume has demolished the argu- ment from miracles ; he has conferred an inestimable service upon humanity, and scored a permanent victory for Freethought. Of course, if a miracle is " an extremely wonderful event," it must have a vast amount of evidence in its support. On this point Hume says : " There is not to be found in all history any miracle attested by a sufficient number of men of such unques- tioned goodness, education, and learning as to secure us against all delusion in themselves ; of such undoubted integrity as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to deceive others ; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being detected in any falsehood ; and at the same time attesting facts performed in such a public manner, and in so celebrated a part of the world as to render the detection unavoidable. All of which circumstances are re- quisite to give us a full assurance of the testimony of men.'* STEPHEN GIRARD (p. 741). HUME. 103 lu his "Natural History of Religion" Hume takes the ground that religion and theology do not originate from man's intellectual nature, but from his " hopes and fears," and, therefore, religion is not universal and necessary, but arises out of the sentimental conditions of humanity. He says : " The first ideas of religion arose not from a contem- plation of the works of nature, but from a concern with regard to the events of life, and from the incessant hopes and fears which actuate the human mind. In order to carrj' men's attention beyond the present course of things, or lead them into any inference concerning in- visible intelligent powers, they must be actuated by some passion which prompts their thought and reflection, some motive which urges their first inquiry. But what passion shall we have recourse to for explaining an eftect of such mighty consequence ? Not speculative curiosity merely, or the pure love of truth. That motive would be too refined for such gross natures, a subject too large and comprehensive for their narrow capacities. No passions, therefore, can be supposed to work on such barbarians, but the ordiuar}' affections of human life, the anxious concern for happiness, etc. Agitated by hopes and fears of this nature, men scrutinize with a trembling curiosity the course of future causes, and examine the various and contrary events of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still more disordered and astonished, they see the firsb obscure traces of divinity." Never was the history of religion so clearly and truth- fully stated. It originates with man's hopes and fears, and not from his desire for truth. Man believes in God for the preservation of his happiness, and not from any intellectual demand. And those who think that high and refined Theism has no such origin, that it has nothing to do with these primi- tive barbaric feelings, will find that Monotheism, and the 104 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. sublimest qualities ascribed to God, are not the result of pure intellectual processes, but really an evolution through the hopes and fears of men from the "first obscure traces of divinity," and Theism, therefore, is tainted with the original disease. In fact, Monotheism, instead of being the result of man's mental advance, is but the logic of his most slavish propensities. The more perfection we ascribe to deity, the more he becomes the expression of intense selfishness. Hume's masterly reasoning must make the Theist squirm. He says : " It may readily happen in an idolatrous nation that, though men admit the existence of several limited deities, yet there is some one God whom in a particular manner tljey make the object of their worship and adoration. They may either suppose that, in the distribution of power and territory among the gods, their nation was sub- jected to the jurisdiction of that particular deity ; or, reducing heavenly objects to the model of things below, they may represent one god as the prince or supreme mag- istrate of the rest, who, though of the same nature, rules them with an authority like that which an earthly sove- reign exerts over his subjects and vassals. Whether this God, therefore, be considered as their peculiar patron or as the general sovereign of heaven, his votaries will endeavor by every art to insinuate themselves into his favor ; and. supposing him to be pleased like themselves with praise and flattery, there is no eulog}' or exaggeration which will be spared in their addresses to him. In pro- portion as men's fears or distresses become more urgent they still invent new strains of adulation ; and even he who outdoes his predecessor in swelling the titles of his divinity is sure to be outdone by his successor in newer and more pompous epithets of praise. Thus they proceed till at last they arrive at infinity itself, beyond which there is no further progress. They are guided to this notion HUMK. 105 not b}' reason, but by the adulation and fears of the most vulgar superstitions." The highest attributes of deity are the result of base human flattery. The tribal god becomes the universal god, not by the enlightened intellect of his subjects, but by their subserviency. Monotheism is siraplj^ the art of the courtier, and not the flower of philosophy. Those who read the history of the Jews in the light of modern scholar- ship will see an illustration of this, and the Psalms will not be regarded as the expression of mental elevation, but the eloquence of an obsequious royalist. Hume accepted and rigorously applied the idealism of Berkeley and demonstrated that if we cannot prove the existence of matter, neither can we prove the existence of mind or soul. The reasoning is unanswerable. We only know physical phenomena. We do not know the sub- stratum of the phenomena. No more do we know the sub- stratum of mental phenomena. One good thing Berkeley did under the sharp guidance of Hume — if he knocked out "matter" he also knocked out "soul." Matter may recover from the blow. It has considerable persistence, in spite of metaph^'sics, but the " soul " is permanently demolished so far as science is concerned. The con- clusion of the whole question is that physical phenomena constitute matter and mental phenomena constitute mind. Hume's reasoning Avas fully adopted by Kant, that " in the case of the soul, as in that of the body, the idea of substance is a mere fiction of the imagination." Says Kant : " Our internal intuition shows no permanent exist- ence, for the ego is only the consciousness of my thinking." Hume, every way, is one of the most interesting characters in modern times. He is almost an ideal phi- losopher. "His temper," says Adam Smith, " seemed to be more happily balanced than that, perhaps, of any other man I have ever known. The extreme gentleness of his nature never weakened either the firmness of his mind 106 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. or the steadiness of liis resolution. Gayety of temper, so agreeable in society, was in him certainly attended with the most severe application, the most extensive learning, the greatest depth of thought, and a capacity in every respect the most comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have always considered him in his life time and since his death as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit." I cannot help quoting from one of Hume's letters, it gives such a charming and beautiful picture of the home life of the philosopher ; so iconoclastic, so terrible, destroy- ing time-honored theories, and yet so delightfully con- tented : " I shall exult and triumph to you a little that I have now at last — being turned off forty, to my own honor, to that of learning, and to that of the present age — arrived at the dignity of being a householder. "About seven months ago I got a house of my own, and completed a regular family, consisting of a head, viz., myself, and two inferior members, a maid and a cat. My sister has since joined me and keeps me company. With frugality, I can reach, I find, cleanliness, warmth, light, plenty, and contentment. What would you have more? Independence ? I have it in a supreme degree. Honor ? That is not altogether wanting. Grace ? That will come in time. A wife? That is none of the indispensable requisites of life. Books ? That is one of them, and I have more than I can use. In short, I cannot find any pleasure of consequence which I am not possessed of in a greater or less degree ; and, without any great effort of philosophy, I may be easy and satisfied." Kant —1724-1804 Kant, the great successor of Hume in the brilliant line of the critical and really constructive philosophy, was KANT. 107 peculiarly devoted to his work. " He lived to a great age," says Madame de Stael, " and never once quitted the snows of murky Konigsberg. There he passed a calm and happy existence, meditating, professing, and writing. He had mastered all the sciences. He had studied lan- guages and cultivated literature. He lived and died the tj-pe of the German professor ; he rose, smoked, drank his coffee, wrote, lectured, took his daily walk, always at pre- cisely the same hour. The cathedral clock, it is said, was not more punctual in its movements than Immanuel Kant. He never, in the course of his long life, traveled above seven miles from his native city." In his " Critique of Pure Reason," Kant developed, in his own original way, the skeptical philosophy of Des- cartes, Locke, and Hume. In answering the question : What can we know? he added greatly to the answer given by Hume. lu the simple, undecomposable materials of thought Hume included only impressions, and ideas (copies of impressions by memory). Kant adds to these, relations, so that in the original contents of the mind are impressions, ideas, and relations ; and thus, as Huxley remarks, Kant has made one of the greatest advances ever effected in philosophy ; but the basis of Kant's philosophy is exactly the same as that of Hume, "If the details of Kant's criticism differ from those of Hume, they coincide with them in their main result, which is the limitation of all knowledge of reality to the world of phenomena revealed to us by experience." The ultimates of human thought are matter, force, and relation. lielation is neither matter nor force, and yet it is as much of a reality as either of these. There is no matter or force without relation. Relation is as funda- mental as sensation, not inferred from sensation, but im- mediately known with sensation. Kant swept God and Immortality forever from the domain of human knowledge. He says : 108 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUaHT. "After we Lave satisfied ourselves of the vanity of all the ambitious attempts of reason to fly beyond the bounds of experience, enouf^h remains of practical value to con- tent us. It is true that no one knoivs that God and a future life exist, for if he possesses such knowledge lie is just the man for whom I have long been seeking. All knowledge (touching an object of mere reason) can be communicated, and, therefore, I might hope to see my own knowledge increased to this prodigious extent by his instruction." Further on, Kant says that philosopliy and common sense are one. '' I will not here speak of the service whicli philosoph}' has rendered to human reason by the laborious efforts of its criticism. But do you ask that the knowledge which interests all men shall transcend the common understanding and be discovered for you only by philosophers? The very thing which you make a reproach is the best confirmation of tlie justice of previous conclusions, since it shows that which could not at first have been anticipated ; namely, that in those matters whicli concern all men alike nature is not guilty of dis- tributing her gifts with partiality ; and that the highest philosophy, in dealing with the most important concerns of humanity, is able to take us no further than the guidance which she affords to the commonest understanding." It is a great gain to know that the highest Pliilosoph}', after all, is but systematized common sense. Of course, Kant is compelled, in order to mollify the orthodox party, to make God and Immortality " moral certainties," while they are no longer intellectual cer- tainties ; not objective moral certainties, however, but sub- jective moral certainties, for Kant confesses, naively : "I must not even say, it is morally certain that there is a God, and so on ; but, I am morall}^ certain, and so on." What Kant means is this : Though 3'ou cannot prove tlie existence of God, or the immortalit}^ of the soul, yet, as tlie belief in these is very useful for moral purposes. VICTOR HUGO (p. 440). KANT. 109 you may assume, that is, for moral purposes you may, nay, should, believe that fiction of the imagination is true. Kant did not show much common sense in this. Certainly, if morality must be founded on an assumption, it must be a very poor thing. If Kant had seen more of the Avorld, if he had traveled more than seven miles from Konigsberg, and studied human nature, he would have discovered that man's morality is not founded upon an assumed belief, but upon real knowledge. According to Kant, we must lie in order to be true ; we must be hypo- crites in order to be just ; we must cheat ourselves in order to be honest with others ; we must pla}^ fast and loose with reason in order to enforce the moral law upon ourselves. Kant is an intellectual giant, but he shows what a fool the greatest man may be when he undertakes to compromise with orthodoxy. I think, after all, that Hume's idea of morality is much better than that of Kant. Hume dismisses entirely the belief in God and immortality, and says : " Virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own account without fee or reward ;" and then, in one of his most eloquent passages, he declares : " What philosophical truths can be more advan- tageous to society than these here delivered, which repre- sent virtue in all her genuine and most engaging charms, and make us approach her with ease, familiarity, and affection? The dismal dress falls off, with which many divines and some philosophers have covered her ; and nothing appears but gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability ; nay, even at proper intervals, play, frolic, and gaiety. She talks not of useless austerities and rigors, suffering and self-denial. She declares that her sole pur- pose is to make her votaries, and all mankind during every period of their existence, if possible, cheerful and happy, nor does she ever willingly part with any pleasure but in the hopes of ample compensation in some other period of their lives. The sole trouble she demands is 110 FOUR hundrp:d years of freethought. that of just calculation and a steady preference of the greater happiness. And if any austere pretenders ap- proach her — enemies to joy and pleasure — she either rejects them as hypocrites or deceivers, or, if she admits them to her train, they are ranked, however, among the least favored of her votaries." Kant certainly did not improve upon genial David Hume as a moral teacher. Even the Presbyterian Scotch named a street after him, St. David's street, and this is one of the best saints in all the calendar. Hamilton. The clouds were not altogether swept away by Kant's incisive logic, since he allowed the " moral dispositions " to somewhat mar his judgment. It required the brilliant metaphysics of Hamilton to clear the atmosphere entirely. I do not know anyone who has done a finer service to Freethought than this great writer, although he was an orthodox believer and has been a master influence in modern religious thought. Nothing has so troubled and perplexed the human mind as the words " infinite " and " absolute." It has been supposed that they contained some meaning, though nobody knew what. Hamilton has demonstrated, beyond question, that they simply mean nothing. They are the negations of thought, that is, no thought. Everything in the sphere of thought must be finite, limited, and conditioned. It is impossible to conceive anything else, or anything beyond. We talk of "infinite space," and "infinite time," as if they were real conceptions, but they are not. As before shown. if we concieve, think, imagine, or picture space, it must be finite space; if time, it must be finite time. There is no such thing to the human mind as infinite space or infinite time. Let one try to think these, and he cannot do it. Now, if, according to Descartes, there can be no truth to the human mind except what is distinctly conceivable, HAMILTON. Ill then infinite space and infinite time are not truths, for they are not distinctly conceivable. If all knowledge arises from experience, there can be no possible knowl- edeje of the "infinite," for it cannot be experienced. We cannot experience the infinite in part, for the infinite can not be divided into parts. It is an absolute unity. That wiiich is divisible is finite. The relativity of knowledge, as affirmed and demon- strated by Hamilton, is one of the most fruitful postulates of modern science. It takes a great fog from the human mind. The whole history of philosophy is a history of the havoc made by these two terms, "infinite" and "absolute." They have ruled with a rod of iron. None dared to deny. It was an enthronement of words without ideas. Descartes, Locke, Hume, and Kant submitted, to a certain extent, to the tyranny of the word " God." They allowed there might be something in it. Indeed, Des- cartes built up an elaborate argument for the existence of God, on the basis of the idea oif infinite perfection, which, he says, is in the mind of man. As infinite perfection can not be infinite perfection without existence, therefore this idea of infinite perfection must represent reality. How- ever, there is no idea of infinite perfection in the mind, and Descartes' argument is worthless. Every philosophy which is based on any afiirmation of the actual presence in the human mind of ideas corresponding to the words " infinite " and " absolute" is a false philosophy. All such philosophies have come and gone like mists in the sky. They have expanded until they have covered the whole heavens with glorious colors, but they have faded away. Hegel made the last and most alluring attempt to build these magnificent castles in the air, and for awhile he commanded Europe and exercised a wonderful in- fluence. He has done more than any other to preserve a religion for thinkers. He certainly has constructed a palatial philosophy. It opens into enchanting, luminous, 112 FOUR HUNDRED YKARS OF FRKETHOUGHT. and far-away perspectives. The mind can wander in it, and find no end to the dazzling sceneries. If it were onh' built upon fact, what a preeminent structure it would be ! How the imagination could revel in it, and winged hope never cease its flight, and the heart be filled with the divine fervor of a Bruno or Spinoza ! But the system of Hegel is not built on fact. It does not originate with fact, but with pure thought itself. Thought is the beginning and the end, and the universe is the " ever-becoming " God, of which humanity is the noblest consciousness. The "secret of Hegel" is not worth striving after, for, when discovered, it will not add one iota to human knowledge. Alexander Smith sings the master strain of Hegelian- ism, when the poet declares that he will begin his mighty theme " Far in God, When all the ages, and all suns and worlds, And souls of men and angels, lay in Him, Like unborn forests in an acorn cup ; With the soliloquy with which God broke The silence of the dead eternities, At which most ancient words, O beautiful ! With showery tresses like a child from sleep, Uprose the splendid mooned, and jeweled night;" And close the measureless epic, " With God and silence, When this great universe subsides in God, Even as a moment's foam subsides again Upon the wave that bears it." The " Philosophy of the Conditioned " is the true phi- losophy of modern days. We no longer consider the infinite. We are no longer baffled by mysteries, for we no longer consider mysteries, but facts. Why trouble about HAMILTON. 113 mysteries ? Whatever is experienced is not a mystery — it is a fact. Hamilton, in tlie following, clearly states the philosophy of the inlinite, which he himself so thoroughly repudiated, and which science itself must repudiate, although such glorious names are its sponsors : "Kant pronounced the philosophy of rationalism (that is, ideal rationalism, exercise of the reason simply, without the union of reason with experience, which latter is scien- tific rationalism) to be a mere fabric of delusion. He declared that a science of existence was beyond the com- pass of our faculties ; that pure reason, as purely sub- jective and conscious of nothing but itself, was, therefore, unable to evince the truth of ought beyond the phenomena of its personal modifications. But scarcely had Kant ac- complished the recognition of this important principle, than from the very disciples of his school there arose phi- losophers who, despising the contracted limits and humble results of observation, reestablished a bolder and more uncompromising rationalism than any that had ever pre- viously obtained for their country the character of phi- losophic visionaries — ' Minds mad with reasoning, and on fancies fed.' Founded by Fichte, but evolved by Schelling, this doctrine regards experience as unworthy of the name of science ; because, as only of the phenomenal, the transitory, the dependent, it is only that which, having no reality in itself, cannot be established as a valid basis of certainty and knowledge. Philosophy, therefore, must either be abandoned, or we must be able to seize the One, the Abso- lute, the Unconditioned, immediately and in itself. And this they profess to do by a kind of intellectual vision. In this act, reason, soaring not only above the world of sense, but beyond the sphere of personal consciousness, boldly places itself at tlie very center of absolute being, with 114 FOUR IIITNDRKD YKARS OB' FREKTHOUGHT. wliicli it claims to be, in fact, identified ; and, thence sur- veying existence in itself, and in its relations, nuveils to us the nature of the deity, and explains, from first to last» the derivation of all created things." Tiie following is a luminous statement, as far as it is possible to give one, of this transcendental phiU)s()pliy, which, happily, to-day, is fast disappearing from even the German mind : " In every act of consciousness we distinguisli a self, or ego, and something different from self, a non-e(jo, eacli limited and modified by the otlier. These, together, con- stitute the finite element. But, at the same instant, when we are conscious of these existences, plural, relative, and contingent, we are conscious, likewise, of a superior unity in which they are contained and by which they are ex- plained—a unity absolute as they are conditioned, sub- stantive as they are phenomenal, and an infinite cause as they are finite causes. This unity is God. The fact of consciousness is thus a complex phenomenon, comprehend- ing three several terms — first, the idea of the ego and non^ ego as finite ; second, the idea of something else as infinite ; third, the idea of the relation of the finite element to the infinite. These elements are revealed in themselves and in their mutual connection in every act of primitive or spontaneous consciousness." The essential spirit of intolerance and persecution, which is in every religious philosophy, and which will result in horror and bloodshed, is also stated by Hamil- ton as existing in this philosophy, thus : "As, in this spontaneous intuition of reason, there is nothing voluntary, and, therefore, nothing personal ; and as the truths which intelligence here discovers come not from ourselves, ive are entitled^ up to a certain point, to impose these truths on others as revelations from on high." It will thus be seen that the sword, the fire and fagot, are in this transcendental philosophy, the ideal rational- RALPH "WALDO EMERSON (p. 473). HAMILTON. 115 ism, which so disdainfully avoids the ground of common experience and soars to God. It is a fact that Cousin, the last great representative of this school, formulated into ecclesiasticism, endeavored to justify, partially, the execution of Yanini, on the ground that he was an Atheist and an immoral man. He labored to blacken the reputation of the martyr in order to save the "defenders of God." Hamilton compactly states the issue : " Philosophical opinions may be reduced to four : First, the unconditioned is incognizable and inconceivable ; its notion being only negative of the conditioned, which last can only be positively known as conceived. Second, it (the infinite) is not an object of knowledge, but its notion as a regulative (moral) principle of the mind itself is more than a mere negation of the conditioned. Third, it (the infinite) is cognizable, but not conceivable ; it can be known by a sinking back into identity with the infinite-absolute, but it is incomprehensible by consciousness and reflection, svhich are only of the relative and different. Fourth, it is cognizable and conceivable by consciousness and reflection, which are under relation, difference, and plurality." " The first of these opinions," says Hamilton, "we regard as true ; the second is held by Kant, the third by Schelling, and the last by Cousin. '' In our opinion," says Hamilton, "the mind can con- ceive, and consequently can know, only the limited and the conditionally limited. Tiie unconditionally unlimited, or the injinite, the unconditionally limited, or the absolute, cannot possibly be construed to the mind ; the}- can be conceived only by a thinking away from, or abstraction of, those very conditions uneler which thought itself is realized; consequently, the notion of the imconditioned is only negative — negative of the conceivable itself. For example : on the one hand we can positively conceive neither an absolute whole, that is, a whole so great that 116 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. we cannot conceive it as a relative part of a still greater whole ; nor an absolute part, that is, a part so small that we cannot also conceive it as a relative whole, divisible into smaller parts. On the other hand, we cannot positively represent, or realize, or construe to the mind, an infinite whole, for this could only be done by the infinite syn- thesis in thought of finite wholes, which would itself require an infinite time for its accomplishment ; nor, for the same reason, can we follow out in thought au infinite divisibility of parts. The result is the same, whether we apply the process to limitation in space, in time, or in degree. The infinite, the absolute, are thus equally incon- ceivable to us. " Thought necessarily supposes condition. To think is to condition. For, as the greyhound cannot outstrip its shadow, nor the eagle outsoar the atmosphere in which he floats and by which alone he is supported ; so the mind cannot transcend that sphere of limitation within and through which exclusively the possibility of thought is realized. All that we know is only known as ' won from the void and formless infinite,' " Thought cannot transcend consciousness ; conscious- ness is only possible under the antithesis of a subject and object of thought, known only in correlation, and mutually limiting each other ; while, independently of this, all that we know either of subject or object, either of mind or matter, is only a knowledge in each of the particular or phenomenal. We admit that the consequence of this doc- trine iS; that philosophy, if viewed as more than a science of the conditioned, is impossible. Departing from the particular, we admit that we can never, in our highest generalizations, rise above the finite. " Time is only the image, or concept, of a certain correla- tion of existences — of existence, therefore, as conditioned. It is thus itself only a form of the conditioned. " Is the absolute conceivable in time ? We can easily HAMILTON. 117 represent to ourselves time under anj relative limitation of commencement and termination ; but we are conscious to ourselves of notbinoj more clearly than that it would be equally possible to think without thought, as to construe to the mind an absolute commencement, or an absolute termimation of time — that is, a beginning and an end beyond which time is conceived as not existent. Goad imagination to the utmost, it still sinks paralyzed within the bounds of time, and time survives as the condition of the thought itself in which we annihilate the universe. " Is the infinite more comprehensible ? Can we imagine time as unconditionally unlimited ? We cannot con- ceive the infinite r&gress of time ; for such a notion could only be realized by the infinite addition in thought of finite times, and such an addition would itself require an eternity for its accomplishment. If we dream of affecting this, we only deceive ourselves by substituting the indefinite for the infinite, than which no two notions can be more opposed. The negation of the commencement of time involves, likewise, the affirmation that an infinite time has at every moment already run ; that is, it implies the con- tradiction that an infinite has been completed. For the same reason we are unable to conceive an infinite progress of time. While the infinite regress and infinite progress, taken together, involve the triple contradiction of an infinite concluded, of an infinite commencing, and of two infinites not exclusive of each other. " Space, like time, is only the intuition, or the concept, of a certain correlation of existence, of existence, therefore, as conditioned. It is thus itself only a form of the conditioned. But apart from this, thought is equally powerless in realizing a notion, either of the absolute totality, or of the infinite immensity of space. And, while space and time, as wholes, can thus neither be conceived as absolutely limited, nor as infinitelv unlimited, so their parts can be represented to the human mind, neither as absolutely indi- 118 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. visible, nor as divisible to infinity. The universe cannot be imagined as a whole which may not also be imagined as a part ; nor an atom be imagined as a part which may not also be imagined as a whole, " The unconditioned, therefore, is not a positive con- cept, nor has it ever a real or intrinsic unity, for it only combines the absolute and the infinite, in themselves con- tradictory of each other, into a unity relative to us, by the negative bond of their inconceivability." Stephen Pearl Andrews, one of the keenest metaphysi- cians of modern times, has made a distinction which is quite helpful, between the absolute infinite and the rela- tive infinite. The relative infinite is a kind of contra- diction in terms, yet still it conveys something to the human mind. The absolute infinite is that which is so great that it cannot be made greater. That is the use of the term as applied to God. But the moment we try to think God, we must think of him as less than infinite, for we cannot think of any being so great but that we must still think of a greater. Suppose, for instance, we say that the universe is infinite, that is, that the number of worlds is so great that the number cannot be increased. If you say the number of worlds can be increased, that number must be finite. Grant the number to be abso- lutely infinite. It must then be admitted that every world is composed of billions of particles, and the number of par- ticles of course must be infinite. We are at once con- fronted by the absurdity of one infinite number being a billion times greater than another infinite number, and yet by the assumption both numbers are so great that they cannot be increased. We can only escape the absurdity by saying that the number of worlds is relatively infinite, that is, so great that we cannot count them. Time and space are relatively infinite in the sense that we cannot conceive the beginning or the ending of either, but in this case it is not the strength of thought, but its impotence, COMTE. 119 that is manifest. It is a confession of inability to think, not an affirmation of positive knowledge. In this sense the word " infinite " is applied to time, space, and the universe, but it will be easily seen this use of the word expresses the want of a conception, not the presence of it. " Infinite " and " absolute " in the theological sense are, therefore, entirely without meaning, and must be for- ever abandoned by science. Kant threw the words " God " and " immortality " into the limbo of faith, and Hamilton has tumbled the words " infinite " and " absolute " after them, and there they lie in undistinguished confusion. They are not even ghosts or shadows — they are simply nothing. COMTE. So the way is made for Positive Philosophy, which is the true and final answer to the question, What can we know? We can know phenomena only, and the correla- tions of phenomena. The universe is simply the known and the unknown. The unknown is simply unknown. We cannot describe it in any way, and, as Frederic Harri- son says, we do not even begin it with a capital. The boundaries of the known continually advance, but the un- known is always the unknown. We cannot name it " God," "immortality," " thing -in -itself," " noumenon," ''sub- stratum," " soul." " the infinite," " the absolute," or even " the unknowable." The known is only phenomena, but real phenomena, and the manifestation of the universe as it is. I accept Positive Philosophy, not as a philosophy founded by Comte, but as the grand result of the labors of Descartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, and Hamilton, in their en- deavors to define human knowledge. The words Positive Philosophy express that result better than any others, and 120 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. why not accept them, even though we do not accept alto- gether the conclusions of Oomte himself ? This philoso- pher has exerted a profound and mighty influence upon his age. He was a thinker of extraordinary ability and magnificent enthusiasm. Certainly no one has better stated the boundaries of human knowledge. His philoso- phy will sufi"er many modifications in the onward march of science, but in that march theology and metaphysics will be forever discarded. Science will deal with what is pos- itive, and not with dreams or fancies, and that is a splen- did triumph for Freethought. Comte's attempt to establish a religion of humanity — a religion minus theology, with the regalia and ceremo- nies of the papal church — was a colossal blunder. It is a dismal failure. You cannot build religion on reason, common sense, or any intellectual or moral grounds, as Hume has clearly shown. One of the founders of a new religion, " Theophilan- throp3"," the religion which Paine professed, complained to Talleyrand that it made but little headwaj^ among the people. Talleyrand replied : " It is no easy matter to in- troduce a new religion. But there is one thing I would advise j'ou to do, and then perhaps you might succeed. Go and be crucified, then be buried, and then rise again on the third day ; and then work miracles, raise the dead, heal all manner of disease and cast out devils, and then it is possible you ma}^ accomplish your end." This was Tal- leyrand's shrewd way of saying that religion was a hum- bug ; that it must be founded on a lie. The conflict between science and religion always has -existed and always will exist. Comte should have ban- ished religion equally with theology and metaphysics. It is folly to talk about worshiping humanity, or any- thing else. We should not cultivate a feeling of worship. "We should not bow or pray. Self-respect forbids this. ]Eecognize everyone as your equal. Honor the truly great. HENBY 1). THOREAU (p. 473). COMTE. 121 but don't make them gods, for the best of them are no better than they shoukl be. Comte's " grand man " is simply a fiction of the imag- ination. It does not exist. There is some anah)gy be- tween society and the hviman body, but that is alL Hu- manity is not like a vast organism. We are not like cells in a stupendous body. We are individuals, and supreme in our individuality, and as individuals we possess rights. There is no higher existence in quality than individual ex- istence. We are not to be absorbed in a figment called humanity, any more than in a figment called God. All the millions of human beings massed together cannot make an existence superior in kind to individual existence, and it often happens that one man is wiser than all the rest of the world put together. Comte's "grand man" seems a pure metaphysical conception like the " enti- ties " of the schoolmen. Humanity is a combination of individuals, but that combination does not create a "supreme being." Comte's abolition of "rights" and substitution of " duties " as fundamental is not for morality or for liberty. Eights are fundamental, and duties are based upon our rights; and if we have no rights, then we have no duties. The sentiment of self is as original as the sentiment of humanity. We are not to be altogether altruistic. We must be egoistic. Live for others is not the true maxim, but live for all being, yourself included. The sentiment of humanity should not displace the sentiment of self, any more than the sentiment of self should displace the sentiment of hu- manity. I have thus noted the mistakes and failures of Comte, which have lessened the value of his work, but what he has done still remains among the greatest achievements of the century. He has been a prodigious power, and the old superstitions have received no deadlier blow than from this brave thinker. 122 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. It must be admitted that there is a unity and correla- tion of the sciences — a true order ; and though Comte may not have succeeded in stating the true order, yet his efforts to do so, and liis affirmation of the unity, have been of great service. Mr. Lewes eh)quently says :" It constructs a series which makes all the separate sciences organic parts of one science; and it enables the several phih)sophies to yield a doctrine, which is what no other doctrine has ever been, coextensive with human knowledge and homogeneous throughout its whole extent. This then is the Positive Philosophy; the extension to all investigation of those methods which have been proved successful in the physi- cal sciences. The limitations of human knowledge maybe irksome to some impatient spirits ; but philosophy pre- tending to no wider sweep than that of human faculty, and contented with the certainties of experience, declares the search after first and final causes, to be a profitless pur- suit." In directing attention to sociology and to the laws of human nrogress, in declaring that there are such laws, and that tLere is a science of society, Comte has pushed for- ward human investigation in a most noble and beneficial direction. Comte's " great fundamental law of human intelligence," the law of the three stages, is certainly a very illuminat- ing criticism of human history. It is in the main correct, though by no means applicable to the growth of all the sciences. But mankind in the search after truth lias really passed through these three stages, though I do not see that in the nature of things it should always be in this fashion. It has been so as a matter of fact, and Comte's •'law" is a statement of history, but not a fundamental law of perpetual operation, like the law of evolution as given by Herbert Spencer. The law of the three stages is thus stated by Comte •. COMTE. 123 " Each of our leading conceptions, each branch of our knowledge, passes successively through three different theoretical conditions — the theological or fictitious ; the metaphysical or abstract, and the scientific or positive. In the theological, men suppose all phenomena to be produced by the immediate action of supernatural beings, and the perfection of this stage is reached wlien all these supposed beings are merged into one, that is. Monotheism. In the metaphysical stage the mind substitutes for per- sonal beings, abstract forces, or laws, which are part of the entity or nature of matter, and this stage is matured when mankind have substituted one final entity (nature) for the various minor entities at first supposed. " In the final, the positive stage, the mind has given over the vain search after absolute notions, the origin and destination of the universe, and the causes of phenomena, ' and applies itself to the study of their laws, that is. their invariable relations of succession and resemblance. Reasoning and observation, duly combined, are the means of this knowledge. What is now understood when we speak of an explanation of facts, is simply the establish- ment of a connection between a single phenomenon and some general (unreduced) facts, the number of which con- tinually diminishes with the progress of science. The ultimate perfection of the positive system would be (if such perfection could be hoped for) to represent all phe- nomena as particular aspects of a single general fact." This is a luminous philosophy of history. It is an admirable explanation of the way things have been and of the goal to be reached. No doubt Comte will be vastly modified by such thinkers as Spencer, Mill, and Huxley. For instance, Comte l]as overlooked too much the value of psychology, and, as Mill says, it should be classified as an independent abstract science. It appears that Comte, in his opposition to metaphysics, did not sufficiently distinguish between 124 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGIIT. true and false metaphysics. If we take tlie word " meta- physics " in its original sense, then all metaphysics is false ; but historically the word has been used in two senses — used in the sense that there can be knowledge without experience, that is, without physical sensation ; that we can start from ideas and not from facts ; that from notions in the mind we can deduce truth without con- sultation with the material world about us ; that we can neglect phenomena altogether, and study pure being through intuition. Metaphysics in this sense — the meta- physics of the schoolmen — is entirely false and unworthy of the attention of science. The metaphysical stage, equally with the theological age, is unscientific, and " entities " are as much to be abolished as the " gods." But it must be conceded that there are mental j^he- nomena apart from physical phenomena, and that physical phenomena do not altogether explain mental phe- nomena. As Huxley states it : "I cannot conceive how the phenomena of consciousness, as such and apart from the physical process by which they are called into ex- istence, are to be brought within the bounds of physical science. Let us suppose the process of physical analysis pushed so far that one could view the last links of the chain of molecules, watch their movements as if they were billiard balls, weigh them, measure them, and know all that is physically knowable about them. Well, even in this case we should be just as far from being able to in- clude the resulting phenomenon of consciousness within the bounds of physical science as we are at present. It would remain as unlike the phenomena we know under the names of matter and motion as it is now." The correlation of mental phenomena, therefore, could not come under the name " physics." It has come under the name " metaphysics " and is certainly a true science, as much as the correlation of pliysical phenomena. In this sense, Hume, and Kant, and Hamilton are among the great- COMTE. 125 est metaphysicians, and as metaphysicians they have added incalculably to the stores of human knowledge. Comte himself was a metaphysician in this sense, for it must be admitted that his statement of positive philosophy is a mental conclusion and not a physical phenomenon. However, mental phenomena must be studied in con- nection with the physical world. A true psychology must be based upon a true physiology. We cannot understand the action of the mind unless we understand the action of the brain. To study the mind apart from its physical surroundings is again a " false metaphj^sics." This, no doubt, is what Comte meant, since Lewes declares that the science of psychology is included in biology. In a certain sense it is, and in a certain sense it is not. As Huxley again says, with scientific exactness : " I doubt not our poor, long-armed, and short-legged friend, the ourang, as he sits meditatively munching his durion fruit, has some- thing behind that sad, Socratic face of his which is utterly * beyond the bounds ' of physical science. Physical science may know all about his clutching the fruit and munching it and digesting it and how the physical titilla- tion of his palate is transmitted to some microscopic cells of the gray matter of his brain. But the feelings of sweet- ness and satisfaction which for a moment hang out their signal lights in his melancholy eyes, are as utterly outside the bounds of physics as is the 'fine frenzy' of a human rhapsodist." It is evident that Comte would have been more correct in his classification if he had included psychology and logic also in the independent abstract sciences. While the "grand man" and humanity as an "organ- ism " must be entirely rejected, yet the true value of humanity as a mediator between man, the individual, and nature must not be overlooked ; and Avhile in form we deny Comte, in spirit we accept him, as he has been unfolded in a very able manner by T. B. Wakeman, who, I think, 126 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF ?REETHOUGHT. has given a better interpretation to Comte than any other writer. He has certainly stripped Comte's religion of its provincial and imperial elements, and made it, as far as possible, cosmopolitan and democratic. No man, however great his genius, can understand nature by the solitary exercise of his faculties. Co-operation is as necessary in the intellectual world as in the industrial. It is not through man, as a single being, but through humanity, the universal being (not organism), that the greatness of nature is revealed, and that we know and use her power. Gen- erations have toiled for us. The whole human race is constantly endowing us with truth. Millions are helping to build the cosmos in which we dwell. Civilization is the result of immense combinations all over the world. It is not the individual alone, but the individual plus humanity, the one through the many, that gems the earth with harvest fields, chains the lightning, and counts the multitude of stars. In this sense, humanity is an amazing power, and with this interpretation there is something- most nobly inspiring in Comte's conception, as described by John Stuart Mill : " Humanity ascends into the un- known recesses of the past, embraces the manifold present,, and descends into the indefinite and unforeseeable future > forming a collective existence without assignable beginning or end, appealing to that feeling of the infinite which is deeply rooted in human nature and which seems neces- sary to the imposingness of all our highest concep- tions." Comte, by his magnificent ideas, has created what has been called the "enthusiasm of humanity," through whicli human progress is ennobled with music, art, and poetry. Comte endeavored to cultivate majestic and enduring sen- timents, along with clear scientific advancement, and in this he has labored in the true direction, although his " religion " and its methods may forever disappear. He has been a great intellectual agitator. As Van Buren G. J. HOLYOAKE (p. 183). COMTE. 127 Denslow says : " His work created a consternation akin to the handwriting on the wall at Belshazzar's feast, for it said to theologians and metaphysicians alike, ' 3Iene mene tehel upharsin.' It said to all priesthoods and spiritual ministers, 'Your occupation was necessary for a time, as was slavery; but the time will come when it will be equally necessary to abolish it.' The clergy were better prepared for argument than for this outlawry. They did not relish being told that to account for things super- naturally was an inseparable attribute of the infantile stage of the liuraan mind, and therein all theologies, like all fetich worships of which the}^ are in fact a part, like all mythologies, like all scandals, and, indeed, like all dogs, must have their day and perish. The clergy had pretty nearly made man a product of theology. They were startled to fiud theology a parasite creeping precariously upon the outer skull of man. They had placed God in the center of the intellectual system, and bid all souls derive from it their light. Comte asserted that no light emanated from this so-called God, except by reflection from the larger luminary — humanity." We have thus traced the philosophical progress of man since the days of Columbus. Bruno and Spinoza, in tlie lii)e of transcendental philosoph}^ were the advocates of man's freedom and nobility, with a splendor of genius unsurpassed. But the true father of modern philosophy is Descartes, and from him flows the brilliant line of Locke, Hume, Kant, Hamilton, and Comte. What an illustrious pathway this has been ! What wealth of thought has been expended in order to answer the simple question, " What can we know ?" It took from Descartes (1596) to Comte (1857) to fully and satisfactorily answer that question. It has been answered, and, accepting Pos- itive philosophy, not as what Comte was the first to create, but as the result of the labors of his great predeces- sors, of which himself is the interpreter and advancer, and 128 1^0^^ HUNDRED YEARS OF FREBTHOUGHT. whose statements will still undergo many and important modifications, we can say, with Lewes : " Mr. Spencer is unequivocally a Positive philosopher, however he may repudiate being considered a disciple of Comte. His object is that of the Positive philosophy — namely, the organization into a harmonious doctrine of all the highest generalities of science, by the application of the positive method, and the complete displacement of theology and metaphysics. The peculiar character he impresses on it by his thorough working out in detail of the law of evolution gives a special value to his system ; but the Positive philosophy will absorb all his dis- coveries, as it will absorb all future discoveries made on its m.etliod and in its spirit, rejecting certain a priori and teleological tendencies which he some- times manifests, and disregarding his failures as it dis- regards the failures of Comte and every other seeker." CHAPTER IX. The Final Scientific Answer — Monism. The last remaining cloud to be swept from the path- way of modern science is Spencer's doctrine of the un- knowable. This doctrine is simply a revival of the old dualistic and theological conception of the universe, and is opposed to the scientific and monistic conception. If science to-day and philosophy affirm anything, it is the oneness of existence. As Comte says, this is the goal of science, to explain the multitude of facts by one general fact. It is the object of science to correlate all phe- nomena — to bind them into unity. If we divide existence into two kinds, one knowable and the other unknowable, this is dualism. It absolutely splits the universe asunder. There is an impassable chasm between existences, and the inevitable result is the old dualism again — reason and revelation, science and faith — - science for the knowable and faith for the unknowable. Here is the '*' twofold truth " of Pomponazzi and the old philosophers in modern thought. No wonder that theo- logians have welcomed Spencer's doctrine of the unknow- able. It saves them. It gives a refuge for all their fallacies, a boundless domain for the exercise of credulity. Since reason cannot penetrate it, inspiration from God must come to man's aid and supplement science. The monistic philosophy, which is the grand result of the critical and positive philosophy, must repudiate the unknowable. So far as science is concerned, all existence 130 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. is identical, aiul, therefore, all existence is knowable, that is, intelligible. If not, why not? Is there any part of nature unintelligible ? If a part of universal being is unknowable, how does Spencer or anybody else know it ? When we assert that fundamental existence is unknow- able, do we not in that very affirmation declare that we do know something about it, that is, we know that it is un- knowable — a most tremendous assumption of knowledge. This doctrine of the unknowable explains nothing, any more than the doctrine of God explains, and, therefore, is unscientific. It only makes a muddle. Spencer frankly says : " I hold at the outset and continue to hold that the in- scrutable existence stands towards our general conceptions of things in substantially the same relation as does the creative power asserted by theology, and when theology has dropped the last of the anthropomorphic traits ascribed, the foundation beliefs of the two must become identical.'" Says Frederic Harrison : " To invoke the unknowable is to reopen the whole range of metaphysics ; and the entire apparatus of theology will follow through the breach." Even the " Christian World " declares that " the words of Spencer might have been used by Butler or Paley, and are the fitting and natural introduction to inspiration.''' Spencer affirms that the " unknowable " is the " infinite and eternal energy " from which all things proceed. It is the "ultimate," the "all-being." If it is the unknowable, how does Spencer know that it is " infinite " and " eternal," or that it is an " energy," or that anything " proceeds" from it, or that it is " ultimate ?" How does be even know that it is a " reality ? " Mr. Wakeman says : " Spencer's system, by his doctrine of the unknowable, becomes a duality which denies that the ego is a correlate of the known and knowable Avorld. THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER— MONISM. I3I His philosophy, therefore, leaves the backbone of the world of causal sequence bioken at the vital point where the objective and the svibjective unite in humanit}-, but not in any unknowable. That is, he assumes that everything is only a symbol of reality ; that every phenomenon is related to a noumenon, and that the consciousness of man is not a correlate of nerve and world-changes ; and so between the world and man lies an unaccountable gulf with an open gateway through which the clerical and spiritual ' mediums ' have brought back the whole ghostly tribe of entities and spirits, and gods and devils, to torture and rob the human race again. The trouble is that Mr. Spencer, in assuming an ' infinite and eternal energv ' back of ' all things,' an absolutely unknowable, in- scrutable, unhuman noumenon, has lost his grip on the in- finite and eternal causal concatenation of things. He has run science ashore on the old sand- and fogbank of super- stition. There is nothing to do but to pull ofi", and to change our course under the true lights and verifiable methods of the correlation of 'all things.' " The definition given b}^ Spencer to Agnosticism canncjt be accepted by science. "The power winch the univeist-i manifests to us is utterly inscrutable." Science will not affirm that anything is inscrutable. To do so is suicidal. Science will never give \\.j) the eternal struggle to know. To know what — a part of things? No, but all things. That is the goal, and nothing else will satisfy the scientific mind. It is theology that talks of the "inscrutable," but not science. Theology puts up the bars of ignorance, but not a true philosoph}-. Philosophy nor Freethought ever says : " Thus far shalt thou go and no farther." Science has conquered a thousand " inscrutables " along the path of progress and it will not be daunted by even the " inscrutable " of Herbert Spencer. The true Agnostic will never be so "gnostic" as to assert that anything in this universe is inscrutable. Huxley gives the right 132 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. definition of Agnosticism : "Agnosticism is of the essence of science, whether ancient or modern. It simply means that a man shall not say he knows or believes that which he has no scientific grounds for professing to know or believe.^' What are the " scientific grounds " for knowing or believing that anything is " inscrutable?" Nature is not a dualitv. It is, as Humboldt says, a " living whole." anil if intelligible at any point, why not intelligible throughout? Understand, science does not reject ' a relative in- scrutable. For instance, it may be impossible for human reason and experience ever to decide the question, " Are other worlds inhabited ? " This is " unknowable," but not in the Spencerian sense, for it is granted that if human experience could reach these other worlds, then the human reason could decide the question. It is the limitation of experience that makes " unknowableness," not the limita- tion of reason itself. It is because we have not the facts, and perhaps may never obtain the facts, that makes life on other planets and on the distant stars " inscrutable " to us. It is relatively " inscrutable," not absolutely. And there are tliousands of like questions we cannot decide, simply because we cannot get at the facts. But this is not what Spencer means. He affirms that no amount of fact or intelligence can give any knowledge of the "inscrutable." It is the external reality about us that we cannot discover. We cannot truly know it. We are always wrapped in ignorance. A million facts would not lessen our intellectual darkness. Not one ray of light will ever penetrate our benighted minds. Says one of his disciples : " Our entire world is the product of two factors, our consciousness, and an objective reality which in itself is in- scrutable. We may from the connection of sensations and ideas within us ivfer a. connection of things outside of us. Bat we cannot logically infer any resemblance between the CHARLES BRADLAUGH (p. 427). THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER— MONISM. I33 internal and external orders. As Spencer says : ' The utmost possibility for us is an interpretation of the process of things as it presents itself to our limited consciousness > but Jiow this process is related to the actual process, ive are unable to conceive, much less to knoio.' " And Dr. Maudsley says : " After all, the world which we apprehend when we are awake may have as little resemblance or relation to the external world, of which we can have no manner of appre- hension through our senses, as the dream-ivorld has to the luorld with luhich our senses make us acquainted ; nay, perhaps lesSf since there is some resemblance in the latter case, and there may be none ivhatever in the former. The external world, as it is in itself, may not be in the least what we conceive it through our form of perception and models of thought." Such, of course, is the logic of the " unknowable." We are such " stuff as dreams are made of." Is it possible that any such profound and eternal ignorance must be admitted by science ? All that we know is phenomena, subjective aud objective. This is admitted by all; but to assert, as Kant and Spencer do, that these phenomena are merely the " appearances " of things, " symbols " of the reality, but not the reality itself, is simply to drive one into the limbo of theology. The phenomena we experience are real phenomena ; they give us a real knowledge ; they are nature itself, not " appear- ances " of nature that might be true or false, as Berkeley's "idealism" asserts. According to him, we do not know whether we know anything or not. Our knowledge, it is granted, may go but a little way, but so far as it does go it gives us the universe as it is, and not otherwise. The issue is plain — either phenomena give us the universe as it is, or they give us the universe as it is not. But what an absurdit}' to say that the phenomena we and the race constantly experience, and which experience we constantly act upon and find our judgment correct in millions of in- 134 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. stances, so that we can actually predict and produce phe- nomena and discover their laws and use them — what an ab- surdity to say that phenomena give us the universe as it is not ! We are, therefore, compelled to assert the only other alternative, that phenomena give us the universe as it is ; and if we were swept out of existence, the universe as we know it would remain with the same qualities, and if any mind came into existence again that mind would see the universe as we see it, and not differently. There would not be another universe with another mind, but the same objective universe as now. Draper says that the criterion of truth is not and cannot be attained by any one man, but by the combined experience of millions of men and many generations. If I were absolutely solitary I admit that I could not prove the objective reality of the universe, or even the existence of myself, and I might then accept the " transcendentalism " of Kant and admit that I was sur- rounded by " appearances," but fortunately I can consult the experiences of thousands of other people and the experi- ences of the race itself, and I can collate and compare these experiences and thus discover beyond question that I am in a real universe, surrounded by real people, and that I do not see things simply as they appear, but as they are. Draper has given a splendid hint as to the pathway of truth, that it is not by individual cogitation simply, but by the cmnbined thinking of many minds, and thus the objective reality of the universe is demonstrated in and through our associations witli others. We interpret our minds through the minds of others, and as we must recog- nize that these minds are objective realities and not modes of our own consciousness, so we must recognize the universe as an objective realit}', and the veracity of the phenomena which we perceive. This is common sense, and the vast problems of exist- ence cannot be solved in any other way. They must be THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER— MONISM. I35 Solved by universal experience, and not by isolated in- dividual experiences only. What is knowledge ? is differently answered by " ideal- ism " and science. According to " idealism," all we know are our thoughts, our modes of consciousness, which are the beginning and the end of the universe to us ; therefore to think is to know, and ignorance is simply not thinking. But science, which affirms that we observe not ourselves only, but an external universe, and that in knowing our- selves we know the not-ourselves likewise — science affirms that knowledge is right thinking and ignorance is wrong thinking ; and, therefore, our thoughts are valueless unless they discover and arrange real facts ; and with self- observation there must be world-observation and the ego must be correlated with the outward realities, or else there is not valid attainment. Science affirms reality, that the phenomena within and without are not " symbols " of some unknown and unknow- able existence from which we are forever excluded by an im- passable chasm, but phenomena are facts, events, changes, processes, realities, and are veritable revealers of the world in which we live. There is no need of " substratum " to phenomena, or " thing in itself," or " noumenon ; " if there is anything in these terms that the human mind can cognize, then they are in the phenomena and not outside or beneath them. The whole idealistic philosophy vanishes away like a dream, and we tread the firm ground and are not lost. Dr. Abbott states the case clearly between " idealism " and science : " Since no form of philosophy has ever maintained that the individual does not know his own conscious states, it is as clear as day that the only distinctive principle of idealism is a merely negative one, and lies nowhere but in its absolute assertion that the. individual can never know an external world. Further, since self-consciousness or self- 136 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. knowledge is simply self-observation, and since, therefore, observation alone is knowledge, as distinguished from infer- ence, assumption, postulation, deduction, or faith, it fol- lows that the whole essence of idealism is summed up in the short but perfectly intelligible statement — the in- dividual ca,n never observe an external ivorld. The whole activity of idealism has been an attempt, forever hopeless as it is, to reconcile this statement with universal human knowledge. " For it is precisely at this point that idealism comes into deadly collision with science and the scientific metliod. The whole essence of science is summed up in this equally short and intelligible statement — man, both individual and generic, can and does observe an external ivorld. Idealism declares that such observation is impossible, and, there- fore, cannot be actual. Science declares that such obser- vation is actual, and, therefore, must be possible. Idealism, culminating in the Kantian theory of knowledge, declares that man has no faculty by which he can observe an ex- ternal world, and, therefore, knows none. Science, cul- minating in the scientific method, declares that man already knows an external world, and, therefore, must have some faculty by which he can observe it. This is the exact issue between the two, and it turns on the essential nature of knowledge and ignorance. Is knowl- edge nothing but thought, consciousness, self-observation? Is ignorance nothing but a mere ceasing to think? Or is it ceasing to think according to known facts and laws of a known real universe ? " If phenomena were disconnected, arbitrary, uncor- related, then it might be affirmed that phenomena are only " appearances " and not realities, and in that case truth would be impossible to the human mind, but the sublime result of modern philosophy and science, in the doctrine of Monism, gives through phenomena a compact body of THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER— MONISM. 137 knowledge ; phenomena are unified ; reality is attained, and true knowledge, that is, right thinking, established. Monism is the necessary outcome of the critical and positive philosophy, and the last answer to " What can "we know ? " Knowledge, we might say, is impossible without correlation. If I see things, but do not see the relations of things, then I do not see the reality of things. Bradlaugh says: "Nature is with me the same as universe — the same as existence. I mean by it the totality of all phenomena, and of all that has been, is, or may be necessary for the happening of each and every phenomenon. It is, from the ver}- terms of j^he definition, self-existent. I cannot think of nature's commencement, discontinuity, or creation. I am unable to think backward to the possibility of existence not having been. I cannot think forward to the possibility of existence ceasing to be. Origin of the universe is, to me, absolutely unthinkable. Sir William Hamilton affirms that when aware of a new appearance we are utterly unable to conceive there has originated any new existence ; that we are iitterly unable to think that the complement of existence has ever been either increased or diminished ; that we can neither con- ceive nothing becoming something, or something becoming nothing. " As an Atheist, I affirm one existence, and deny the possibility of more than one existence. This existence I know in its modes, each mode being distinguished in thought by its qualities. By ' mode ' I mean each cog- nized condition, that is, each phenomenon, or aggregation of phenomena. By 'quality ' I mean each characteristic by which, in the act of thinking, I distinguish. " "With the ' unknowable ' conceded, all scientific teach- ing would be illusive. Every scientist teaches without reference to the ' unknowable.' ' God ' and the * unknow- able' are equally opposed to the affirmations of Atheism. " To me, any pretense of Theism seems impossible if 138 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Monism be true, for Theism affirms at least two existences, that is, the Theos and that which the Theos has created and rules. " I rest content, therefore, in affirming one existence. If Monism be true, and Atheism be Monism, then Atheism is necessarily the true theory of the universe. I submit that there cannot be more than one ultimate explanation of the universe. That any tracing back to two or more existences is illogical, and that as it is only by reaching unity that we can have a reasonable conclusion, it is necessary that every form of Dualism should be rejected as a theory of the universe. If every form of Dualism be rejected, Monism — that is, Atheism — alone remains, and is, therefore, the true and only doctrine of the universe." Dr. Louis Buchner says : " I should like best to designate the philosophy of Materialism as Monistic philosophy or philosophy of unity, and the cosmology founded upon it as Monism, in accord- ance with the suggestion of Professor Haeckel. But I should not like to call our Monistic philosophy a system^ since this word always suggests the idea of something finished, concluded, permanently established, while the Realistic philosophy can and must change constantly in accordance with the changing progress of science and the better insight into facts. For that reason, I should riiise my voice of warning against any attempt to have this new philosophy made a new idol. Only the Monistic principle should be firmly adhered to, while the rest, for the present, should be only provisionally accepted as truth, and to be held as such only as long as progressing science does not teach anything better or different." Mr. Wakeman says : " Let us be thankful, then, that there is one complete evolutionist (Haeckel) who knows that there is a causal sequence of phenomena from the farthest star up to and includinf^ the mind of man ; and that phenomena are not WM. LLOYD (tARHISON (p. 466). THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER— MONISM. I39 metaphysical ' appearances ' or ' symbols,' but facts, events, changes, processes, realities. " This avowal of the universality of the law of equiv- alence and correlation in the works of Professor Haeckel renders them epoch-making books in philosophy as well as science. According to that law which has no limit, no exception, the loorld is one. All its changes are held together by this law, from our mind that thinks ever on in boundless space and time." Says Dr. Abbott : "The present age has witnessed the establishment of two great principles in scientific investigation — the prin- ciple that wdienever force disappears in one form its reappearance must be looked for in some other form ; and the principle that, no matter what changes, or events, or determinations take place in the universe, their causes must be sought ivifhin nature, and not outside or above it. " The first of these great principles is implied in the great discovery of ' the conservation and correlatit^n of forces.' Through the labors of Eumford, Grove, Joule, Mayer, Helmholtz, Tyndall, Carpenter, and other power- ful minds, whose combined genius has brought to light this grandest of all known laws of nature, the great truth long held by philosophy as a speculation has been in- ductively established by science as a fact. Various as may be its manifestations, there is but one power in nature, incapable of augmentation or diminution, appearing and disappearing and reappearing, the one in the many. The other great principle is implied in the law of evolution. The luminous vindication of the universality of natural law which science owes to the labors of Darwin has been the heaviest blow struck of late years at the effete the- ologies of the past. Thus the history of the universe becomes a connected whole." It will thus be seen that Monism is the natural out- come of modern philosophy, whether one is Atheist, 140 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUaHT. Materialist, Agnostic as Huxley defines the word, or Positivist. It is the result of the critical and skeptical philosophy. It is by doubting that man has reached this sublimity of knowledge. All forms of Theism are dualistic, and, therefore, must be rejected. Pantheism is Monistic, but it asserts infinite attributes to existence, which is contrary to the Agnostic and scientific principles laid down by Huxley. There is not a particle of proof that existence has infinite attributes. As Bradlaugli states it, we only cognize modes of existence, and distinguish these modes by qualities, but modes and qualities must be finite. Therefore, modern scientific Monism differs from that of Bruno and Spinoza in that it is not Pan- theistic. What can we know? The problem has been solved. The career of science hereafter is open and brilliant. The darkness of the past has fled, and the bats and owls that haunted and made it hideous. Superstition has re- ceived its death wound. Theology, and the metaphysics of the schools, must vanish. Tlie foundations of the church are destroyed. Faith is overthrown. Facts, and not fictions, will hereafter sway the mind of man. A noble conclusion to the immense and magnificent labors of human genius ! Philosophy, beginning in hum- ble doubt, has achieved a most glorious triumph. Through honest disbelief man has entered upon a shining and progressive way. What can we know ? Only phenomena, and only through reason and experience. All else is nothing. " God," " Immortality," " the Infinite," the "Absolute," the " Un- knowable," all these are swept forever from the humiin mind. Phenomena only can we observe, but phenomena subjective and objective that are real manifestations of a real world, that give the universe as it is. Not disconnected phenomena, but phenomena corre- lated into a living whole, so that we can understand their THE FINAL SCIENTIFIC ANSWER- MONISM. 141 laws and use them for human progress. Thus science builds a cosmos. Every new fact becomes related to known facts and falls into line and aids in the discovery of some other fact. It is not phenomena only, but the unity of phenomena, that becomes a part of human knowl- edge. Mind and matter are not separated by an impass- able chasm, but are correlated in one existence. Thus by the very limitation affirmed of human knowl- edge has human knowledge been increased, and power attained, and enthusiasm and hope for the future. By in- duction, by facts, by verification, by laborious toil, the sublime conclusions of Bruno and Spinoza have been reached, not by a leap of imagination, but by patient ob- servation and experiment ; but the universe of science, though one, is by no means the universe of these " God- intoxicated" philosophers, for the gods in every shape have disappeared. There is no particular nor universal God. There is simply life, overflowing life, potent, won- derful, luminous, ever-changing, throbbing in the tiny amoeba, and then resplendent in the brain of man — the same life, and not different. How beautiful nature is when we realize our identity with her, and that in sea and sky, forest and mountain, insect and bird, star and flower, vibrates the same universal movement. Go where we will — backward to the immeasurable fire-mist, forward to the constellated glory of the cosmos — upward and onward until we have passed a million flaming orbs, deep down into the central darkness and illuminated chambers — we are not a separate, strange, and unrelated being ; we are not outside anywhere — a stranger asking for admittance ; we are ever within, ever on the tide — ever in juxtaposition with kindred being, sweeping to the same music of the • unbeginning and unending rhythm. A glorious, a marvel- ous world is thus revealed to us by the stepping-stones of simple facts, and all the flights of imagination, or splen- dors of poetic intuition, have not equaled this array of 142 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOU track of dazzling radiance, but it struck nothing. " Bacon fixed his eye on a mark Avhich was placed on the earth, and hit it in the white. The philosophy ol Plato began in words and ended in words. The phi- losophy of Bacon began in observation and ended in arts." The true education of man is one of the greatest prob- lems of civilization, and to this problem Bacon devoted the energies of his extraordinary genius. 150 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Before the time of Bacon there was not much educa- tion. It was mainly instruction, not a development of faculty, but rather a repression. It was a putting on of harness, and not an exercise of native genius. The col- leges and universities were training schools for idiots rather than for men. " What is education ?" says Wendell Phillips. " Of course it is not book learning. Book learning does not make five per cent, of the common sense that ' runs ' the world, transacts its business, secures its progress, trebles its power over nature, works out in the long run a rough average justice, wears away the world's restraints and lifts off its burdens. The ideal Yankee who has ' more brains in his hand than others have in their skulls,' is not a scholar ; and two-thirds of the inventions that enable France to double the world's sunshine and make Old and New England the workshops of the world, did not come from colleges or from minds trained in the schools of science, but struggled up, forcing their way against giant obstacles, from the irrepressible instinct of untrained natural power. Her workshops, and not her colleges, made England for awhile the mistress of the world ; and the hardest job her workman had was to make Oxford willing he should work his wonders." It was this kind of education that Bacon emphasized — the education that is for human improvement, an educa- tion gotten from life, from affairs, from earning one's bread ; from necessity, the mother of invention, and from responsibility, which teaches prudence and a respect for right. The condition of the scholarly and learned world is pretty well indicated by Jeremy Taylor, who writes : "I cannot but think as Aristotle did of Thales and Anaxagoras, that they may be learned but not wise, or wise but not prudent, when they are ignorant of such things as are profitable to them. For, suppose they know ir "'/ WALT WHITMAN (p. 510). BACON. 15£ the wonders of nature and the subtleties of metaphysics and operations mathematical, yet they cannot be pruflent who spend themselves wholly upon unprofitable and in- effective contemplation. " Of course there is another side to the matter, and Ba- con was not thoroughly comprehensive. He would ex- clude Newton's " Principia " and Darwin's "Origin of Species " from his system of education ; for wliat is the use of these? he would say. Truth must, oftentimes, be pursued for its own sake, and no more. Its benefits are not appreciable. Its glory alone is attractive. To quote from Huxley : " The middle of the eighteenth century is illustrated by a host of great names in science — English, French, German, and Italian — especially in the fields of chemistry, geology, and biology ; but the deepening and broadening of natural knowledge produced next to no immediate, practical benefits. Even if at this time Francis Bacon could have returned to the scene of his greatness, he must have regarded the philosophic world, which praised and disregarded his precepts, with great disfavor. If ghosts are consistent, he would have said, 'These people are all wasting tlieir time, just as Gilbert and Kepler and Galileo and my wortliy physician, Harvey, did in my day. Where are the fruits of the restoration of science which I promised? This accumulation of bare knowledge is all very well, but what good? Not one of these people is doing what I specially told him to do, and seeking that secret of the cause of forms which will enable men to deal at will with nature, and superinduce new natures upon old foundations.' " And Huxley eloquently continues : '* The history of physical science teaches that the practical advantages at- tainable through its agency never have been, and never will be, sufficiently attractive to men inspired with the in- 152 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. born genius of the interpreter of nature to give them courage to undergo the toils and make the sacrifices which that calling requires from its votaries. That which stirs their pulses is the love of knowledge, and the joy of the discovery of the causes of things sung by the old poets — the supreme delight of extending the realm of law and order ever farther toward the unattainable goals of the in- finitely great and the infinitely small, between which our little race of life is run. In the course of this work tlie physical philosopher, sometimes intentionally, much more often unintentionally, lights upon something which proves to be of practical value. Great is the rejoicing of those who are benefited thereby, and for the moment science is the Diana of all the craftsmen. But even while the cries of jubilation resound, and this flotsam and jetsam of the tide of investigation is being turned into the wages of workmen and the wealth of the capitalist, the crest of the wave of scientific investigation is far away on its course over tiie illimitable ocean of the unknown." On the other hand, to note the influence of common life, the life of the unlearned people, the life of action upon the pure, scholarly, and scientific life, read the mag- nificent words of Wendell Phillips : "Anacharsis went into the Archon's court at Athens, heard a case argued by the great men of that city, and saw the vote by five hundred men. Walking in the streets some one asked him, ' What do you think of Athenian liberty?' 'I think,' said he, ' wise men argue cases, and fools decide them.' Just what that timid scholar said two thousand years ago in the streets of Athens, tliat which calls itself scholarship here to-day, says of popular agitation, that it lets wise men argue questions, and fools decide them. But that same Athens, where fools decided the gravest questions of policy, and of right and wrong, where property you had wearily gathered to-day might be wrung from you by the caprice of the mob to-morrow, BA.CON. 153 that very Athens probably secured for its era the greatest amount of human happiness and nobleness ; invented art, and sounded for us the depths of philosophy. It flashes to-day the torch that gilds yet the mountain-peaks of the Old World ; while Egypt, the hunker-conservafcive of an- tiquity, where nobody dared differ from the priest, or to be wiser than his grandfather ; where men pretended to be alive though swaddled in the grave-clothes of creed and custom, as close as their mummies were in linen — that Egypt is hidden in the tomb it inhabited, and the intellect Athens has trained for us digs to-day those ashes to find out how dead and buried hunkerism lived and acted." And Huxley also confesses : " If science has rendered the colossal development of modern industry possible, be- yond a doubt industry has done no less for modern science. The demand for technical education is reacting upon science in a manner which will assuredly stimulate its future growth to an incalculable extent. It has become obvious that the interests of science and of industry are identical ; that science cannot make a step forward with- out, sooner or later, opening up new channels for industry ; and, on the other hand, that every advance of industry facilitates those experimental investigations upon which the growth of science depends. We may hope that at last the weary misunderstanding between the practical men who profess to despise science, and the high and dry philosophers who professed to despise practical results, is at an end." It was the " high and dry philosophers " that Bacon did despise, and it was industry that he was in favor of — practical result, food, shelter, and clothing, dwellings, harvest fields, easy means of conveyance, wealth and com- fort, in fact, utilitarianism, and in this he did, indeed, inaugurate a new and splendid era of human improvement. When we rightly understand Bacon he is worthy of all the praise that is showered upon him, but his real point of 154 FOUR IHiXDllKD TKARS OF FREKTHOUGHT. departure was not in the acquisition of knowledge, but in the uses of knowledge. The tree of knowledge may be in itself a very good thing, but the fruits of the tree of knowl- edge are mucli better. Bacon did plant the tree, but he did tell us how to gather the fruits and to increase the fruits. Macaulaj well illustrates the position of Bacon in his- tory, likening him to the prophet who "from his lonely elevation looks on an infinite expanse ; behind him a wilderness of dreary sands and bitter waters in which suc- cessive generations have sojourned, .always moving, yet never advancing, reaping no harvest and building no abiding city ; before him a goodly land, a land of promise, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wliile the multitude below see only the flat, sterile desert, in whicli they had so long wandered, bounded on every side by a near horizon, or diversified only by some deceitful mirage, he was gazing from a far higher stand on a far lovelier coun- try, following with his eye the long course of fertilizing rivers, through ample pastures, and under the bridges of great capitals, measuring the distances and portioning out these wealthy regions for man's benefit." In the following extract the genius, literary excellence, and philosophic insight of Bacon are exhibited. It shows the man. It is an index of the whole scope of his work : " Crafty men contemn studies ; simple men admire them ; and wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use ; that is a wisdom wdthout tliem and won b}^ observation. Read not to contradict or believe, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and a few to be chewed and digested. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man. And, therefore, if a man write little he need have a great memory ; if he confer little, have a present wit ; and if he read little, have much cun- ning to seem to know what he doth not. Histories make COMENIUS. 155 men wise, poets witty, the mathematics subtle, natural phi- losophy deep, morals grave, logic and rhetoric able to contend." It is seldom that so much good sense is crammed into so few sentences, for the guidance of life and the attain- ment of real happiness. CoMENius.— 1592-1671. Comenius seemed to be tlie first great original mind who caught the real fire of Bacon's genius and flung it over Europe with the intensity of an enthusiast. Come- nius desired an entirely new intellectual era. He pro- posed to revolutionize all knowledge, to make complete wisdom accessible to all. Language was to be an instru- ment, not an end in itself; and many living languages in- stead of one dead language of the old school ; a knowledge of things instead of words, the free use of our eyes and ears upon the nature that surrounds us; intelligent appre- hension instead of loading the memory. All the doctrines now the doctrines of rational reform were first promul- gated over Europe by numerous pamphlets, about nmetv in all, of this Slavonic reformer, Comenius, of Bohemia. Bohemia might be said, in the time of Comenius, to be the center of literary activity, although Comenius himself was an exile, almost all his life, from that fair land. Cer- tainly in Bohemia first flamed the learning of modern times. A university was established at Prague, the capital of Bohemia, in 1348. From ten to fifteen thousand stu- dents attended it from all parts of Europe, including Eng- land and France. It was here that Copernicus and Tycho Brahe located. The histor}^ of Bohemia, in the middle ages, is full of illustrious names and deeds. The period from 1526 to 1620 is regarded as the golden age of its lit- erature. At that time the Bohemian language and arts reached a high point of cultivation through the discovery of valu- 156 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. able remnants of old literature. The history of this beautiful land — where the resources of nature have been made the most of by the skill and industry of the people for centuries — this history has been one of great struggle. Almost every field has been a scene of conflict. For more than ten centuries it has been the battle-ground of the nations of Europe. Out of this land came one of the greatest philosophers of the world, a practical philosopher who, three hundred years ago, declared the foundation principles of the edu- cation of to-day. For nearly two hundred j^ears his name sank into obscurity, but now his memory is being cele- brated on two continents, and his glorious and indomit- able genius recognized. If anyone is a benefactor to man- kind, it is he who tells us how to rightly train the human faculties, especially in childhood's pregnant hour, in which are enfolded so much of the destinies of the man. Says Comenius : " Do we not dwell in the garden of Eden, as well as our predecessors ? Should we not use our eyes and ears and noses, as well as they ; and why need we other teach- ers than these in learning to know the works of nature ? Why should we not, instead of these dead books, open to the children the living book of nature? Why not open their understanding to the things themselves, so that from them, as from living springs, may streamlets flow ?" "The object of study must be a real, true, useful thing, capable of making an impression upon the senses and the apprehension. This is necessary that it may be brought into communication with the senses ; if visible, with the eyes ; if audible, with the ears ; if odorous, with the nose ; if sapid, with the taste ; if tangible, with the touch. The heginning of hioioledge must be with the senses. "Youth has been occupied for 3-ears Avith prolix and confused grammatical rules ; and, at the same time, CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN (p. 375). COMENIUS. 157 crammed with the names of things, without knowing the things themselves. " The studies of a lifetime must be so ordered th;it they may form a single whole in which everything has sprung from a single root." Comenius, among the very first, and against the theol- ogy of the churches, advocated the higher education, as well as elementary training for women. These are somewhat remarkable words for three hun- dred years ago : " Why, indeed, should women be excluded from the study of wisdom, whether in the Latin tongue, or in Ger- man translations ? For they are equally created in the image of God, equally endowed with an active, recipient spirit, often, even, more highly endowed than our own sex. Why, then, should we admit them to the a b c, and afterward refuse them access to books ? " Let no one say how would it be if mechanics, peasants, laboring men, women, and maid servants, were learned and initiated into philosophy. I say tliat we would all have cause to rejoice at it." The old theological dictum declared that woman was a monstrosity, and really had no soul ; that she was not capable of education, and must be a household drudge. The imperfection of the fair sex was extended even to nature. Bruno puts the following into the mouth of one of his peripatetic pedants : " That nature's imperfect is doubtful to no man. The reason is clear — she is only a woman." Comenius was greatly in advance of his age. He be- lieved in woman's equality as well as man's. Comenius insisted upon a physical education. "A sound mind in a sound body," was one of his favorite maxims. He advised running, jumping, wrestling, ball, ninepins, long walks, and other amusements. 158 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. " During the waking hours," he said, " some portion of the time should be spent in music, plays, humorous conversation, and whatever is easy and agreeable to the mind." Comenius was a great lover of children, and anticipated Froebel by publishing the first picture-book for children. This famous book — the first effort, in fact, to teach chil- dren by means of pictures — is the progenitor of a long line of varied and illustrated text-books in our own day. In a letter to his publisher, Comenius says : " It may be observed that many of our children grow weary of their books, because these are overfilled with things which have to be explained by the help of words ; things which the boys have never seen, and of which the teachers know nothing." The nobility of the motive which actuated Comenius is thus declared in one of his books : " By the same right that one member of a family comes to another for help, ought we to be helpful to our fellow- men. Socrates died rather than not teach goodness, and Seneca says that, if wisdom were to be given him for him- self on]}^ and he not communicate it to others, he would rather not have it." It is curious to note that the ideas of Comenius found fruitful soil in the youthful mind of Milton, to whom the Bohemian philosopher was made known by Samuel Hart- lib, the champion of school reform in England. Milton himself wrote an essay entitled " Of Education," strongly marked with the poet's individuality. He denounces the system of Cambridge and " the many mistakes which have made learning generally so unpleasing and so unsuccess- ful." "The alumni of the universities," he says, "carry away with them a hatred and contempt of learning, and sink into ignorantly zealous clergymen or mercenary law- yers, while the men of fortune betake themselves to feasts and jollity." This is Milton's definition of education : COMENIUS. 159 "I call a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both public and private, of peace and war." And again he breaks out : " Though a linguist should pride himself to have all the tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet if he had not studied the solid things in them, as well as the words and lexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned man as any yeoman competently wise in his mother dialect only." Again Mil- ton says : " I will point you out the right path of a noble and virtuous education, laborious indeed at first ascent, but else so smooth and green and full of goodly prospects and melodious sounds on every side that the harp of Orpheus is not more charming." There must be out-door training. The poet-philoso- pher continues : " In those vernal seasons of the j^ear when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and a suUenness against nature not to go out and see her riches and par- take in her rejoicing with heaven and earth. I should not be a persuader to them of studying much then, after two or three years that they have well laid their grounds, but to ride out in companies to all quarters of the land. I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adver- sary, but sulks out of the race, where that immortal gar- laud is to be run for, not without dust and heat." In 1762 was published the "Emile " of Rousseau, which has had more influence on education than any other book of later times. The burden of Rousseau's message was nature. He revolted against the false civilization he saw around him, the shams of government and society. He laid great stress on the earliest education. The first year of life is in every respect the most important. The naughtiness of children comes from weakness. Make the child strong and he will be good. Children's destructive- 160 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. iiess is a form of activity. Do not insist so much on the duty of obedience as on the necessity of submission to natural laws. The chief moral principle is to do no one harm. One must be taught by the real things of life, by observation and experience. We must first make one a man, and that chiefly by athletic exercise. Educate the child's sight to measure, count, and weigh accurately ; teach him to draw ; tune his ear to time and harmony ; give him simple food, but let him eat as much of it as he desires. Teach some handicraft. Teach history, the machinery of society, the world as it is, and as it might be. Let useless and burdensome knowledge be avoided. Mucli of the heroism of the French revolution was due to these noble ideals flashed forth by Rousseau. Pestalozzl— 1746-1827. Pestalozzi was born at Zurich in 1746. His earliest years were spent in schemes for improving the condition of the people. Afterwards he left politics and devoted himself entirely to education. His masterpiece is "Leonard and Gertrude," where a whole community is gradually reformed by the efforts of a good and devoted woman. The French invasion of Switzerland in 1798 brought forth his truly heroic character and the splendid principles of his philosophy. A number of children were left on the shores of Like Lucerne without parents home, food, or shelter. Pestalozzi collected them into a deserted convent, and formed a school. " I was," he s-ays, " fi-om morning till evening almost alone in their midst. Everything which was done for their body or mind pro- ceeded from my hand. My hand lay in their hand, my eve rested on their eye, my tears flowed with theirs, and mj'- laughter accompanied theirs. They were out of the world with me, and I was with them. Their soup was mine ; their drink wus mine. I had no liousekeeper, no FROEBEL. iQj^ friend, no servants around me ; I had them alone. Were they well I stood in their midst ; were they ill I was at their side. I was the last who went to bed at night, and the first who rose in the morning." Pestalozzi's method was to begin with observation, to pass from observation to consciousness, from conscious- ness to speech. Then came measuring, drawing, writing, numbers and so reckoning. Among his pupils was Froe^ bel. He adopted the principles of Comenius and Rousseau. He has exerted a wide influence upon educational methods. Herbert Spencer has amplified and illustrated his phi- losophy. Froebel.— 1782-1852. Comenius, as already noted, published the first pict- ure-book for children, and here we have the beginning of the beautiful philosopliy of Froebel ; and surely no one has so benefited the human race as this wonderful genius, who. animated by the sublime ideas of Bruno, would ex- press the life of humanity in correspondence with the uni- versal life ; would, by a natural education, unfold the unity of man and of nature. Not only childhood, but manhood and old age, should be a garden to be cultivated, not by external forces, but by that whicli is within; for, as Bruno says, " matter, or nature, is not the mere naked, empty capacity, which philosophers have pictured her to be, but the universal mother who brings forth all things as the fruit of her own womb." This was the animating doctrine of Froebel, as he wandered amidst the Thuringian forest, and from stone and leaf, cobweb and insect, sought the secret of man's intellectual development ; for the same radiant law could be everywhere observed. As Wordsworth says : "And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 162 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FRKETHOUGHT. Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air. And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows, and the woods. And mountains." Froebel rounds out, makes deeper and broader the philosophy of Bacon. Without Froebel the philosophy of Bacon would become as dry and cold as the school metaphysics ; we should be nothing but Gadgrinds, and beauty would vanish. Bacon said educate in order to do. Froebel said do in order to educate. Bacon said train for action. Froebel said train through action. Bacon said "fruits." Frobel would say, " Fruits and flowers." Ba- con was right, but Froebel was more so, as Goethe says of beauty, " It is truth and something more." With Bacon it was simply usefulness. Witli Froebel it was the joy of usefulness ; it was not mere work, but the delight of work. Bacon was a man of the world. Froebel was a mystic, and througli the two — with the inexhaustible energy of Comenius — tliere is given to the world the grandest phi- losophy of education, without which a permanent civiliza- tion is impossible. To develop the man through the child, to recognize the child nature, to behold in the child the man that is to be, and to see in the very sports of child- hood the creative faculties of the larger life, which battles and wins, this was indeed a magnificent discovery, sur- passing, we might say, the discovery of Columbus, for hitherto, as the new world had been separated from the old world, so qliildhood was separated from manhood ; it was a forgotten and faded thing, but Froebel linked the JOHN TYNDALL (p. 53). FROEBEL. 163 glorious poetry of childhood to the stern realities of man- hood. Childhood is not to be forgotten, its sports are not to be despised, its hopes and dreams are not useless. We need to preserve childhood as long as we live, to keep glowing its beautiful impulses, to labor even as our chil- dren play, and so cease from drudgery and attain the greatest wisdom and power. The play impulse, says Schiller, is the divinest impulse of humanity. Says Froebel, it is the creative impulse. How different this from the old theologies — the mere manikin religions of the past — in which the child and the woman had no part. How miserable childhood was under tlie ancient systems, how neglected, how contorted, how repressed ! And the child was supposed to be totally de- pi-aved, and its natural inclinations therefore must be crushed. There was nothing good in it, and therefore it must not be educated, it must be instructed. It must be put in harness. To unfold the child's nature, to lead forth what was within, to teach it to express itself, to bloom like a flower — why, this was all wrong. The child must be made into a Christian, into a theologian, into a saint, into an angel; it must be made abnormal, unnatural, artificial, but it must not be a child, a playful child, a nat- ural human child. St. Paul said, "I put away childish things." Poor Sr. Paul! How much he missed of human life ! No wonder he has cursed the world with a gloomy theology. The wiser and the gentler Jesus said, accord- ing to the record, " Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." To interpret this by Froebel's philosophy is to say that the highest devel- opment of the child's life is necessary to the highest de- velopment of the man's life; that the child must be a child, and act the child, before it can act the man, and the child and the man are to be made harmonious ; and he who has no sympathy with the child's life, Avith its toys and joys, and pleasures and plays, is not the fully and splen- 164 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. didly developed man. He is only half a man. He who keeps his childhood always with him is the one who grows old gracefully, who retains his faculties, and makes the best of them always. To avoid the imbecilities of "second childhood," let the first childhood be perfectly natural, and a delightful influence and presence through- out mature life. Let the "child-garden" bloom peren- nially. Goethe has beautifully pictured the child-growth in the following : " When eagerly a child looks round. In his father's house his shelter is found. His ear, beginning to understand, Imbibes the speech of his native land. Whatever his own experiences are, He hears of other things afar. Example affects him ; he grows strong and steady, Yet finds the world complete and ready. This is prized, and that praised with much ado ; He wishes to be somebody, too. How can he work, and woo, how fight and frown ? For everything has been written down ; Nay, worse, it has appeared in print. The youth is baffled but takes the hint ; It dawns on him, now, more and more. He is what others have been before." " The function of education," says Froebel, " is to de- velop the faculties by arousing voluntary activity.'''' Again he says: " The starting-point of all that appears, of all that exists, and therefore of all intellectual con- ception, is act, action. From the act, from action, must, therefore, start true, human education, the developing ed- ucation of the man ; in action, in acting, it must be rooted, and must spring up. Living, acting, conceiving — these must form a triple chord within every child of man, FROEBBL. 165 though the sound now of this string, now of that, may preponderate, and then again of two together." Froebel affirmed that education should begin with earliest infancy, with birth itself, but, as pointed out by Dr. E. B. Foote and others who have deeply studied into the laws of heredity, it begins even before birth. The child is educated in the mother's womb. Through the mother's eyes and heart, and healthful body, surrounded with beautiful and noble objects, sweet influences can come to the softly-beating life. Victor Hugo wittily says : " If you want to reform a man, you must begin with his grandmother." Goethe expresses it : " Stature from father and the mood, Stern views of life compelling ; From mother I take the joyous heart, And the love of story-telling. Grandfather's passion was for the fair ; What if I still reveal it ? Grandmother's, pomp and gold and show. And in my bones I feel it." And Whitman says : " There was a child went forth every day. And the first object he looked upon, that object he became ; And that object became part of him for the day or a part of the day, Or for many years, or stretching cycles of years, The early lilacs became part of the child. The family usages, the language, the furniture, the yearning and swelling heart, Affection that will not be gainsayed, the sense of what is real, the thought that if, after all, it should prove unreal, 166 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREErilOUGHT. The doubts of day-time, the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and how, Whether thai which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks ? Men and women crowding fast in the streets — if they are not flashes and specks, what are they ? The horizon's edge, the flying sea crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud, These became part of that child who went forth every day and who now goes and will always go forth every day." This was the direction of Froebel's work. The unity of man with nature is also the unity of man with man, past and present, and so one generation educates that which comes after it,, and this education must become a science. It must not be haphazard and incidental, left to chance, but philosophic and continuous, wisely directed, and uni- versally applied. Froebel devoted himself to the instruction of mothers, and certainly there must be education in motherhood. To o-ive birth to a child is the greatest act of a human being. Maternity is the crown of humanity. To be a mother is to be a queen indeed. To ennoble the mother is to ennoble the child. The birth of every child should be a royal event, and wise men must bring gifts to the helpless king of the world's expanding future. Make the mother's life beautiful and a beautiful child will be born. And Froebel says : " If the infant is what he should be as an infant, and the child as a child, he will be what he should be as a boy and as a man, just as naturally as new shoots spring from the healthy plant. Every stage must be cared for and tended in such a way that it attains its own perfection. "Give children employmen,t in agreement with their COMBE. IQJ whole nature, to strengthen their bodies, to exercise their senses, to engage their awakening mind, and through their senses to bring them acquainted with nature and their fellow beings. Especially guide aright the heart and the affections, and Jead them to the original ground of all life, to unity with themselves." Combe.— 1788-1858. Combe has exerted quite a remarkable influence in educational theories and practice, especially by means of his great work, " The Constitution of Man in Relation to External Objects." In a fragment of his autobiography, written a short time before his death, he complains of the irksomeness of the Sunday observances and tasks imposed on his father's household. They rendered the church, Sunday, and cate- chism sources of weariness and terror to him. His mind became largely occupied with the current theological theories, and in time with eloubts of their truth. Proceed- ing to investigate phrenology, after two years of study and investigation he became satisfied that the fundamental principles were true, namely, " that the brain is the organ of the mind ; that the brain is an aggregate of several parts, each subserving a distinct mental faculty ; and that the size of the cerebral organ is, other things being equal, an index of power or energy of function." His essays gave an extraordinary impulse to the new science. The principles announced in "Tlie Constitution of Man " were like those of Comenius and Froebel, namely, that all the laws of nature are in harmony with one another, and that man will attain the greatest happiness by dis- covering and obeying them. He believed that this sup- plied a philosophical basis to religion. When, however, the book was published (1828) he was charged by the church party with being a Materialist and Atheist. He gave time, labor and money to help educate the people. 168 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. He established the first infant school in Edinburgh, and originated a series of evening lectures on chemistry, physiology, history, and moral philosophy, the lectures on the latter subject being given by himself. He studied the criminal classes and the problem how to reform as well as to punish them ; and he strove to introduce into lunatic asylums a humane system of treatment. No less that five hundred thousand copies of " The Constitution of Man " have been sold. It has been trans- lated into several languages. As an exponent of the universality of law, and the fallacies of " special provi- dence " and " the efficacy of prayer," it is a most excellent and stimulating book. His ideas of education are thor- oughly in harmony with those of Herbert Spencer, with a different method of illustration, and scientific results. The harmony of man with nature, and the art of man through nature, is the meaning of his message, as of all great educators since Bacon. Shakspere expresses it : " Nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean ; so o'er that art Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes." Herbert Spencer.— 1820-1893. After Froebel no man has exerted a vaster influence in the domain of education than Herbert Spencer. Ranked as the greatest of philosophers, he is certainly one of the noblest teachers of humanity. A braver searcher after truth never lived. A better equipped writer there is not in the English language. As an organizer of human knowledge perhaps there is not his equal. His classifica- tion of facts, especially in " Descriptive Sociology," is one of the greatest contributions to human science, and to education. Sylvan Drey has clearly stated the relation of religion THOMAS H. HUXLEY (p. 173). HERBERT SPENCER. 169 to morality from the Spenceriau point of view. He says : '• From Spencer's point of view, it is obvious that religion and morality are quite distinct in their nature and purpose. Religion aims at keeping alive sentiments of awe and reverence for that incomprehensible power which every- where manifests itself through the working of the universe. Morality, on the other hand, has solely to do with the conduct of men. It has for its object to determine what courses of action are most conducive to personal and social well being. Goodness derives its inestimable value from its intrinsic worth. Not for the purpose of gaining the good will of the unknown cause of things, not for the purpose of being rewarded in a possible life to come, but because the welfare of all is dependent upon the moral behavior of each. We know nothing indicative of any relation between morality and the inscrutable source of things. Wiiether wickedness can, in any way, affect the higher power, or whether we are punished after death for sins committed in this life, are questions about which we are superlatively ignorant ; but we are absolutely sure that wrong doing causes sorrow and pain in this world, and that the wrong-doer himself often suffers untold pangs on account of his transgressions." Spencer himself says : " I am not concerned to show what effect religious sentiment as hereafter thus modified will have as a moral agent." Discarding, therefore, the doctrine of the "Unknow- able," and the '" Ghost of a Religion," for which Mr. Spen- cer has received so many encomiums from the Christian world — small favors thankfully received — when once the theolcuians would have burned him, we take up the truly valuable work of this great philosopher, working along tlie line of Bacon, Comenius, Milton, Pestalozzi, ;ind Froe- bel. " In this regard two worlds combine to honor tiie name of Herbert Spencer, because they find in his works a really unequaled grasp in the coordination of ideas, a 170 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. positive method which rarely stumbles, a vast fertility of illustration, and a supreme gift for perceiving the harmo- nies between nature and society. He has given this age a mass of philosophic suggestion," says Frederic Harrison. In grappling with the great problem of the future edu- cation of humanity, Mr. Spencer says : " How to live ? that is the essential question for us. Not how to live in the mere material sense only, but in the widest sense. The general problem which compre- hends every special problem is the right ruling of con- duct in all directions under all circumstances. In what way to treat the body ; in what way to treat the mind ; in what way to manage our affairs ; in what way to bring up a family ; in what way to behave as a citizen ; in what way to utilize all those sources of happiness which nature supplies — how to use all our faculties to the greatest ad- vantage of ourselves and others — how to live completely? And this being the great, needful thing for us to learn, is, by consequence, the great tlnng which education has to teach. To prepare us for complete living is the func- tion which education has to discharge ; and the only ra- tional motle to judge of any educational course is to judge in what degree it discliarges such function. " Before there can be a rational curriculum, we must settle which things it most concerns us to know ; or, to use a word of Bacon's, we must determine the relative values of 'knowledges.' " Had we time to master all subjects, we need not be particular. To quote the old song : ' Could a man be secure That his days would endure, As of old, a thousand years, What things might he know. What deeds might he do, And all without hurry or care.' HERBERT SPENCER. 171 But we that have but span-long lives, must ever bear in mind our limited time for acquisition." It is plain to any wise man that, in the selection of knowledge, we must take it in the order of usefulness. We must learn, first, self-preservation ; secondly, the means of living ; thirdly, the duties of parentage ; fourthly, the duties of citizenship, and, lastly, means for the gratifica- tion of the tastes and feelings. This is the order which, according to Spencer, should constitute the new education of the race, and fit it for complete life. " Not exhaustive cultivation in any one," says Spencer, "but attention to all, greatest where the value is greatest, less where the value is less, and least where the value is least. "And here we see distinctly the vice of our educational system. It neglects the plant for the sake of the flower. In anxiety for elegance, it forgets substance. While it gives no knowledge conducive to self-preservation ; while of knowledge that facilitates gaining a livelihood, it gives but the rudiments, and leaves the greater part to be picked up any how in after life ; while, for the discharge of parental functions, it makes not the slightest provision, and while, for the duties of citizenship, it prepares by imparting a mass of facts, most of which are irrelevant, and the rest without a key; it is diligent in everything that adds to refinement, polish, eclaV What a drudgery the attainment of knowledge was in the old orthodox ways ! The child had no choice. It must take what was given it — good, bad, and indifferent — and stumble along the best way he could. There was an iron system to which every one must submit. There was no recognition of the nature of the learner. The more the scholar disliked his task, the better it was supposed to be for him. The pursuit of knowledge was indeed a thorny path. New and wiser ideas now prevail " Of all the changes taking place," saj's Spencer, " the most significant is the 172 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. growing desire to make the acquirement of knowledge pleasurable, rather than painful, a desire based on the more or less distinct perception that, at each age, the in- tellectual action, which a child likes, is a healthful one for it ; and conversel}'. There is a spreading opinion that the rise of an appetite for an}' kind of knowledge implies that the unfolding mind has become fit to assimilate it, and needs it for the purpose of growth ; and that, on the other hand, the disgust felt toward any kind of knowledge is a sign either that it is prematurely presented, or that it is presented in an indigestible form. Hence the efforts to make early education amusing, and all education interest- ing. Hence the lectures on the value of play. Asceti- cism is disappearing out of education as out of life ; and the usual test of political education, its tendency to pro- mote happiness, is beginning to be, in a great degree, the test of legislation for the school and nursery." '"Self-development should be encouraged to the fullest extent. Children should be led to make their own in- vestigations, and draw their own inferences. They should be told as little as possible, and induced to discover as much as possible. Who, indeed, can watch the ceaseless observation, and inquiry, and inference going on in a child's mind, or listen to its acute remarks on matters within the range of its faculties, without perceiving that these powers which it manifests, if brought to bear syste- matically upon any studies within the same range, would readily master them without help? The need of per- petual telling is the result of our stupidity, not the child's. We drag it away from facts in which it is interested ; and we put before it facts far too complex for it to understand. We thrust them into its mind by threats and punishment, cramming it with knowledge and producing a morbid sbate of its faculties. Whoever sees this will see that we may safely follow the method of nature throughout and make HUXLEY ON EDUCATlOls. I73 the mind always self-developing ; and that only by doino- this can we produce the highest power and activity." In "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," Walter Besant has pictured the beautiful ideal world which will bloom amidst the fields of labor itself when Froebel and Spen- cer's noble system of education shall prevail, a system which recognizes the worth of joy as a vast and radiant element of human progress. Says the novelist-philosopher : " Life is full, overflowing with all kinds of delights. It is a mistake to suppose only rich people can enjoy these things. They may buy them, but everybod}^ may create them; they cost nothing. You shall learn music, and forthwith all the world shall be transformed for you. You shall learn to paint, to carve, to model, to design, and the day shall be too short to contain the happiness 3'ou will get out of it. You shall learn to dance and know the rap- ture of the waltz. You shall learn the greater art of act- ing, and give each other the pleasure which rich men buy. You sliall even learn the great art of writing, and learn the magic of a charmed phrase. All these things which make the life of rich people happy shall be yours; and they sliall cost you nothing. What the heart of man can desire shall be yours, awf? /or nothing. I will give you a house to shelter you, and rooms in which to play ; you have only to find the rest. Enter in, my friends; forget the squulid past ; here are great halls and lovely corridors — they are yours. Fill them Avith sweet echoes of drop- ping music ; let the walls be covered with your works of art ; let the girls laugh and the boys be happy within these walls. I give you the shell ; fill it with the spirit of content and happiness." Huxley on Education. " Education is the greatest work of all those which lie ready to a man's hand just at present. 174 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. " Suppose it were perfectly certain that the life and fortune of everyone of us would, one day or other, depend upon his winning or losing a game at chess ? Do you not think that we should all consider it to be a primary duty to learn at least the names and the moves of the pieces — to have a notion of a gambit and a keen eye for all the means of giving and getting out of check ? Do you not think that we should look with a disapprobation amount- ing to scorn upon the father who allowed his son, or the state which allowed its members, to grow up without knowing a pawn from a knight ? " Yet it is a very plain and elementary truth that the life, the fortune, and the happiness of everyone of us, and, more or less, of those who are connected with us, do depend upon our knowing something of the rules of a game infinitely more difficult and complicated than chess. It is a game which has been played for untold ages, every man and woman of us being one of the two players in a game of his or her own. The chess-board is the world, the pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the rules of the game are what we call the laws of Nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is always fair, just, and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance. To the man who plays well, the highest stakes are paid, with that sort of over- flowing generosity with which the strong shows delight in strength. And one who plays ill is checkmated — without haste, but without remorse. My metaphor will remind some of you of the famous picture in which Retzsch has depicted Satan playing at chess with man for his soul. Substitute for the mocking fiend in that picture, a calm, strong angel who is playing for love, as we say, and would rather lose than win — and I should accept it as an image of human life. " Well, what I mean by education is learning the rules HERBERT SPENCER (p. 130). HUXLEY ON EDUCATION. 175 of this mighty game. In other words, education is the instruction of the intellect in the laws of nature, under which name I include not merely things and their forces, but men and their ways ; and the fashioning of the affections and of the will into an earnest and loving desire to move in harmony with those laws. For me, education means neither more nor less than this. Anything which professes to call itself education must be tried by this standard, and if it fails to stand the test, I will not call it education, whatever may be the force of authority or of numbers upon the other side. " That man, I think, has had a liberal education, who has been so trained in youth that his body is the ready servant of his will, and does with ease and pleasure all the work that, as a mechanism, it is capable of ; whose intellect is a clear, cold, logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength, and in smooth working order ; ready, like a steam-engine, to be turned to any kind of work, and spin the gossamers as well as forge the anchors of the mind ; whose mind is stored with a knowledge of the great and fundamental truths of nature and of the laws of her operations ; one who, no stunted ascetic, is full of life and fire, but whose passions are trained to come to heel by a vigorous will, the servant of a tender conscience ; who has learned to love all beauty, whether of nature or of art, to hate all vileness, and to respect others as himself." '' In an ideal university, as I conceive it, a man should be able to obtain instruction in all forms of knowledge, and discipline in the use of all the methods by which knowledge is obtained. In such a university, the force of living example should fire the student witli a noble ambition to emulate the learning of learned men, and to follow in the footsteps of the explorers of new fields of knowledge. And the very air he breathes should be charged with that enthusiasm for truth, that fanaticism of veracity, which is a greater possession than much learning ; 176 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. a nobler gift than the power of increasing knowledge ; by so much greater and nobler than these, as the moral nature of man is greater than the intellectual ; for veracity is the heart of morality. " But the man who is all morality and intellect^ although he may be good and even great, is, after all, only half a man. There is beauty in the moral world and in the intellectual world ; but there is also a beauty which is neither moral or intellectual — the beauty of the world of art. There are men who are devoid of the power of seeing it, as there are men who are born deaf and blind, and the loss of those, as of these, is simply infinite. There are others in whom it is an overpowering passion ; happy men, born with the productive, or at lowest, the apprecia- tive, genius of the artist. But in the mass of mankind, the esthetic faculty, like the reasoning power and the moral sense, needs to be roused, directed, and cultivated ; and I know not why the development of that side of his nature, through which man has access to a perennial spring of ennobling pleasure, should be omitted from any comprehensive scheme of university education. " I am ashamed to repeat here what I have said else- where, in season and out of season, respecting the value of science as knowledge and discipline. But the other day I met with some passages in the address to another Scottish university, of a great thinker, recently lost to us, which express so fully, and yet so tersely, the truth in this matter, that I am fain to quote them : " ' To question all things ; never to turn away from any difficulty ; to accept no doctrine either from ourselves or from other people without a rigid scrutiny by negative criticism ; letting no fallacy, or incoherence, or confusion of thought step by unperceived ; above all, to insist upon having the meaning of a word clearly understood before using it, and the meaning of a proposition before assent- HUXLEY ON EDUCATION. 177 ing to it ; these are the lessons we learn from workers in science. " ' With all this vigorous management of the negative element, they inspire no skepticism about the reality of truth or indifference to its pursuit. The noblest enthu- siasm, both for the search after truth and for applying it to its highest uses, pervades those writers. " ' In cultivating, therefore, science as an essential in- ingredient in education, we are all the while laying an admirable foundation for ethical and philosophical cul- ture.' The passages I have quoted were uttered by John Stuart Mill." " Institutions do not make men, any more than organ- ization makes life; and even the ideal university we have been dreaming about will be but a superior piece of mechanism, unless each student strive after the ideal of the scholar. And that ideal, it seems to me, has never been better embodied than by the great poet, who, though lapped in luxury, the favorite of a court, and the idol of his countrymen, remained through all the length of his honored years a scholar in art, in science, and in life : " ' Would'st shape a noble life ? Then cast No backward glances toward the past : And though somewhat be lost and gone. Yet do thou act as one new-born. What each day needs, that shalt thou ask j Each day will set its proper task. Give others' work just share of praise ; Not of thine own the merits raise. Beware no fellow man thou hate : And so in God's hands leave thy fate.' " Goethe's idea of God was thus expressed in his own words : 178 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETIIOUGHT. " What were a God, who sat outside to scan, The spheres that 'ueath his finger circling ran ? God dwells in all, and moves the world, and moulds ; Himself and nature in one form enfolds." George Jacob Holyoake. — 1817. George Jacob Holyoake, more distinctively than any one else, has gathered into Freethought principles the philosophy of modern education announced from Bacon to Spencer, that is, an education for life, for practical pur- poses, for fruit, for the good of man's estate. Mr. Hol- yoake has been an able, industrious, and devoted exponent of Secularism. In Secularism is found the educational science of Freethought. Freethought is a method of find- ing out the truth. Secularism is a metliod of applying the truth. It is Freethought made purposeful in lines of human action. Secularism abandons theology and every- thing above and beyond man as sources of moral motives- In man and his surroundings exist these motives. Morality is natural, and not supernatural. It needs no God, no heaven and no hell. It needs no church, no Bible, and no priest. It needs simply that man shall know himself and his environments. Mr. Holyouke originated the name Secularism, and he thus defines it in his admirable work, "The Trial of Theism : " " Secularism is a recognition of causation in nature, in science, in mind, morals, and manners. In electing its own sphere, however, it will combat without contemning others. It may also omit much that it respects, as well as that which it rejects — but to omit is not to ignore. The solution of the problem of union can only be effected by narrowing the ground of profession, and widening that of action — it requires to collect sympathies without dictating modes of manifestation. GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE. I79 "Secularism teaches tlie good of this life to be a ligbt- ful object of primary pursuit, inculcates tlie practical sufficiency of natural morality apart from Atheism, Theism^ or the Bible, and selects as its method of procedure tli& promotion of human improvement by material means. "Secularism liolds that the Protestant right of private judgment includes the moral innocency of that judgment, whether for or against received opinion ; provided it be conscientiously arrived at — that the honest conclusion i» without guilt — that, though all sincere opinion is nob equally true, nor equally useful, it is yet equally- witliout sin — that it is not sameness of belief but sincerity of belief which justifies conduct, whether regard be had to the esteem of men or the approval of God. " With respect to the service of humanity, deliverauce from sorrow or injustice is before consolation — lomg well is doing higher than meaning well — work is worship to those who accept Theism, and duty to those who do not. "As security that the principles of Nature and th& habit of Reason may prevail, Secularism uses itself and maintains for others these rights of reason. The Free Search for Truth, without which it is impossible. The Free Utterance of the result, without whicli the increase of Truth is limited. The Free Criticism of alleged Truth, without which conscience will be impotent on practice. "A Secularist sees clearly upon what he relies as a, Secularist. To him the teaching of Nature is as clear as the teaching of the Bible, and since, if God exists. Nature is certainly his work, while it is not so clear that the Bible is — the teaching of Nature will be preferred and followed where the teaching of the Bible appears to conflict with it. " All pursuit of good objects with pure intent is relig- iousness in the best sense in which this term appears to be used. The distinctive peculiarity of the Secularist is- that he seeks that good which is dictated by Nature, which is attainable by material means, and which is of imme- 180 FOUR HITNDRl'JD YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. diate service to humanity, a religiousness to which the idea of God is not essential, nor the denial of the idea necessary. " Going to a distant town to mitigate some calamity there will illustrate the principle of action prescribed bv Secularism. One man will go on this errand from pure sympathy with the unfortunate; this is goodness. Another goes because his priest bids him ; this is obedi- ence. Another goes because the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew tells him that all such persons will pass to the right hand of the Father ; this is calculation. Another goes because he believes God commands him ; this is piety. Another goes because he perceives that the neg- lect of suffering will not answer ; this is utilitarianism. But another goes on the errand of mercy, because it is an errand of mercy, because it is an immediate service to humanity ; and he goes with a view to attempt material amelioration rather than spiritual consolation ; this is Secularism, which teaches that goodness is sanctity, that Nature is guidance, that reason is autliority, that service is duty, tliat Materialism is lielp. " Speaking mainly on the part of S;^calarists, it is sufficient to observe — Man does not live by egotisms, hopes, and comforts, but rather by self-renunciation, by service and endurance. It is asked, will Secularism meet all the wants of human nature? To this we reply, every system meets the wants of those who believe it. else it would never exist. We desire to know and not to hope. We have no wants, and wish to have none, which tiuth will not satisfy. We would realize this life — we would also deserve another — but without the seltishness which craves it — or the presumption which expects it — or the discontent which demands it." Mr. Charles Watts, who adopts the principles of Secu- larism as expounded by Holyoake, thus defines its moralit}' : y- ————- ,0 \ ; '^^^ C'S^^I^J-X* iBs' LUDWIG BUCHNER (p. 450). GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE. Igl " Secular morality is based upon the principle that happiness is the chief end and aim of mankind. And although there are, doubtless, persons who would warml}' dispute this fundamental principle, it is very question- able whether their objection is not more verbal than any- thing else. That all men desire happiness is certain. The doctrine enunciated m the well-known line of Pope is frequently quoted, and generally with approval : ' O happiness ! our being's end and aim.' " When we meet with persons who profess to despise this aspiration, it will be generally found that it is only some popular conception of happiness of which they are careless, while they really pursue a happiness of their own, in their own way, with no less ardor than other people. A definition of happiness itself is not easy to give. Each person would, were he asked to define it, in all probability furnish a somewhat different explanation; but the true meaning of all would be very much the same. To refer again to Pope, what truth there is in the follow- ing couplet ! — ' Who can define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness ?' " With one it is the culture of the intellect ; with another, the exercise of the emotions ; with a third, the practice of deeds of philanthropy and charity ; and with yet another — we regret to say — the gratification of the lower propensities. In each case it is the following of the pursuit which most accords with the disposition of the individual. And wherever this course does not interfere with the happiness of others, and is not more than counterbalanced by any results that may arise from it afterwards, it is not only legitimate, but moral. Broadly, then, Secular efforts for the attainment of happiness may be said to consist in endeavoring to perform those actions 182 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. which entail no ill effects upon general society, and leave no injurious effects upon the actors. Such conduct as is here intimated involves the practice of truth, self-dis- cipline, fidelity to conviction, and the avoidance of know- ingly acting unjustly to others." Secularism adopts Utilitarianism as the foundation of morals, and is thus defined by John Stuart Mill : " The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals utility, or the greatest happiness principle, holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness ; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure and the absence of pain ; by unhappiuess, pain and the privation of pleasure. To give a clear view of the moral standard set up by this theory, much more requires to be said ; in particular, what things it includes in the ideas of pain and pleasure ; and to what extent this is left an open question. But these supplementary explanations do not affect the theory of life upon which this theory of morality is grounded — namely, that pleasure and freedom from pain are the only things desirable as ends, and that all desirable things (which are as numerous in the Utilitarian as in any other scheme) are desirable either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as a means to the promotion of pleasure and the prevention of pain." Mr. Mill points out — and herein he differs from Ben- tham — that not only must the quantity of the pleasure of happiness be taken into consideration, but the quality like- wise. He remarks : " It would be absurd that while, in estimating all other things, quality is considered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasure should be disposed to depend on quantity alone." Ingersoll also thus defines Secularism : " Secularism has no mysteries, no mummeries, no priests, no ceremonies, no falsehoods, no miracles, and no persecutions. GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE. 183 " It is a protest against theological oppression, against theological tyranny, against being the serf, subject, or slave of any phantom, or the priest of any phantom. It is a protest against wasting this life for the sake of one we know not of. It proposes to let the gods take care of themselves. " It means the destruction of the business of those who trade in fear. It proposes to give serenity and con- tent to the human soul. It will put out the tires of eternal pain. It is striving to do away with violence and vice, with ignorance, poverty, and disease. It lives for the ever-present to-day and the ever-coming tomorrow. It does not believe in praying and receiving but in earning and deserving. It regards work as worship, labor as prayer, and wisdom as the savior of mankind." It is for this wise, attainable morality — through which only is there any real advancement for man — whether sought consciously or unconsciously — for many of the old- time saints were, at heart, Secularists, in spite of their theology — it is for this that Mr. Holyoake has labored in a busy and widely influential career. He was born at Birmingham in 1817; he worked for thirteen years in an iron foundry in that town with his father, and the impressions he there received of the petty tyranny of masters, and the apathy and helplessness of workmen, played no small part in shaping his career. On reaching manhood he abandoned the evangelical views, under which he had been brought up, for the theories of Bobert Owen, and thereafter devoted himself to Secular- ism and industrial cooperation. He was imprisoned for six months in Gloucester jail as an "Atheist." His straightforward conduct on this occasion gave a stimulus to the free expression of honest conviction. After his re- lease he came to London. His publishing office on Fleet street was a meeting-place for advanced thinkers and Lib- eral politicians. As editor of the Reasoner he did much 184 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. to promote freedom and open mindedness, and toleration of all opinions. He was a personal friend of Mazzini and Garibaldi. He gave his ardent support to the Italian struggle ; he took a warm interest in the exiled Hungarian patriots, and the republicans who were driven from France on the establisliment of the Third Empire. Kobert G. Ingeisoll has given the following tribute to Holyoake : " There is not in this world a nobler, braver man. In England he has done as much for the great cause of intel- lectual liberty as any other man of this generation. He has done as much for the poor, for the children of toil, for the homeless and wretched, as any other living man. He has attacked all abuses, all tyranny, and all forms of hypocrisy. His weapons have been reason, logic, facts, kindness, and, above all, example. He has lived his creed. He has won the admiration and respect of his bitterest antagonists. He lias the simplicity of childhood, the en- thusiasm of youth, and the wisdom of age. He is not abusive, but he is clear and conclusive. He is intense without violence — firm without anger. He has the strength of perfect kindness. He does not hate — be pities. He does not attack men and women, but dogmas and creeds. And he does not attack them to get the bet- ter of people, but to enable people to get the better of them. He gives the light he has. He shares his intel- lectual wealth with the orthodox poor. He assists without insulting, guides without arrogance, and enlightens with- out outrage. Besides, he is eminent for the exercise of plain common sense. He knows that there are wrongs besides those born of superstition — that people are not necessarily happy because they have renounced the Thirty- nine Articles — and that the priest is not the only enemy of mankind. " He has for forty years been preaching and practicing industry, economy, self-reliance, and kiminess. He has GEORGE JACOB HOLYOAKE. 185 done all within his power to give the working man a better home, better food, better wages, and better opportunities for the education of his children. He has demonstrated the success of cooperation — of intelligent combination for the common good. As a rule, his methods have been per- fectly legal. In some instances he has knowingly violated the law, and did so with the intention to take the conse- quences. He would neither ask nor accept a pardon, be- cause to receive a pardon carries with it the implied promise to keep the law, and an admission that you were in the wrong. He would not agree to desist from doing what he believed ought to be done, neither would he stain his past to brighten his future, nor imprison his soul to free his body. He has that happy mingling of gentleness and firmness found only in the highest type of moral heroes. He is an absolutely just man, and will never do an act that he would condemn in another. He admits that the most bigoted churchman has a perfect right to express his opinions not only, but that he must be met with argument couched in kind and candid terms. Mr. Holyoake is not only the enemy of a theological hierarchy, but he is also opposed to mental mobs. He will not use the bludgeon of epithet. •■' Whoever is opposed to mental bondage, to the shackles wrought by cruelty and worn by fear, should be the friend of this heroic and unselfish man." Industrial emancipation and industrial cooperation are necessary to the complete education of the race ; and therefore it was but logical as the advocate of Secularism and Utilitarianism that Mr. Holyoake should devote him- self to the welfare of the working people, for in their happiness and improvement lies the true glory of the world's progress. From Robert Owen, Holyoake learned the doctrine that men are what they are by virtue of their surroundings, and that the improvement of these is the only possible 186 FOUR HUNDRED YKARS OF FHKETllOUGHT. means of raising the individual. In one important point he differs from his predecessor. Mr. Holyoake is no believer in paternal government. He holds that the true method of bettering the condition of the working man is to put him in the way of helping himself. This idea lies at the root of Mr. Holjoake's scheme of cooperation, in which both production and distribution are carried on in self-supporting, industrial cities, where mutual help and joint responsibility take the place of rivalry and competi- tion. Robert Owen— 1771-1858. And this brings us to the educational and ethical value of Robert Owen's noteworthy reform, for education, as Comeuius pointed out, must not be aristocratic, but demo- cratic, and must not be an education from work, but in work. Modern education recognizes the value of work — that the true man or woman is a worker, and must be a worker. The gospel of doing something, so brilliantly proclaimed by Carlyle, is the gospel of education. Work is not a curse, but a means of growth and happiness. Everybody must be a worker in some way, and in work he and she must find the real delight of life — the noblest development — the most splendid faculties. The paradise of the future is not the paradise of priest or king, but the paradise of working people, where labor is not drudgery, but poetry, art, and romance. This is the golden, beautiful future of humanity, when the harvests shine for everyone, when every fireside shall gleam with loveliness, and on every table shall glow the fruits of toil. In industry itself is to be the sublimest education of the race. Through the hand itself, trained and supple, the brain shall attain its most magnificent ardors. Not the brain alone, as hitherto — the intellect flashing over solitary wastes — but the intellect and the brawny muscle cooperating, blending, giving and taking, JAMES LICK (p. 762). ROBERT OWEN. 187 and so building, creating, adorning, removing both palace and hut, and flowering forth a home for all. Toward this happy consummation, who has labored more splendidly, more generously, than Robert Owen, an extraordinary man, not to be forgotten, for if he failed, he failed like a glorious star that illuminates the night ; he failed like a brimming fountain that sinks into the sand, but makes the flowers to grow thereafter, anil the fruits to glisten. We will hold this man in memory, for, with a noble recklessness, he labored for others and not himself. He presided over four tliousand operatives in his em- ploy with patriarchal care and benevolence. He built schools and dwellings. His management of the mill and farm, the school and the ball-room of his successive es- tablishments in Scotland, England, and America, display his rare economic and administrative faculties. The Lanark mills were set up in 1784 by Arkwright, when Owen was a bo}-. Ten years after he became the manager of them, and while all the world w^as expecting his ruin from new-fangled schemes, he bought out liis partner for eighty-four thousand pounds. During tlie next four years he realized one hundred anil fifty tliousand pounds. In spite of his notorious Inlhlelity, statesmen, prelates, and clerg3'men. Dissenters and bigots, came to inspect his schools. Territories were freely ofi'ered him in various parts of the world in which to try his scheme on a large scale. He was brought into terms of intimacv with all the European celebrities of his time. In 1823 he came to the United States, where he pur- chased a large tract of land in Intliana on the banks of the Wabash, and founded a community called bv him New Harmony, where he carried the cooperative theory into effect. On the Fourth of July, 1826, he delivered his cele- brated Declaration of Independence : "I now declare to you, and to the world, that mm, up 188 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. to this hour, has been, in all parts of the earth, a slave to a trinity of the most monstrous evils that could be com- bined to inflict mental and physical evil upon his whole race. I refer to private, or individual, property, absurd and irrational systems of religion, and marriage founded on individual property, combined with some of these irra- tional systems of religion." Mr. Holyoake thus pathetically describes his last hours. He wanted to go to his native place ; he said : " I will lay my bones whence I derived them. " When he came to the border-line, which separates England from Wales, he knew it again. It was more than seventy years since he had passed over it. He raised him- self up in his carriage and gave a cheer. He was in his own native land once more. It was the last cheer the old man ever gave. With brightened eyes the aged wanderer looked around. The old mountains stood there in their ancient grandeur. The grand old trees, under whose shadow he passed his youth, waved their branches in welcome. What scenes the wanderer had passed through since last he gazed upon them ! Manufacturing days, crowning success, philanthropic experiments, continental travel, interviews with kings, Mississippi valleys, Indiana forests, journeys, labors, agitations, honors, calumnies, hope and toil — never resting ; what a world, what an age, had intervened since last he passed his native border ! " It was about seven in the morning, as his son held his hand, and a friend stood near him, that he said, ' Relief has come — I am easy and comfortable,' and he passed away. Death, which commonly beautifies the features, reprinted his perennial smile upon his face. His lips appeared as though parting to speak, and he slept the sleep of death like one whose life had been a victory." Haeckel. — 1834. The first impression might be that Haeckel should be ranked in the world of science, rather than in that of HAECKEL. 139 education and ethics, but Haeckel is preeminently a teacher of humanity, and his vast scientific equipments and brilliant discoveries only fit him to be a nobler teacher. Darwin is a purely scientific man. He discovers with- out any regard to consequences. There is no purpose in his work except simply to reach the truth. Truth — good or bad — that is the supreme spirit of science. And surely there can be nothing greater than this. It is the noblest kind of moral action, although there is no kind of con- scious moral purpose in it. To make truth subservient to morality is the most rotten kind of immorality. To refuse to accept any truth, or any evidence of a truth on account of some supposed immoral tendency, is simply treason to the truth, and treason to humanity. Had Darwin looked to moral consequences and been guided by that, he cer- tainly never would have made the magnificent and epoch- creating discoveries that he did. What a shock it was to the moral sensibilities of the civilized man to be told that he descended from an ape ! What an awfully degrading and immoral idea ! But the only question with Darwin was : Is it true ? and lie did not try to shirk the ape in favor of morality. He accepted the ape, whatever the consequences. It needed just such a man as Darwin to make the doctrine of evolution what it is. It needed a man to whom truth was all in all ; who allowed no ethical impulse what- soever to deter or sway him ; who did not ask : What good will this do ? but, What is the evidence of its reality? Darwin was terribh^ in earnest. He moved, we might say, with the massive coldness of an iceberg, to his conclusions. Gentle and brave and beautiful in his character, his brain was as stern as a rock, set to the truth and nothing but the truth, even if morality was over- thrown. What a martyrdom that was for the truth's sake when the divine and golden dreams of humanity, the 190 FOUR IirxilRKD YKARS OF FREETHOUGHT. source of poetry and romance, must be swept awav for- ever ! Darwin could have been no other than he was, had he not, like nature and Shakspere, been thoroughly im- partial as to morality, simply ignoring morality, for, as the great poet sought only life in every form with no ethical desire, so the naturalist sought only to find the truth, even if that truth destroyed the noblest aspirations of mankind. He who seeks for truth in morality, rather than for morality in truth, is a traitor to science. Morality cannot be greater than the truth. It must be evermore bound by the truth, and have no other basis but the truth. Darwin, therefore, is deserving of the supremest laurels, in that he sought for the truth with unflinching allegiance. It is after the truth is actually discovered that the ethical purpose comes in, and in this lies the grandeur of Haeckel's work. Accepting the truth as demonstrated by Darwin and modern science, he stands by it without reserve, and asserts that because it is the truth it is of moral value to mankind. Haeckel would tell the truth and shame the devil of orthodoxy, even if it was clothed in tlie garb of heaven. That was a noble combat, when Virchow flung down the gauntlet, and would have false- hood taught in our schools rather than science, because the falsehood was popular and supposed to be moral, while science was shaking the foundations of virtue. With what splendid courage Haeckel accepted the issue and said to the cowardly Virchow : Teach the truth, teach, science, teach that man did come from the ape, for there is no doubt that he did so originate, as Darwin declares ! Haeckel accepts the facts without prevarication, and asserts that facts and not fictions contain the true moral impulse. If we did descend from the ape, that makes us no worse, nor diminishes the value of life, or the splendor of virtue, or the glory of heroism. Haeckel thus brings evolution into the domain of education and ethics, where, HAECKEL. 191 entirely abolishing the old theology and teleology, it will give to man a greater moral power than ever. Haeckel makes it a religion. The word itself may not be accept- able, but all that is meant in that word by Haeckel, and Wakeman, and Cams is acceptable ; but the word itself is so saturated Avitli ancient superstitions and falsehoods that it is best to reject it in behalf of morality. All that the word " re'ligion " can mean at the best is morality or right conduct, and why not use the Avords that to the com- mon mind make no confusion of thought. The religion of humanity, as defined by Plarrison, is simply morality fused with social devotion and enlightened by sound philosophy. That is right ; but why call it religion when this word has been used and is used to-day by millions of the human race to denote something entirely different? What is the need of this word ? Matthew Arnold says that morality, touched by emotion, is religion. But why label this religion? Why not use the words " moralit}' touched by emotion," which all can understand, and not befog it with a word as to whose origin and meaning there is no agree- ment even among philosophers and scholars ? To get at the real meaning of Haeckel's religion of Monism, which is indeed a most noble and splendid conception, let us simply look at morality in its threefold motive and ex- pression. There is, first of all, plain, simple morality, individual moralit}^ which is cool judgment and conduct, followed simply because it is the best, because it is common sense, and makes happiness to ourselves and others. This cer- tainly is the gist of all right conduct, which fundamentally must be a judgment, and not an emotion, a matter of reason, and not a matter of sentiment. A large part of human conduct is of this sort. There is no emotion about it. It is simply reasonable conduct, as a man pays his debts. There is no emotion, no poetry about that ; never- theless, the paying of debts is moral conduct, and that 192 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. clear judgment in the " dry light " of reason is what is at the basis of moral conduct. But, secondly, there is moi-alitj touched by emotion, in which love of father and mother, brother and siste-r, and child and friend, flows with the action, and beautifies but does not change its nature. But the affection extends no farther than to the individual, to the associates of daily life. It is intense, but not broad and higli. So, thirdly, there is philosophical morality, that morality which is infused with the sublime and beautiful concep- tions that glow in the enlightened mind in consideration of all truth attainable. When one reads the historv of man, of the planet ; when the treasures of science are revealed in earth and heaven ; when the million stars flash upon the view, not separate, but linked with our own burning heart and brain ; when the distant ages are con- nected with our own age ; when we see that generations have toiled for us and given their fruit to us ; and that we ourselves are not isolated, but are bound Avith the grand- eurs of the human race and partakers of its glory, and can contribute to its advancement in the endless future; that our little stream of life mingles with countless other streams, which do not run to waste and water but the desert, but flow into the magnificence of universal prog- ress — then plain, simple, every-da}^ morality becomes won- derfully illuminated ; then it is touched by an emotion which makes duty joy indeed, and the hard paths of labor become radiant with hopes and ineffable dreams ; then the horizon broadens, the moment of to-day mingles Avith the illimitable past and the glorious future ; the might and wonder- of the universe jewels each fleeting hour, and home itself becomes a shining spot in the infinite palace of nature. This is what Goethe, Haeckel, and others mean by the Avord " religion." But why not use the word morality with philosophy and science ? Then there is no confusion, no " darkness visible ;" then Ave are entirely ELIZABETH CADT STANTON (p. 494). HAECKKL. ]_93 separate from the errors o«f the past, and can walk along the liimiuous paths of truth, with a lofty and clear vision. Do we not, however, accept the ideas of Haeckel and the ethical value which he gives to the trutlis of evolu- tion; and while he stands head and front in the realms of science a great discoverer, is he not also a teacher? Does he not give the literature of inspiration, and not only the literature of knowledge ? Does lie not add to our motive power, as well as to our understanding ? Does he not give a new and radiant impulse to our judgment? Does he not lift life from the level of commonplace, without ignor- ing a single fact, into the vastness and ravishing beauty of the whole ? Truth is great. Truth and beauty are greater still ; but truth, beauty, and action are greatest of all. In these unfolds our complete humanity, and for these Haeckel has given the best word of modern science, and the noblest wisdom of philosophy. We walk on solid ground, but the heights are won upon which no theologian or prophet of the past has ever stood. The priest vanishes, but the teacher stands in his place. The school-house obliterates the church. Industry shines where barren learning toiled, ai)d in the place of Avords, things correlated and serviceable give man a world of beauty and delight, the conquest of nature, the lustre of art, cities and harvest fields, the obedient lightning, the thunder of the locomotive, and the ship majestically plow- ing a thousand leagues of sea. And Emerson sings the song, not of God, but of man, in his rhythmical prose : " The fossil strata show us that nature began with rudimental forms, and rose to the more complex as fast as the earth was fit for their dwelling-place ; and that the lower perish as the higher appear. Very few of our race can be said to be finished men. We still carry sticking to us some remains of the preceding inferior quadruped organization. The age of the quadru})ed is to go out — the 194 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF EREETHOUGHT. age of the brain and of the heart is to come in. And if one shall read the future of the race hinted in the organic effort of nature to mount and meliorate, and the cor- responding impulse to the better in the human being, we shall dare affirm that there is nothing he will not over- come and convert, until at last culture shall absorb the chaos and gehenna. He will convert the furies into muses and the hells into benefit." And Goethe joins the anthem : " The future hides in it Gladness and sorrow ; We press still thorow, Nought that abides in it Daunting us — onward. And solemn before us, Veiled, the dark portal, Goal of all mortal — Stars silent rest o'er us, Graves under us silent. But heard are the voices, — Heard are the sages. The worlds and the ages : * Choose well, your choice is Brief and yet endless ! Here eyes do regard you, In eternity's stillness ; Here is all fullness, Ye brave, to reAvard you ; Work, and despair not ! ' " And where more fittingly, in the interest of Free- thought, can we place the hymn of George Eliot: O may I join the choir invisible. Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence : live HAECKEL. "195 In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven : To make undying music in tlie world, Breathing a beauteous order that controls "^Vith growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed, and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that wouhl not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child. Poor anxious penitence is quick dissolved ; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be. And what may yet be better — saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love — That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread forever. This is the life to come Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls 196 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world. Is it not Avonderful what man has attained through simple devotion to the truth, through the facts of nature itself, that at first seem so meaningless and disconnected ! Beginning with humblest observation, seeking the attain- able and the useful, studying the rock, the insect, the worm, the dust, linking man with the beasts of the field, and with lowliest life in the depths of the sea, disdaining nothing, combining all — Avhat a marvelous result^ and what may we not hope for in the future ! There is no back- ward step. We have begun right and the way is onward. Thus the labors of Haeckel complete the vast and splendid labors of the world's illustrious educators — Bacon, Comenius, Milton, Rousseau, Pestalozzi, Froebel, Combe, Spencer, Holyoake, Owen, and ten thousand others, noble men and women, schoolmasters of the race, to whom all honor is due. For what is knowledge unless it can be translated into action, unless thought can be- come a deed? The mind of man, of the child, must be trained in truth, for the truth, and for work and character and the noblest enjoyment. The two great questions, the fundamental questions of Freethought, of humanity, have thus been answered, and not answered until within the last four centuries, and answered wisel}', fearlessly, successfully : What can we know ? What ought we to do ? What a victory has been obtained over ignorance, false science, false philosophy, barbaric theology, a cruel church, and a desperate priesthood ! CHAPTEE XL LlTEEATURE. Literature never is orthodoxy, although it may become orthodoxy ; it is not a fixed dogma, but a flowing stream, otherwise it would not be literature, for literature is the expression of nature itself, and it must be untrammeled, except by the laws of nature itself. Wherever, there- fore, there is genuine literature, there is Freethought, no matter what may be the particular form of that literature. At the time it is produced it is not dogma, it is a person- ality. Afterwards it becomes dogma by i;he blind worship of adherents. Says Yan Buren Denslow : " No priest ever wrote a poem, or invented a machine, if we except the Chinese machine for praying, or wrote a history worthy of the name, or made a discovery in chem- istry, or found a continent, or shed new light on any prob- lem of science. While thinking cannot be done without a certain amount of leisure, it is still a variety of hard work, and the best of it is done, not by priests, for they are so taken-up with worship that they have no time for work, but by the working classes themselves, whose active and aggressive thinking has compelled the priesthoods to do what little thinking they have done in self-defense. In saying that the least inventive, original, and progressive <;lass of men has always been the priests, we only charge them with fidelity to their calling. They have lived by imposing certain dogmas on the human mind concerning 198 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. that of which nobody could, by any possibility, know any- thing. Every other class of men have lived by handling weapons which could be met by dealing in substances which could be measured, or in facts capable of being verified. The priest has no right to be inventive. He is defending the old, not propounding the new. He cannot be original, when it is not he but the Lord that speaks ; nor scientific, when science, sweeping the void with her telescope, clears it of that theological heaven which it is his vocation to promise, leaving only open space and silent stars." The priest is only a stick — a stone. He is absolutely stationary, or, if he moves, it is because he is driftwood. The tide is beneath him — but not in him. A priest prefers death to a new idea, for death is old and sacred. He can abide that, but he cannot abide a living change. The food of his spirit are the ghosts of a dead past. The priest is not a man. The French proverb hits it keenly which de- clares, " There are three sexes — men, women, and. priests." How is it possible for a priest ever to write poetry, or make the world efi'ulgent with knowledge ? Poetry, like science, demands the brave and open soul. It must ever see something new and brilliant in the heavens and earth. Poetry is the creator, and disdains the gods of the past, while he makes the gods of the future. So in the fountains of literature breathes the eternal music of Freethought. The stream, so glittering and ex- uberant in its origin, maybe frozen into a dogmatic prison- house, but the power that is in it is ever the expression of an undaunted mind. Dante, the most theological of all poets, the most furious and bigoted — a poetic Torque- mada, who would burn his enemies in hell — Dante cannot help being opposed to the ruling powers of his own day. He is anti-papal, and takes delight in scorching the hier- archy, and he never could have written his wonderful poem if, in his innermost being, he had not thrown off all authority ANNIE BESANT (p. 830). LITERATURE. 199 except that of his own imperious spirit. Milton is the orthodox poet of to-day, but he was not the orthodox poet of his own time. No servant of the church coukl have written that glorious epic. Milton was a born rebel, though with an austere and despotic disposition. But certainly there must have been some Freethought in Mil- ton, whose original power made Lucifer a far more re- splendent personage than either God or Christ, for if he who fought against heaven's king were eliminated from the poem, it would be impossible to read it. Of all the su- preme poets Dante and Milton are the only ones that orthodoxy can really claim, and it can claim them after they are dead, and not while they are living. It can claim their works, but it cannot claim the tremendous power of mind by which they were produced. What pope or priest or church could dictate to these imperial sing- ers? When we come to Petrarch and Boccaccio, not only the spirit of Freethought but the fair fruitage of Freethought adorns the literature of the world. Nowhere do we find a keener exposure of the clergy, a more merciless attack on their hypocrisy, cowardice, and immorality, than in the pages of Boccaccio. Petrarch Avas a man of vast learning and resource, and was a greater admirer of Cicero tiian of St. Paul. To him the classics of Gi-eece taught a better religion than the dark theology of Augus- tine. Such was the zeal for these ancient masters that, when Leontius, a Greek professor of prodigious learning, was struck dead by lightning in a storm at sea while tied to the mast of a ship, Petrarch, while lamenting his fate, inquires whether " some copy of Euripides or Sophocles might not be recovered from the mariners." Petrarch and Boccaccio were immense renovating influences in the age preceding Columbus. Shakspere is so wonderful that, in order to understand his relation to the Avorld's progress, we must ti'ace the 200 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FRBETHOUGHT. developmeat of his marvelous power. He is the bloom of centuries. Away back in the eleventh and three following cen- turies are the Goliards, a set of merry-makers, half-Pagan, half-Christian, vagrant scholars preserving reminiscences of the ancient poetry of Horace, Ovid, and Catullus ; rollicking students with no respect for the church, yet not deserving martyrdom, and devoting themselves to satire and song ; wandering minstrels interpreting in musical tirades the popular feeling, which was not determined enough as yet to create the Reformation. In these mediae- val poets we trace the beginnings of the great secular poetry of modern Europe, the poetry of nature as opposed to the supernatural. They were buffoons and jesters, riotous jugglers, and yet at times there was something terribly earnest in their apparently careless mirth. While the Goliard indulged in burlesques, parodies, and extrav- aganzas, he also sang with true poetic feeling of nature, human life, and love. He is thoroughly of " this world," and opposes the " other worldliness " of the church. He seems to be completely free from the dominant religionism of the dark ages. He gives delicious pictures of the delights of spring-tide. He recounts the breaking up of the ice by soft breezes, the spreading of new life, the bursting forth of flowers, manifold in color and perfume, the new-born shade of the grove, the murmuring of brooks, the singing of nightingales, the enameling of meadows, the joys of walking amidst summer's beauty, and plucking the rose and lily. He speaks of human love and feasting, of Venus and Bacchus. He reminds one of the exquisite lyrics and sonnets of Shakspere, so deeply interpenetrated with the love of every natural object. " The Goliardic poetry," says the historian, " may be called the last surviving child of classical literature, and certainly one source of the Proven9al and Chivalesque poetry which succeeded." LITERATURE. 201 "It is worthy of note," says Professor Bartoli, "to see these obscure poets of the twelfth century raising the cry of revolt against that long-continued tyranny over the human conscience, against the ambition which aspired to universal sovereignty." The Goliard at times was not afraid to fling his in- vectives, without stint, at pope, cardinal, bishop, abbot, and monk. He himself announces a plea for his severity : " When I see evil men in their riches delighting. When vice is triumphant and virtue needs righting, With lust and not love men to marriage inciting. How can I help a satire inditing ? " It is no wonder that the songs of the Goliards were extremely popular during the Reformation, and while not written from any religious standpoint at all, yet in their way no doubt they contributed much to the overthrow of the organized hypocrisy and ambition of Rome. It is also remarkable that they took for their themes episodes of the Iliad, the adventures and death of Hector, the fall of Troy, the misfortunes of Dido, the story of Eneas. They saluted their mistresses with the names Niobe, Helen, Venus, etc. " The gods of Olympus," says the historian, " were often nearer to these wild spirits thai; the invisible deity of Christianity." One of their own poets sang of them ; " For their god they all take Bacchus, And for Mark they all read Flaccus ; In lieu of Paul they Virgil choose, And for Matthew, Lucan use." This is true of the successful modern poet. These merry minstrels were often anathematized by the Romish hierarchy, but little recking of this they pursued their vocation, '* singing of life and love of nature and free- 202 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. dom, of joy aud feastiug, wherever tbey could find an audience." The extent of the freedom of the Goliard spirit ma}^ be seen in the works of Ruteboeuf, of the tliirteenth century. Tliis writer attacks, witli mingled hardihood and mockery, the beliefs of his time. He depicts the irregular life, the insatiable greed and dishonesty, of the clergy generally ; ridicules and burlesques purgatory and prayers for the dead ; throws cold water on the Crusades, and exposes the mischiefs, national and social, of these enterprises. In the fifteenth century the ballads, satires, tales, bur- lesques, and farces of France, Germany, Italy, and England are all permeated by this same free spirit. ' Kabe- lais," says Owen, "in tone and method may claim to be the last of the Goliards." Provencal Literature. The Goliardic poetry is the off-shoot of colloquial La- tinity, and perished with that as a living literature. In the birth of the Romance languages, there is still further development of the "Secularization of Literature." We now come to one of the most beautiful expressions of poetic genius in the history of the world, in which we dis- cover the spontaneity and splendor of Shaksperean poetry itself — the Proven9al literature. Provencal poetry is the poetry of chivalry, the poetry of war and love, and in its very nature is opposed to the- ology and supernaturalisms. It is popularly supposed that chilvalry is the offshoot of Christianity. This is entirely wrong. Jesus never taught chivalry. He never inculcated the great, strong virtues. He never told men to be brave, to be honorable, to be noble and ideal lovers of woman. He taught meek- ness and submission, not heroic and splendid qualities. There is nothing in chivalry akin to the teachings of the Christian religion, and as a matter of history chivalry has PROVINgAL LITERATURE. 205 an entirely other origin than feudalism and the church of Rome. Owen, in his excellent work, " The Skeptics of the Italian Renaissance," says : " In its origin, aud many of its qualities, chivalry may be regarded as an offshoot of Arab culture and literature. In fact, there are two sources, ortwoages, of European litera- ture ; the first, before, aud independent of, the Crusades, de- rived from peaceful intercourse with Arabs, settled in Spain and the South of France aud Italy, as well as from com- mercial intercourse with those of the Levant aud the north coast of Africa. The second, after the Crusades, bearing the impress of those expeditions, and diffusing the gentleness, magnanimity, and culture derived from association with the soldiers and courtiers of Saladin. " Nor were the newer refining influences imparted by the now civilized Saracen, whether Eastern or Western, exclusively of a social kind. The poetry and literature of the Arabs found entrance into courts and literary circles in France and Southern Italy, just as their philosophy and medical science obtained a hearing in medieval schools and universities. Of this popular Arabic literature, dif- fused as all such literature must be before the age of printing by wandering minstrels, the two themes were love and warlike deeds. Just as the Jongleur and Troubadour sang in the baron's hall, or to a street crowd, their ro- mance of love and heroism, so did the errant Saracen singer dilate on the same topics in the tent of the Bedouin sheik, or in the homes of the opulent Moorish merchants. Thus both the taste for chivalrous romance and the cus- tomary method of its gratification are legacies derived, in great measure, from Saracen settlers in Europe ; and the poetry of the Troubadours, setting aside certain peculiar- ities of taste, turns of imagination, which are referable to differences of race, thought, and religion, is really modeled on that of the Arabs. Nor is it only a resemblance of 204 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. literary product and its diffusion by the same method of wandering minstrels that here meets us. The style and rhythm of the Troubadour are copies from his Arab teacher, and even the instrument, on which the Jongleur and Troubadour accompanied their songs, was the three- stringed lyre which his Arab brother singer had long em- ployed for the self-same purpose." " Thus in its very origin the Proven9al poetry is pledged to a certain freedom of thought and liberty of utterance. It found its chosen abode among a people whose literary, political, and religious sympathies were averse to the t3'r- anny of Rome. The themes it discussed contravened the traditions of mediaeval Christianit}^ Its gay science was opposed to gloom and asceticism. Its celebration of chivalry was a tacit reproach to the passive virtues of the saints. Its stress upon the concerns of this life conflicted with the simulated other Avorldliness of the Papacy. The sense of mental independence and individual asser- tion, which every free literature naturally generates, was quite antagonistic to the helpless imbecility which the Romish priesthood labored to induce." It was a new life, an unrestrained joyousness, which the Proven9al poetry served to diffuse. A few sentences of Raimon Yidal's Treatise on metrical art give a charming picture of the Troubadours : "All Christendom, Jews and Saracens, the emperor, kings, dukes, counts, and viscounts, commanders, vassals, and other knights, citizens, and peasants, tall and little, daily gave their minds to singing and verse making by either singing themselves or listening to others. No place is so deserted, or out of the way, that as long as men inhabit it songs are not sung either by single persons or by many together ; even the shepherds in the moun- tains know of no greater joy than song. All good and evil things were made known by the Troubadours." In fact, the Troubadour was bard, musician, litterateur, chronicler, ^■r^'" '■"'■>•) V THEODORE PARKER (p. 465). PROVHXgAL LITERATURE. 205 newsman, and teacher of the people — Jews, Turks^ Infidels, jiiiil heretics alike. The church and clergy became alarmed, and, as a conse- qQi'iice, committed one of the greatest crimes iu all human liistory — a crime against literature, against music, against art, against human joy — a crime that should forever damn it in the eyes of every true poet. How can any poet love the church which has slain so ruthlessly the noblest singers of the race, and for no other reason than that they were singers and poets, and made mankind happy. Pope Innocent III. proclaimed that nefarious crusade against the Proven9als, one of the worst of the many outrages which Christianity has perpetrated against humanity an-d civilization. " It is a horrible picture of religious fanaticism," says Owen; "the bloodthirsty barbarity of Simon de Mont- fort ; the ruthless massacre of whole towns and villages ; churches whose pavements were covered knee-deep with the blood of the unarmed crowd, most of them women and' children ; scenes of spoliation and depravity perpetrated by the ' soldiers of the cross;' the heartless cynicism and inhumanity with which they avowed their shameless deeds ; the pitiful silence, desolation, and misery that fol- lowed the footsteps of the papal hell-hounds ; the transmu- tation of a lovely champaign country, redolent of prosperity, quiet felicity, and rural beauty, to a wild desert, befouled with the unburied corpses of its peaceful inhabitants and with the blood-stained ashes of its once happy homes." " But," continues the historian, " this outrage on civil- ization recoiled on its perpetrators. The Proven9al liter- ature, the Freethought literature of that day, was in a great measure extinguished. The language of its war songs and love ditties gradually ceased to exist. The happy home of the Troubadour was demolished. Its laws and customs were completely reversed. Instead of the mild sway of the counts of Toulouse, tlie Inquisition 206 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. erected i.ts detestable tribunal, from henceforth to be dis- tinguished in history as the ferocious persecutor of all heretics. But, on the other hand, the event contributed to disperse the Troubadours and their art throughout Europe. They who escaped the papal butchery added a new theme to their songs of chivalry. They described, in words of glowing indignation, the character of Rome. Here is a specimen : " ' No wonder, O Rome, that the world is in error, because thou hast imbrued this age in affliction and war and by thee both merit and pity are dead and buried. "'Rome, thou deceiver, avarice blinds thee. Thou fleecest thy flock while living. Thou devourest the flesh and bones of thy silly victims and leadest the blind with thyself into the ditch. "'The fire of hell awaits thee, O Rome,' etc." The expatriated minstrels kept alive the story of Chris- tian tyranny and barbarism, and aided in the diffusion of freer culture. In the court of that enlightened sovereign, Frederick Barbarossa, the most remarkable example of Freethought in the age preceding the Renaissance, Trou- badours and their productions occupied a prominent posi- tion. Without the Goliard and Proven9al poetry, we might say that Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio would have been impossible, and also Cervantes, and Rabelais, and Mar- lowe, and Shakspere. Rome was right in her cruel warfare against the Trou- badours. If she could have crushed them out, she might have annihilated modern literature and her sway have been unbroken. Rabelais.— 1495-1553. Rabelais seems to be made of sterner stuff than Boc- caccio or Cervantes, and under certain circumstances would have made a tremendous reformer. There certainly RABELAIS. 207 never was a better bundle of wit and wisdom put together than in Rabelais. That he was a Freethinker none can doubt. What cared he for pope or bishop? He would cover a bull of excommunication with ridicule. Yet, after all, I believe he was a born churchman, like Swift. He believed in the church as an institution, provided it was well managed, that hypocrites were annihilated and honest men guided affairs. Rabelais hated the hypocrite. Hypocrisy was the greatest vice of all, and spiritual pride. Rabelais did not believe in the " holier than thou " sort of people. Rabelais never drew the mantle of self- righteousness about himself. He made no pretensions. He was plain-spoken. He called a spade a spade ; and I have no doubt he would have gone to the stake rather than change his method of utterance. In this matter he was thoroughly in earnest. Rabelais was no mere player. His shafts went home every time. With what quips and cranks, however, he did execution ! What a world of merriment there is, what huge laughter, what rollicking, ro^'stering revels ! If Rabelais was a churchman, he was a jolly churchman. His gown sat easily upon him and his cowl made no wrinkles on his forehead. He was a kind of Friar Tuck. He could drink and joke with anybody. There was no aristocracy about his wit. It was perfectly democratic. A muck-heap or a throne were equal occasions for his flashing humor. He was no respecter of persons — not even of the deity. I think Rabelais was a churchman much after the manner of Comte. He had not any the- ology to boast of. I surmise he would leave it with the majority to vote God up or down. Rabelais was so preeminently interested in human nature, he saw so much that was foolish and ridiculous and fun-inspiring, that he really did not care much about the existence of deity. If there was one, he would be such a respectable character, and so entirely above joking, that Rabelais would scarcely 208 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP^ FREBTHOUGHT. deign to notice liim. Not being a fit object of mirthj of what use was he? Rabelais is certainly a great provoker of thought. You cannot read him without being mightily interested in what he is driving at. He is suggestive. He penetrates and stirs and puzzles. He is the boldest of writers. His very recklessness appalls ; yet everything is justified by his supreme wisdom, his honest}^ sagacity, sincerity, and downright hatred of every kind of sham and humbug. Rabelais is always animated by broad and generous motives. There is nothing mean about him. He is not a misanthrope, or a defamer, or a scandal monger. He is simply a transcendent wit, so witty that at the same time he is wise, humane, and universal. Saj's Rabelais : " The devil was sick, the devil a saint would be ; The devil got well, the devil a saint was he." A thousand such luminous shafts did Rabelais fling at the pretense, nonsense and follies of Ins time. Coleridge ranks Rabelais with the great creative minds of the world. He says: "Beyond doubt Rabelais was among the deepest, as well as boldest, tbinkeis of his age. His buffoonery was not merely Brutus's rough stick which contained a rod of gold ; it was necessary as an amulet against the monks and legates. Never was there a more plausible and seldom, I am persuaded, a less appropriate line than the thousand times quoted — ' Rabelais laugliing in his easy chair ' of Mr. Pope. I could write a treatise in praise of the moral elevation of Rabelais' work, which would make the church stare and the conventicle groan, and yet would be truth and nothing but the truth." cervantes. 209 Montaigne.— 1533-1592. Of a different mould from Rabelais was Montaigne. He went deeper. Rabelais attacked the clergy, but Mon- taigne attacked the church itself, and the very foundations of its faith. Montaigne had not the humor of Rabelais, but a whole armory of wit and logic. But little is known of him except by his works. He was a skeptic, and pre- eminently a skeptic. He had no constructive philosophy. His main purpose was to get rid of the evil, and that cer- tainly was a great work to do, without reference to what might come after. Montaigne was an iconoclast, some- what nihilistic, but he struck at the image with a sword rather than hammer. He did not smash things ; he pene- trated and cut out the heart, the substance, so that the idol fell as with its own weight. Montaigne is supposed to have had no moral purpose. He was cynical, it is said. This is not a true interpretation. In Montaigne there was a sturdy and progressive mind. There was a purpose more far-reaching than is apparent to the careless reader. Montaigne was not merely a man of wit — a jester. He was a philosopher, a deep student, a radical thinker. He com- prehended human nature, and aimed, not to play upon its weakness, but to cultivate its powers. His gift, however, was not so much to arouse enthusiasm as to quicken the understanding, and this he did with such illuminating success that, to the present day, he is a living author, S,nd we must read him in order to understand the spirit of his time and its intellectual greatness, Cervantes. — 1547-1616. It will be seen that, anterior to Cervantes, there was an immense amount of intellectual, literary, and poetic life. If it was the dawn of the age of reason, it was a most glorious dawn ; and the night itself is beautiful with stars. If we call it the " dark ages," it is dark only in the sense 210 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. tliat night is dark. Tliere is no dreary monotony, no deathly sleep. The earth is alive, and the heavens are throbbing. There is a constant struggle. The spirit of liberty burns, imagination is awake, and tyranny can only maintain itself by the oft-drawn bloody sword. And when the dawn did come, flushed with color from far Arabia,, with oriental splendors and the magnificence of resur- rected Greece, it was indeed a vast aud animating spec- tacle, and it is no wonder that poetry flourished and sang some of its sweetest songs, and pointed to the palatial day to come, and in the very bed of horror placed the roses of promise. It is no wonder that romance was in the very palpitations of the air, and in a million kindling hearts. It is no wonder that chivalry became the ornament of the time, with brave, bright virtues of heroic endeavor. It is no wonder that the church was in a perpetual turmoil, and brought the Inquisition into play to crush the rising spirit of the masses. In the literature and philosophy of that era, we see a vast onward movement. We see the people groping like a blind giant, and shaking crowns and tiaras. It is a dawn, indeed, not over a wide and solitary desert, but over lovely lands, homes adorned with genius. It is not a lurid dawn, but a dawn with soft breezes, cloud- lands of beauty, brilliant prospects, with luminous spaces in the receding darkness itself. No wonder that the genius of Cervantes ripens to such illustrious fruit. No wonder that he dowers the world with such wit and wis- dom, eloquence and delight. It is said that Cervantes is the true child of the Catholic church. Perhaps he was, in a sense, not of the Catholic or papal church as it was then, but as it might have been, or might be in some golden age under a toler- ant and beneficent leadership, as it might be conceived by the gentle Erasmus, or large-minded Grotius, a church that really stood for justice, for mercy, for consolation and hope to the human race. Cervantes was not icono- ABRAHAM LIN'COLX (p. 466). CERVANTES. 211 clastic. There is no storm and battle in him. He has not the spirit of the martyr. He was not born to be a heretic. He was a Conformist by his very nature. I think if he had been a native in a Mohammedan country, he would have made just as good a Mohammedan as he was a good Catholic. There is nothing of the Protestant in him. Pure wit and humor are not revolutionary. They are like tiie sunshine. They do not tear or rend. They are an effluence — not a hurricane. I do not know of any reformer who ever possessed genuine humor, or wit, in any abounding fashion. To crack a joke requires a good deal of complacency with things as the}' are. Cervantes is Freethought only as pure literature is such by its very nature. He who makes the world happy must, for that very reason, be anti-orthodox. He who creates a smile is, to that extent, a heretic. The very mo- ment a man laughs he is on the road to hell, according to the church's creed. Cervantes has made the world laugh. He has made innumei-able people happy. He has mingled smiles with tears. He paints the beautiful with the grotesque. That is the triumph of humor — to show the value of humanity at the very moment that it ridicules Tliat is the wonder- ful art of Cervantes. He makes fun of Don Quixote, and yet we love and admire the knight-errant still. He is a man and not a caricature. Cervantes is a benevolent philosopher. He reminds us of our own Franklin in his worldlv wisdom and adap- tation to real human life. The wit of Cervantes is the wit of common sense. He takes the world as it is, and makes the best of it. If he accepts the church, it is as an instru- ment of earthly good, and not of "eternal salvation." The theology of Cervantes is like a bank-note. Having no occasion to cash it, its true value is unknown. The genius of Cervantes is for the universal human race. It is immortal as the civilization of man. It is a 212 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. stream of brightness, an atmosphere of delight, or a calm, beautiful sea reflecting all the radiance of its surround- ings, while its gentle waves are forever breaking away the dark-browed cliiGfs of superstition. Mysteries and Moralities. To understand Marlowe and Shakspere one must un- derstand that majestic vehicle, the drama, through which they poured the splendor of their genius. It is surprising to discover that these dramas, so in- tense with humanity, originated with the " mysteries " of the church and are an evolution of its ancient miraculous and supernatural shows. The Christian church was opposed to the Greek and Roman drama, and gradually effected its extinction, but modes of scenic representation sprang up within the church itself. The Mvsteries at first were mere para- phrases in dialogue of scriotural narratives or ecclesias- tical legends, and were without dramatic action or scenic play. Later on came picturesque representations of the life of Christ. Afterwards legends of pagandom were em- ployed. Allegory became a mode of teaching morality. Virtue, Vice, Indolence, Luxury, were personified. Mingled with the cliaracters of the Bible were Juno, Orpheus, Ganymede, Proserpine, Eurydice, and Deucalion, and even Ovid's Metamorphoses were used for Christian edifica- tion. In this way were diffused among the people some rudiments of classical literature. The relation of these Mysteries and Moralities to Freethovight is thus explained by Owen : "What is remarkable in these plays and what we have to note for our purpose is their participation in the Free- thought which marks other departments of intellectual activity in the eleventh and two following centuries. The secularization of tlie old religious drama is a process pretty distinctly marked. First we observe interwoven in MYSTERIES AND MORALITIES. 213 the sacred representation a certain admixture of pagan elements, and we find a growing increase of allusions to heathen characters, divinities, and events. In a miracle play of the twelfth century we have songs in celebration of Yenus and of Love. Representations of a half-clerical, half-secular character began to be observed in which the burlesque element preponderated to such an extent as almost to render them caricatures of religious ceremonies. Such are the 'Feast of Apes,' 'Feast of Fools,' etc. The dialogue also becomes more elaborate and free, the dra- matic action assumes additional complexity. Laymen Degin to take part as characters in the sacred dramas, and probably also in their composition. And — a still more significant token of transition — the language of the old mysteries was being changed. As early as the eleventh century we have a mystery in which Latin, Proveng^l and French are simultaneously used. It is obvious that the theater, like other forms of culture, was now grad- ually separating itself from the church and was starting on the course of freedom and independence which of right pertains to it. Accordingly we see, as the next step in the transition, mysteries and nominally sacred dramas repre- sented outside the church. The employment of profane languages continued to increase. We need not follow the course of dramatic development any further, inasmuch as in the following centuries we have abundant examples of a purely secular drama. Farces, moralities, and burlesques were both written and acted by laymen. Guilds and com- panies of players, sometimes clerical and sometimes lay, were now organized, 'these contributed much to the artistic development of the drama as well as its enfran- chisement from ecclesiastical domination. In fact the theater becomes the chief medium for the popular expres- sion of Freethought, and of determined hostility against the Eomish church. The ambition and greed of the pope, the immorality of the clergy, were, of course, favorite 214 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. objects of stage invective. The speculative doctrines of Christianity were not always spared. The ordinary theory of divine justice, the belief in hell and purgatory, were canvassed with unreserve, and sometimes with bitter scorn and mockery. This is how Judas Iscariot re- proaches God in an old Breton mystery : " ' Why has God created me to be damnet] on his account? It is the law of the world that good and evil must dominate, according to their principle and essence, every created thing. Hence I cannot be j^ermanently righteous in whatever state I am, if I am made of evil matter. God is then unrighteous. To us he is neither impartial nor a true judge. Far from that, he is per- fidious and cruel in having made me of a matter destined to cause my fall.' " In an old Cornish miracle play there is a criticism of the doctrine of Atonement : " If God above was his father. He could, through his grace, have saved rich and poor Without being dead. Of thy assertion, shame is ; What need was there for God's son to be slain like a hart ?" We thus see how, after the extinction of Greek and Roman drama, there grew from the very bosom of the church a much varied and powerful dramatic development. The plays of Shakspere are not a reproduction of ancient, classical forms, like the dramas of Racine and Cornielle. They are an entirely new growth. They originated from the miracle plays of tlie church itself, and still in Shak- spere do we see remnants of the primitive, supernatural machinery, but secularized. Even the witches of Shak- spere miglit be said to be "secular" witches. They are entirely subservient to the interests of humanity in this world. There is not a particle of " other Avorldliuess " in Shakspere's so-called supernatural characters. MYSTERIES AND MORALITIES. 215 The plays of Sliakspere, like Sbakspere himself, are "the long result of time." We can trace through cent- uries the selections and adaptations by which, from the religious drama, has been developed this mighty secular literature. It might be said to be the child of the people. This developing theater was, to the people, wliat the schools and universities were to the scholars, and while the people made it, and changed it, and broadened it, and finally took it outside the church, it, at the same time, was the educator of the people. It gave them Freethought. It took the place of the newspaper of to-day. It gave information. It discussed every question. It criticised even God, and allowed Judas to express his opinion. It burlesqued the church doctrines. It raked the pope and clergy with wit and sarcasm. It was the common school of the masses. These strolling players Avent everywhere, and, as Hamlet says, were the "abstract and brief chron iclers of the time." Thus from the stupid, almost, and we might say en- tirely, senseless miracle play, b}- natural process, has come the vast and magniticent drama of Shakspere. It is an evolution" whose every variation and " survival of the fittest" can be traced, but what a metamorphosis there is! It is the winged beauty from the sluggish worm. It took five centuries to create the dramas of Shakspere and his contemporaries. " The drama," says Taine, " extended over all the provinces of history, imagination, and fancy, expanded so as to embrace comedj', tragedy, pastoral and fanciful literature, to represent all degrees of human con- dition, and all caprices of human invention, to express all the perceptible details of actual truth, and all the philo- sophic grandeur of general reflection ; the stage, disen- cumbered of all precept and freed from all limitation, given up and appropriated in the minutest particulars to the reigning taste and public intelligence ; all this was a vast and manifold work capable, by its flexibility, its great- 216 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. ness, and its form, of receiving and preserving the exact imprint of the age and the nation," Marlowe. -1564-1593. The career of Marlowe was like a pathway of brief lightning. He died when he was only thirty years of age. He was the son of a shoemaker, but somehow managed to study af; Cambridge. On his return to London he became an actor, but having broken his leg he remained lame and could not appear upon the boards. He openly avowed his Infidelity. He declared that, " if he were to write a new religion, he would undertake both a more excellent and more admirable method." A prosecution was begun against him which would, probably, have brought him to the stake but for his early death. He was a prodigious power in literature, a kind of "elemental god," so thoroughly did he exhibit the great forces of natural genius. He was a wild, rebellious, and magnificent spirit, utterly untrammeled, and swept by the mightiest passions of the human heart. He poured forth poetry as the heavens pour forth a storm, with mingled terror, grandeur, gloom, and exquisite beauty. He was responsive to nature's loftiest, ruggedest, and sweetest aspects. Life, indeed, was a battle to him, and in the end a crushing defeat. He was like a lion at ba^^ in the strength and plenitude of his powers. He was rash, ill-regulated, a fermentation of genius. There was something of " chaos and old darkness" about him, as if he were a Titan flung into civilized life and scorning all its laws. There is a Niagara-like ferocity in his poetry, a whirling, surging, impetuous, indomitable rush, as if by pure energy he would sweep away every barrier, reckless of disaster. When we first read him his pages are like the passage of a furious flood. They are -crowded with pictures that seem to clash with one another in manifold confusion, as if the poet wrecked his very l)rain in the dramatic fervors of his speech, and the exal- ERNESTINE L. ROSE (p. 795). MARLOWE. 217 tations and agonies of his characters ; and yet, as we brood over these pages, what art, what melody, is revealed ; what reaches of thought, what elevation of imagination ; what sincerity, what bravery, what gentleness, what deep intuitions of humanity ! There never was so tumultuous a poet as Marlowe, one so torn and rended by real passion, to whom every moment was a fiery ordeal, who actually lived, or tried to live, the immensities of thought within him ; a very child in the masterful play of his emotional being, and yet he is a creator in literature, an artist, melo- dious and beautiful. There is method in his madness. His genius obeys a true law of harmony. In his very ravings he sings with ravishing note. His frenzy is a " fine frenzy," and breaks not the poetic rhythm. Of his stormful, thunderous intensity, we can say : "O night, And storm, and darkness, thou art wondrous strong. Yet lovely in thy strength as is the light Of a dark eye in woman." Is there not something of the delicious music of Avon's bard in Faust's passionate exclamation to Helen : " Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss ; Her lips suck forth my soul — see where it flies ; Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again ; Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helen. O thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." Of course, Marlowe was not a scientific Atheist, not a calm, grand philosopher who recognizes the limits of human knowledge and seeks not to transcend them ; who makes the best of a universe that is by no means perfect. 218 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Marlowe did not reach the benignant heights of Goethe, nor did he have the poetic faith of Bruno and Shelley, while disdaining God. He was an arch-rebel. He was satisfied with nothing. While he believed in no god, he himself would be a god. He was a Lucifer-spirit. He poured his angry defiance even upon nature herself. But with all his faults and vices he was a great and splendid character. We can but admire him in his superb, athletic and deathly struggle with fate. He perishes, but he perishes like a giant who has struck mighty blows, whose sword was indeed flashing like King Arthur's ; and though scarcely more than a boy in his passionate death, he wins imperishable renown in the most brilliant era of the world's history. He is the prelude to Shakspere. He opens the door for that imperial genius to enter in and reign. With surpassing skill he makes English verse ready for the manifold transformations of that universal bard, who can strike every string of human emotion, who< circumnavigates the world of thought. Shakspere is the sea. We might say Marlowe is a rushing, roaring cataract. He overleaps the precipice. He plunges into the ab3"ss. Over his course shine the beauti- ful rainbow arches. Beyond is the illimitable ocean. Shakspere.— 1564-1616. Of the age of Shakspere, Elizabeth Barrett Browning writes : " It was full of poets, as the summer days are of birds. Never since the first nightingale brake voice in Eden arose such a jubilee concert ; never before nor since has such a crowd of true poets uttered such true poetic speech in one day. Why, a common man walking the earth in those days became a poet by position." What were the influences which made this age so beautiful and crowded it with music? It was an age of boundless hope, of eager looking forward. The bark of SHAKSPERE. 219 Columbus had moored beneath the shadow of ludiaii groves. Balboa with eagle eyes had "Stared at the Pacific, and all bis men Looked at each other with a wild surmise, Silent upon a peak in Darien." Magellan had crept about the huge rotuntlity. Vast em- pires were revealing their antique wealth ; heroic spirits were everywhere on the alert. The Saxon blood was kindling with the rest ; the heart of England throbbed with the swelling excitement ; her mariners drank in the farthest breath of the new world ; her flag floated over seas that had never been plowed by keel before. Sir Walter Kaleigh and his compeers lived a life of romance of which we to-day can scarcely conceive the freshness and delight, for never since the old Greeks sped along the blue ^Egean did such glittering prospects rise upon the adventurer's path — continents and isles and seas and rivers that seemed endless in their pomp, and giving a fair welcome to the bold invader. The vision of mau was broadening. The earth was more excellent than he had ever dreamed it to be, and he felt that a mighty in- heritance was indeed his. He was beginning also to be conscious of his inward powers as well as outward possessions. Bacon was over- throwing the empty formularies of the schools. Da Vinci, gifted as Apollo, while he clothed the dead past with beauty, unlocked the secrets of a mightier future. Coper- nicus, Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler were explaining the laws and motions of the sun and planets, and catching hints of the interminable glories beyond. The nations, too, were throwing off the chains of superstition. The surge of the Reformation had swept along and freedom ■was the cry. The printing press was diffusing intelli- gence. All Europe was in the midst of a far breaking dawD, and the mingling lights of a thousand new prom- 220 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. ises stirred Immanity to unwonted endeavor. Never be- fore had there been such infinite longings and such splen- did activities. But the old life was not yet gone. Indeed, it was more fresh than ever. Ancient custom and belief had not hasted to their setting. Their primeval beauty was intact ; the new rather gave them an added luster ; it had not blasted with excess of light. The belated traveler still saw fairies dancing in the greenwood ; ghosts haunted the moonlight ; witches rode upon the air ; the devil made bargains for human souls ; the sujpernatural flung its somber glories into the natural ; a golden heaven, a blaz- ing hell, were still vivid in the minds of men, and Pales- tine, where those " blessed feet " had trod, was lighted with an inefl'able halo. The church in some form or other was supreme. Men were adventurous, pushing, going to the far-off Ind in search of gold and empire, but they were not deeply skeptical. The fountain of immortal youth still lured them on. They toiled for the philosopher's stone. They sought to read their destiny in the stars. Wherever the warrior went the priest was by his side to receive his share of the spoils, and by the fluttering tent of the one began the massive cathedral of the other. With all their onward-looking, men still wor- shiped the past. All were " passionate pilgrims " who expected from their widest wanderings to return to the shrine of their infancy, and pour their dearest treasures beneath its venerable shade. There was, indeed, a rare combination of the old and the new. It was a choice moment in human histor3\ The world will never look upon its like again. The past and the present met in a focus of splendid poesy, whose uu- equaled radiance will be witnessed no more. Then, in- deed, was there " large discourse." The mind of man '• looked before and after." Ou all sides round were wonders. Men's thoughts leaped from earth to heaven SHAKSPERB. 221 and heaven to earth. Heaven was a reality whose mag- nificeuce filled the empyrean, and earth, even iu its rudest aspect, was divinely crowned. There were " tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything." Then the poets' fine frenzy had room and verge enough, whether it brooded and triumphed in human griefs and joys, or swept beyond the flaming bounds of space and time. There wab nothing to chain the flight or dim the vision. The olden temples were glorious, but they did not sub- due. The new lights flashed in gorgeous floods, but did not reveal the weakness of the accepted faith. All things blended in harmony. The true was beautiful and the beautiful was true. Emotion gave the law to thought, and thought, eager and vast as it was, gladly ministered to the heart and made real its wildest aspiration. And in this age Shakspere was born. But not in soli- tary greatness, not " Like lone Soracte's height. That, like a long-swept wave, heaves from off the plain." He was the chief of a mighty company, and not without a co-rival does he wear the dignities of that favored hour. There were giants in those days and each brow was aflame with its own ardor. Rare Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Pletcher, Hayward, Ford, Massenger, Decker, Green, Chapman, Webster — these were not pale reflections of Shakspere. Their own souls touched the heavens and earth, and from the heart of things expressed the regnant Are. They grew with Sliakspere and not out of him, and the music of their thought was at times as grand and sweet as his. It was not Shakspere, after all, that was supreme, but the Elizabethan era — the English mind, rich with the past and glittering with the future, gathering from one auspicious moment the beauty and the power that will never again come within the grasp of man. 222 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUaHT. There was not one only, but scores, to pluck the glistening fruit, and the feast of which all ages shall partake is fur- nished by many a glorious spirit. It is the whole age that dowers ; it is a hundred larks that pour their music from the skies. There was something in the bloom of that wondrous day that out-Shakspered Shakspere ; some- thing more marvelous than himself that overflowed his. bounds and sparkled in many a line that he never traced. In all the poets of that period there is something which reminds us of Shakspere, which the greatest poets of to-day, with all their witchery of words, cannot give; and so these elder bards did not take their glow from Shak- spere, but from that fiery fountain out of which Shakspere himself burst. They were, not because Shakspere was, but all were because the mind of man was exultant with a thrill that Time's daintiest touch had liberated from be- nignant stars. One could not write like Shakspere to-day even if he were intellectually his superior, for the heavens- and earth have changed, and our hearts cannot beat with the joy which was so mighty then and which so flooded the world that the dullest expressed something of its flame and became a poet by position. We can scarcely realize it now, and our noblest bards give no strain of that enchant- ing melody which even a drunken Caliban could pour forth. Even he could say : " The isle is full of noises. Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not ; Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices That if I then had waked after long sleep. Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming. The clouds, methought, would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that when I waked, I cried to dream again." ELIZUH WRIGHT (p. 828). SHAKSPERE. 223 Who but an Elizabethan poet coiihl fling into the very lap of horror this beauteous picture in Macbeth : " This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, buttress, No coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made His pendant bed and procreant cradle; where they Most breed and haunt, I have observed, the air Is delicate." Or this in Hamlet : " Some say that ever, 'gainst that season comes Wherein our savior's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long. And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike. No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm. So hallowed and so gracious is the time." And win but a Shaksperean lover would pour forth his heart like Romeo : " O speak again, bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white, upturned, wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds. And sails upon the bosom of the air." Shakspere wrote, not with the mature resolve of a critic, but with the glad impulse of a child, pouring his whole being into his varied creations. They are not mere receptacles of his wit and wisdom — the bare effluence of his pen. They are his own protean self in the tragedies and comedies of life. It is not the master-hand of a mere 224 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. artist that we see shaping out curious and sublime figures, but a living spirit flashing in manifold joy and power and beauty, like the ocean, indeed. Everywhere it's the same mighty deep that lowers and shines. Milton is like a star, but Sliakspere is like the sea. Nothing else can so sym- bolize not only his intellectual being, but the sweep of its activity. Through what vast action we pass from the beginning to the end of his majestic dramas ! There is an ever-progressive motion. When we finish reading Byron or Tennyson, we are just where we were Avhen we began. We have simply been lookers on, gazing at pictures, images, flowing by in ever-changing wonder and delight. But when we finish reading Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, Eomeo, why, by some enchanter's wand, we seem to have lived years. We have not simply listened to a flow of language, as musical, as bright as Apollo's lute strung with his hair ; we have seen the human being in infinite movement, and a thousand new visions have dawned upon us, such as no mere words could give, be they ever so witching; though we should not despise words, for they are not mere shallow sounds. Each word has a history. It springs out of the depths of human experience. It is freighted, oftentimes, with the tenderest and grandest accumulations of human progress ; and he is indeed a mighty poet who can unlock their wealth, and make the common words we use radiant with some new meaning, resetting them so that a fresh brilliance flashes from their familiar forms. But action is above lan- guage, for it creates language, and he who creates some new action, who puts the human being where it never was before, and utters its original thought, is indeed a poet, a maker, a creator. This is the transcendent facult}-. There have been thousands of singers, but how few cre- ators ; thousands who have poured forth melody and light, making the old things beautiful, but how few who, gifted with song, have yet, by pure thought, added something to SHAKSPBRB. 225 the life of tlie race, whose poetry, like the steam engine, the telegraph, opens a new era ; which does not only make old things new, but actually, out of the hitherto unknown, brings a fresh wonder, " like a new planet swimming on the ken." Such is Shakspere's poetry. It is a creative energy, and since Shakspere the world has been richer, not in language only, not in ideas only, but in life. He has moved us on into new realms of being. He has not only broadened our view ; he has enhanced our power. In Shakspere we see something more than the char- acters. The poet's soul seems to be breathing all about them, pouring forth a joyous abundance of unlanguaged poetry, which haunts the page with infinite suggestion, and one can dream by the hour over a single line, roaming away into regions far, for the characters and incidents are but the bright and palpable phenomena of a measureless domain, as real as the world about us with its sun and sky and flowers. It is well thus to realize the supremacy, universality, and unequaled richness of Shakspere's genius, for it is a fact of immense significance that he was entirely non- Christian. There is not a single cardinal orthodox doc- trine emphasized anywhere in his pages, no total depravity, vicarious atonement, not even G'od and immortality. All these, if mentioned at all, are purely dramatic and inci- dental ; they make no motive ; they create no character ; they inspire no poetry ; they originate no ideas. Taine says that Shakspere is pagan. He is pagan if by pagan one means that which is non-religious and natural. But Shakspere is not a pagan in a religious or even literary sense. He is neither Jew nor Gentile. He is neither Christian nor heathen. He is simply a man of all times, and the fact that this man is neither Christian nor relig- ious shows that Christianity and religion itself are not universal elements of human nature, but special elements. Shakspere is not distinctively a Freethinker; he is not 226 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FRBETHOUGHT. iinti- anything ; he does not specialize himself at any point ; he is always the comprehensive genius, the myriad-minded and many-sided. But if Christianity is what it claims to be — the supreme meaning of human life — then Shakspere, by his very universality, should have been the greatest of Christians, and every page should have glowed with Christian teachings. But the very universality of Shakspere is what makes him non- Christian, and this is an unanswerable argument against the claims of Christianity, and declares it to be merely an incident in history and not a central force. Shakspere uses it as he would any custom or institution. There is no purpose, no teleology, in Shakspere, no end outside of his plays. He writes merely to express himself, to ex- press life, as the river flows and the wind sweeps. He has no heroes and no favorites ; there is no perfect man m Shakspere. As Emerson says, Shakspere is a reporter, and he reports things exactly as they are, and does not change them for any moral purpose whatsoever. Tlie Greek tragedies are different. They are written for a purpose. They elaborate a religious or moral idea. In tliem the gods are living powers, and man is in relation with them, and his destiny is bound with them, and these sombre dramas are written to express these awful con- ceptions. God is of no special account with Shakspere, and he uses the other world merely as an appendix to this. Shakspere is a Secular poet throiagli and through. He never preaches, he never poses. He simply tells a story, a story of human life here and now. He does not tell us that the wrong will ever be righted. There is no " divine providence " in his pages. There is no " fall " and no " redemption." Beyond this Avorld no hope, no joy, no restitution. Shakspere reveals the wonderful riches of the present moment, its pains and passions, hopes and fears, sorrows and joys, its grandeur, its weak- ness, its romance, its heroism, its tenderness, its love ; he SHAKSPERE. 227 reveals the opulence of this material world, all the flo\ver^> that bloom, all the colors that shine, all the sounds that thrill ; and in this vast theater man is the splendid, titful, crowding personage, while God is only a scene-shifter or supernumerary in the illustrious drama. It is a remarkakle testimony to the little practical value of the Christian religion, that, in its most favored land, the greatest of poets should almost wholly ignore its claims, and that it shows not one particle of influence in the development of his magnificent genius. " He that is not for me is against me " is the dictum of the church, and it is sound logic. According to this, Sliakspere is one of the supreme Freethought forces of the world, as nature itself is Freethought when we really understand its movement. CHAPTEK XII. Gibbon.— 1737-1794 Of Gibbon we might say tliat he is one who makes history as well as one who writes history, for he gave a new method of history — the evolutionary. At least he was the beginner in this direction. Before his time, his- tory was only a mass of events. There was but little effort to connect these events. There was no study of cause and effect. Things seemed simply to happen, and occurrences and personages of a superior order were supposed to have a supernatural origin. Myth and miracle prevailed. There was no correlation, no sequence and consequence. History was a jumble, more a record of opinions than of facts. It was a kind of phantasmagoria. There Avas no process, no growth, no law. In fact, tliere was no science, mainly the- ology. It Avas " God in history " and not man in history, and fables abounded. Sheridan's hon mot against his ora- torical opponent might be applied to the would-be his- torian : "He depended upon his imagination for his facts, and upon his memory for his wit." Of course there were great writers, but history in their hands was a kind of poetry, a drama around some important personality or race, and it was partial and not universal. Wendell Phillips truthfully says : " Historv is, for the most part, an idle amusement, the day-dream of pedants and triflers. The details of events, the actors' motives, and their relation to each other are buried with them. The world and affairs have shown me 938 a STEPHEN PEARL ANDREWS (p. 689). GIBBON. 229 that one-half of history is loose conjecture and much of the rest is the writer's opinion, and most men see facts, not with their eyes, but with their prejudices. We are tempted to see facts as we think they ought to be, or wish they were." This certainly applies to history before the time of Gibbon. Gibbon made an effort to change this, to make history natural — not to give events only, but causes, to give the life of the people, out of which vast transactions came, as the tree grows, or volcanoes burn. Gibbon is not so admirable in this respect as many of his successors, but they had more ample material and a better science. They had the advantage of coming after him, but to Gibbon cer- tainly must be given the honor of trying to write history according to these principles. He may have made mistakes in the application of his method, as Bacon and Darwin did in the application of their methods, but it must not be denied that Gibbon gave a direction to history which in these modern days has been wonderfully fruitfuL Gibbon must ever remain as one of the greatest of historians, not provincial but cosmopolitan, who endeavored to get at the facts of the case, and the reason of the facts. He was not an advocate, but a true recorder of a most important period of the world's history. Says J. C. Morrison : " Gibbon's private opinions may have been what they were, but he has approved his high title to the character of a historian by keeping them well in abeyance. When he turned his eyes to the past and viewed it with intense gaze he was absorbed in the spectacle, his peculiar preju- dices were hushed, he thought only of the object before him and of reproducing it as well as he could. His faith- ful transcript of the past has come in consequence to be regarded as a common mine of authentic facts." We can hardly estimate to-day the tremendous task which lay before Gibbon and the masterful genius, as well as prodigious learning, which was required to bring order 230 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. out of confusion. There was a vast cliasm between the old world of Greece and Rome and the new world of Europe. No one had spanned that chasm. It was un- utterable confusion. Milton's description applies to it — a dark " Illimitable ocean, without bound, Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height, And time and place, are lost ; where eldest night And chaos, ancestors of nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand." I believe Gibbon read every Greek and Roman author, no matter how obscure, in order to gather material. He allowed nothing to escape his searching glance. Since Gibbon scarcely any new fact has been discovered. He knew whatever could be known of this vast theme. Ever}'^ fact was imbedded in a mass of fiction. This must be cleared away. Then the facts must be coordinated and expressed with dramatic unity and literary power, and this Gibbon has accomplished. His style is admirable, majestic, 3'et easy flowing like a river. His descriptions are most lively and picturesque. He can re- port a battle, or theological discussion, with equal accuracy and fervor. It is a wonderful panorama that he unfolds, and there is no part of it but what his comprehensive genius grasps and explains. Milman savs : " It is in the sublime Gothic architecture of his work, in which the boundless range, the infinite variety, the, at first sight, incongruous gorgeousness of the separate parts, nevertlieless, are all subordinate to one main and predomi- nant idea that Gibbon is unrivalled. We cannot, but ad- mire the manner in which he masses his material, and arranges his facts in successive groups, not according to chronological order, but to their moral and political con- nections, the distinctness with which he marks the grad- GIBBON. 231 ually increasing periods of decay. In Gibbon it is not always easy to bear in mind the exact dates, but the course of events is ever clear ; like a skillful general, though his troops advance from the most remote and opposite quarters, they are constantly concentrating themselves on one point, that which is still occupied by the name and by the waning power of Rome. " But the amplitude, the magnificence, and the har- mon}' of design are, though imposing, yet unworthy claims on our admiration, unless the details are filled up with correctness and accuracy. No writer has been more severely tried on this point than Gibbon. He has under- gone the triple scrutiny of theological zeal, quickened by resentment of literary emulation, and of that mean and invidious vanity which delights in detecting errors in writers of established fame." Guizot says : " In my first reading and criticism of Gibbon, I was far from doing adequate justice to the im- mensity of his researches, the variety of his knowledge, and, above all, the truly philosophic discrimination which judges the past as it would the present; and that events took place eighteen centuries ago as they take place in our days." Mr. Freeman also says: "That Gibbon should ever be displaced seems impossible. That wonderful man monop- oplized, so to speak, the historical genius and the his- torical learning of a whole generation, and left little indeed of either for liis contemporaries. He remains tlie one historian of the eighteenth century whom modern re- search has neither set aside nor threatened to set aside. We may correct and improve from the stores which have been opened since Gibbon's time ; we may write again large parts of history from other, and often truer and more wholesome, points of view ; but the work of Gibbon, as a whole, as the encj'clopedic history of 1300 years, as the grandest of historical designs, carried out 232 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FRBETHOUGHT. alike with wonderful power, and with wonderful accuracy, must ever keep its place. Whatever else is read, Gibbon must be read, too." Such are the testimonies to the value of Gibbon, per- haps next to Shakspere the greatest literary power in England. No man has changed our ideas of human his- tory like Gibbon. His influence in this respect is like that of Darwin in science. He stands at the beginning of a new era, whereby the past becomes interpenetrated with the light of the present; where human nature is revealed, and not the holy ghost ; where natural causes take the place -of miracles ; where God becomes an unnecessary factor, and exists by the suflerance of faith, and not the logic of events. As Darwin remands the supernatural from science, so Gibbon remands it from histoiw. No writer has struck a greater blow at Christianity than Gibbon. He has destroyed its historic basis. It has no longer any record of divinity. It marches in tlie com- mon course. It is the result of conditions, and ncit of supernal intervention. It takes its place among all the other religions of the world, and is to be judged by the same standard. Yet those very writers who praise the impartiality of Gibbon, his vast and accurate knowledge, his philosophi- cal discrimination, his generous justice even to Christian characters — for Dr. Newman admits that "Athanasius stands out more grandly in Gibbon than in the pages of the orthodox ecclesiastical historians " — these same writers accuse Gibbon of prejudice, weakness, and error on this one point, while on all others he is preeminently fair-minded. Is this an exce]ition to the surpassing merits of Gibbon, or is it really his noblest exhibition of historic genius? It certainlv required courage of a high order to do what Gibbon did. Hi^ opposed himself to the Avhole Christian world. He has brought upon himself a storm GIBBON. 233 of criticism which no other historian has endured. A vast effort has been made by some of the greatest scholars to impeach his acumen on this point, while affirming it on all others. It has been one of the battle-grounds of Freethought. I call attention, first of all, to a remarkable statement of Dean Milman : "No argument for the divine authority of Chris- tianity has been urged with greater force, or traced with higher eloquence, than that deduced from its primary development, explicable on no other hypothesis than a heavenly origin ; and from its rapid extension through a great part of the Roman empire. But this argument, one when confined within reasonable limits of unanswerable force, becomes more feeble and disputable in proportion as it recedes from the birthplace, as it were, of the religion. The farther Christianity advanced, the more causes purely human ivere enlisted in its favor ; nor can it be doubted that those developed with such artful exclusiveness by Gibbon did concur most essentially to its establishment.'' In this statement there are two notable propositions — first, that the only really divine manifestation or proof of Christianity is at its beginning, and that after the first su- pernatural impulse it advances by human methods ; second, that when we come to these purely human methods Gibbon is right, and this is certainly a giving away of the whole question on the part of theology, and yet in no other way could Dean Milman escape the historic dilemma. It must be understood that Gibbon does not under- take to discuss the absolute origin of the Christian religion, any more than Darwin discusses the absolute origin of life. Gibbon explains the development of Chris- tianity after its origin, as Darwin explains the develop- ment of life after its primitive origin. Gibbon takes Christianity at the time it comes into his historic domain, and shows that it advances from that period to its final 234 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. triumph by purely human means ; and this is granted to be correct. In the pages of Gibbon Christianity needs no divinity for its progress ; Milman admits this, and the hyijothesis of a heavenly origin only hold good at the birth of Christianity. This is certainly narrowing the divine effluence of Christianity to a very small space of human history. It is a strange God that cannot watch over his offspring better than that, and leaves it almost immediately after its ad- vent to the " cold mercies " of this world, and the facile pen of a Gibbon. It is a poor shred of comfort that Mil- man offers the believer — God at the beginning and Gibbon afterwards. Gibbon traces five causes as the source of Christian advancement and power. The first cause is " the inflexible and intolerant seal of the Christians," Our experience to-day in the American Republic proves the potency of this cause. It has forced Congress to pass an unconstitutional Sabbath law, while the vast majority of the people are constantly violating that law. A zealous minority will, oftentimes, defeat an indifferent majority. The second cause is " the doctrine of a future life, im- proved by every additional circumstance which could give weight and efficacy to this important truth." The doctrine of immortality, as held by early Christians, was a bright and beautiful belief, as compared to that of the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians. It was a bodily immortality, an immortality of human life and affections; it was an immor- tality of sunlight and glory, and not the vague, shado\vy, indefinite immortality of the elder faiths, which certainly had very litle attraction for the common mind. The im- mortality of the early Christianity was an earthly immor- tality, an immortality of flesh and blood on the bosom of this green earth. It was an immortality with the gods, ABNER KNEKLaNI' (p 755). GIBBON. 235 and not in hades. Christ was to come and reign here, and the saints with him. It was something tangible, compre- hensible, material. It was a city, a crown, a harp, a throne, a river of water, verdant fields, aud golden fruitage. Such a belief must have a powerful effect in that age of tyranny and poverty, before science iiad given its noble promise, and millions were in despair. Without question, such a belief must have had a tremendous sway in that credulous, unhappy, and transitional age. The belief in immortality among Christians to-day is much like that of the ancient Greeks and Komans, meta- physical, spiritual, and indefinite. But in the times por- trayed by Gibbon, it was a burning faith; it appealed to the senses, not merely to the intellect; it was physical, not metaphysical, it was a resurrection, and not a dim continu- ance of an intangible ghost, and hence it was vital, and being once accepted, must have advanced with amazing rapidity. The third cause is the miraculous powers ascribed to the primitive church. For miracles to influence the hu- man race in faith or action, it is only necessary that they should be believed in, not that they should really happen. That there was a widespread belief in miracle is beyond question, and Christianity had the benefit of this belief. The fourth cause is the virtues of primitive Christians. These virtues were mainly of an ascetic order, and in times of disaster and terror have a somewhat superior influence. This, however, is the weakest of the causes enumeiated by Gibbon. The fifth cause was the union and discipline of the Christian republic. This remarkable organization of the early church, together with the belief in immortality, are really the transcendent causes of the triumph of Chris- tianity. Without these it never could have triumphed, and with these it would have triumphed, without the cooperation of the others. The zeal, the miracles, and 236 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. the austerities would liave amounted to nothing without that most perfect organization whicli the work! has ever seen, and faith in immortality, not some invisible world, but in this very world itself, with all its material splendors consecrated to the happiness of the saints. Gibbon, therefore, has given good and sufficient reasons for the natural evolution of Christianity. But it is said that these causes, ascribed by Gibbon, are also effects. What made these causes, what maile the zeal, the belief in immortality and miracles, the virtues and the order and discipline ? The answer of the theologian is that the cause of these effects must be supernatural With exquisite irony Gibbon disclaims any intention of answering these questions. He says : " The theologian may indulge the ple.asing task of de- scribing religion, as she descended from heaven, arrayed in her native purity; a more melancholy duty is imposed upon the historian. He must discover the inevitable mix- ture of error and corruption, which she contracted in a long residence upon earth." The task which Gibbon accepted, he certainly per- formed with masterly ability. As to the miraculous origin of Christianity, Hume has forever destroyed its claims to that, for in the old sense of the word miracle, that is, a violation of the hiws of nat- ure, no miracle is possible. In the new sense of the word, miracle, that is, an extraordinary event, there must be for its proof an extraordinary amount of evidence, but in this case no such evidence exists. Gibbon has ample evidence as to tlie existence of its causes and their results, but what is the evidence for the ''heavenly origin" of Chris- tianity? Milman only calls it an " In-pothesis," and it can only be an hypothesis. There can be no demonstration of the historic basis of Christianity. We do not know what reallv happened, and hence we can arrive at no cause. GIBBON. 237 Wendell Phillips says : " How impossible to learn the exact truth of what took place yesterday under your next neighbor's roof. Yet we complacentlj' argue and speculate about matters a thousand miles off, and a thousand years ago, as if we knew them." Spedding, in his " Life of Bacon," says : " The records of the past are not complete enough to enable the most diligent historian to give a connected narrative in which there shall not be some parts resting on guesses or inferences or unauthenticated rumors. He may guess himself, or he may report other people's guesses, but guesses there must be." I admit that it is perfectly logical for the Christian critic to ask for the sources of these causes enumerated by Gibbon, since the same critic admits, with Gibbon, the ex- istence of the causes and their predominant influence in the development and exaltation of the Christian relig- ion. But note this : It is altogether illogical to afiirm a supernatural or extraordinary source to these causes, since for the establishment of such a source there must be an equally extraordinary mass of evidence, Avhich evidence is totally lacking. So far as real history is concerned^ what have we concerning the origin of Christianity but, as Spedding says, " guesses or inferences or unauthenticated rumors ? " Therefore we are estopped by the very logic of the situation from affirming any " heavenly origin." We may not have to-day and never have sufficient in- formation to exactly trace the origin of the zeal, the beliefs, the virtues, and the disciplined order of the early Christians ; but, whatever that origin, we are compelled by modern philosophy and modern science to ascribe a natural and human origin. The " hypothesis " of a " heav- enly origin " is forever untenable, for the mass of testi- mony necessary to its establishment is forever lacking. 238 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Theology, therefore, has nothing to say. Sociological science only can settle the question, if it is settled. A modern illustration, however, will throw some light upon the subject. E-enan, in his life of St, Paul, states that at the death of this apostle there were only about one thousand Christian believers in the world. This simplifies the problem greatly, for we have not to account for the belief of millions, but only of one thousand, for after the death of St. Paul even theologians grant there were no miracles and that Christianity developed by natural means ; and given one thousand firm, uncompro- mising, passionate believers in Christianity, with our knowledge of human nature, it is easy enough to see how they would multiply and becomes millions. So the real question is this : Why, at the end of St. Paul's career, did one thousand people believe in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus ? Is this such an extraordinary phenomenon ? In our own age, amidst the vary blaze of civilization, with electric lights turning night into day ; with railroads, telegraphs and telephones ; time and space annihilated in our means of communication with one another ; in this age of sur- passing and almost universal knowledge, in the very heart of our land there has sprung up a belief in a "divine revelation," Avhich in the same space of time that Chris- tianity attained only one thousand believers, has attained a hundred thousand believers ; and yet what scientific mail or Christian theologian will admit that Mormonism has a " heavenly origin," although it presents to the phi- losopher and historian a far greater puzzle than the prim- itive belief of the Christians? It is much easier to account for one thousand Christian believers at the death of St. Paul, than for the existence of one hundred thousand Mormon believers at the death of Brigham Young. Remember that it is not miracles that we are to ac- count for, but a helief in miracles. There is not a particle GIBBON. 239 of historic testimony that the miracles ever occurred. We have only historic testimony as to a belief in them, but it is the height of presumption to affirm that because people believe in a miracle, therefore the miracle occurred. If the Christian asks : Why did one thousand people believe in Jesus in the lirst century? I ask : Wliy do two hun dred thousand people believe in Joe Smith in the nine- teenth century ? My question is by far the more difficult to answer, and when my question is answered the Cliris- tiau's question is also answered. If Mormonism is a natural evolution, then Christianity must be likewise. The position of Gibbon, therefore, is impregnable. He deals with causes as they are, and his conclusions are un- deniable. He has shown Christianity as it really is. Says Milm;in : " It is idle, it is disingenuous, to deny or dis- semble the early depravations of Christianity." Chris- tianity never had a more candid treatment than from Gibbon. He recognized whatever merits it possessed. As he was perfectly unprejudiced in his treatment of Julian, the non-Christian emperor, detecting his weakness, as well as his greatness, so he was equall}^ unprejudiced in his treatment of Christianity ; and he displays the same acumen, the same learning, and the same impartial judg- ment in these two famous chapters, which have been so ferociously attacked by the church, as in all the other parts of his work. Gibbon has won the day. His method is accepted. The historic weakness of Christianity from his time has been manifest. Its myths and miracles have no longer any recognized position. Gibbon has thus con- ferred an inestimable benefit upon humanity. To under- stand history aright is one of the noblest triumphs of human genius. It is well in this history to give some of the very latest results of historic criticism which have come from the method adopted by Gibbon. The following has been selected. It is remarkable 240 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. both in itself and the occasion of its utterance. Says Holyoake : " A more original or succinct account of this event has rarely been given. Its origin is as singular as the account itself. The writer is a doctor of law of great attainments, and holding an official position in a well-known English town, himself a Conservative and a leader of Conserva- tives, wlio are mostly as bigoted in piety as in politics. Yet the bold writer casts the following extraordinary statement into the midst of them. It was done in the course of an argument in favor of their political prejudices against Mr. Gladstone's great Home Kule bill. It would seem th;it there must be greater latitudinarism in the center of political orthodoxy than is commonly supposed. The learned doctor's kinsmen were related to Thomas Paine's great friend, Clio Hickman. This may account for the courage and thoroughness of t]ie opini(ms which fol- low, but this does not diminish the strangeness of their ex- pression under the circumstances I have named. "The Christian superstition consists of a huge mass of legendary tales iucrusting a small nucleus of fact, which, of itself, would have been too insignificant to be termed historical, but which may be conjectured to have been about as follows : The successors of Alexander the Great had long been waging desultory wars against the S3mitic Syrian tribes, including the Jews, all refractorv to the spread of Greek culture. To this kind of warfare the Komans succeeded, after they had absorbed various domin- ions carved out of the Macedonians' empire. Judea was vanquished by Pompey and received Poman governors. Put a state of disaffection and unrest prolonged itself for long after, much as the same condition has continued in Ireland after its absorption by Great Pritain. A young man inspired with these species of disaffection, but in v\'hom mental excitement had passed the bounds of sanity, became possessed of the hallucination that he was des- JAMES PARTON (p. 784). GIBBOX. 241 tined to overthrow the Roman rule and reestablish the ancient kingdom of David. He was a home-ruler of his age and nation. His attempt of course failed. He was impaled upon a cross, but whether his wounds were mortal has been doubted, and, for the present purpose, the ques- tion is unimportant. What is of importance is that among the excited and credulous populace of the Levant he ob- tained a, following, and this destructive superstition, to borrow the words of the Roman historian, continued to ferment, expanded about the close of the Antonine era into great dimensions, and installed itself as the state religion. But its triumph was bought by the ruin of ancient civilization. The thousand years of its unques- tioned supremacy, from Constantine until the invention of printing and the dawn of the Reformation, are known as the Dark Ages. Thought in every form of development was prostrate under the Christian faith. The Protestant Reformation made the first breach in the huge edifice of mediaeval superstition. It is not needful to value tliis event higher than by saying that it made the first great rift in the dark pall of superstition and credulity, and that the rays of nature and reason streamed in upon men through the rents and fissures which the Reformation had made, and have kindled the torch of progress upon various fields of human activity, scientific, political, and econom- ical." In a more comprehensive manner Mr. T. B. Wakeman has given the origin of Christianity in accordance with the method of Gibbon, but with the advantage of later learn- ing. Christianity is simply a natural evolution. '' Christianity was born from the union of the Messiah idea of the Jews with the ' the Word, ' or, in Greek, the Logos, which was the spirit and the God idea of the Neo- Platonists, the Essenes, the Therapeutse, the Nazaranes and probably other ascetic or eclectic sects of Palestine and Egypt. This union was brought about by the incarna- 242 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. tion of both tlie Messiah and the Logos in a name, Jesus (in Hebrew, Joshua), whom tradition had found or made to be one of the many unfortunate and slain Hebrew rebels against the Roman and priestly power. Gradually it was assumed, and then believed, that this Jesus Avas the Mes- siah or anointed one of Hebrew prophecy, and finalh' at Autioch, some fifty years after his supposed death, his fol- lowers were called ' Christians.' It was believed ^hat he would come in the clouds and execute judgment during the lifetime of those then living. This prediction was falsified by the event, then the belief was spiritualized to a judg- ment at death, or at some future end of the world, when those who believed in 'the Christ' should be saved in heaven with him, while those who did not believe and ac- cept him as sovereign, should have no part in the celestial realm, but be damned as rebels. This scheme and the need of it, evidently applied to the poor and the oppressed of tha empire at large, as well as to the Jews and Egyp- tians, and so it was extended by St. Paul and others, over the East. It raised the wretched in heart and hope, above the fortunate of the world, for it gave them a new integra- tion and an infinite importance compared with any earthly ties of empire or of kindred. The wretched were the ma- jority, and this faith, in three hundred years, controlled the empire, and made Constantine see that he, as emperor, would have no power behind him unless he became the master of the integration of the at first despised Nazarene. Thus the empire fell under the sway of the Christian priests and the chief of these became of course the pope or Poutifex Maximus of the empire itself. "In this new spiritual scheme the pope became the chief of all of the powers on earth, and the City of God, the Kingdom of Heaven, in time sup])lanted the empire itself in all except the name. Here we have the materials, the motive, and the very means by which this union of elements worked out this religion of earthly sorrow and aiBBON. 243 celestial hope, and made it triumphant over the religion of Polytheistic heroism which liad been the soul of Rome. " Do not the facts bear out this view ? All the world and especially Judea was welterinpr under Roman oppression. See in Daniel and the Maccabees, and the mention of Theudas and other unfortunate rebels, how the Jews ex- pected and longed for their new Joshua, /. e., Messiah- Jesus, who should be their deliverer and Emanuel. Jose- phus tells of one Jesus stoned to death. That others were crucified there is every reason to believe. The Christ forgeries in Josephus are too patent to be referred to here. " Now look at the other factor in the problem, the Logos or ' the Word,' which ' was with God and was God and was made flesh,' as the Fourth Gospel says. Josephus and Philo and Eusebius tell the whole story of these Essenes and similar sects, whose God idea or logos, was plainly thus married to the Messiah Etnanuel, tlie An- ointed, the Deliverer, or ' God with us.' The incarnation of deities had become familiar to these sects from India and Egypt where such returns and incarnation of gods were matters of course. " That this traditional Jesus should return to earth and be seen by his followers was not strange at that period of practical spiritualism among peoples inflamea with these beliefs. Spirits and ghosts and devils and gods were commonplace appearances under the old iuill-i[\QovY of the world among ignorant and excited people. " These were the materials, yet they might have been comparatively insignificant, but for the third factor, viz., the visions, dreams, and apparitions of this Christ to Paul, Peter, John, Stephen, and their companions. Such visions combined these Messiah-logos materials and in- carnated the deliverer King and 'Word' into the ascended and spiritual Christ-Jesus, and extended his name from the Jews to the world at large. '* Of these apparitions those to St. Paul on his journey 244 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. to Damascus ; his being ' caught up to the third heaven ; ' the great sheet with animals let down from heaven to Peter ; the gift of tongues and fire ; the Revelation now placed at the end of the New Testament — are tj'pical. They show what was going on at that time in hundreds of heads and hearts. By such means, who could not be converted and overwhelmed with proofs directly from heaven ? Cat- alepsy, as in the case of Mohammed ! — who could argue with that ? It was easier to take the disease. Such things as historical facts or evidence were scarcely inquired for. St. Paul received all of his proofs and information about ' the Christ-Jesus' directly from 'the Lord in heaven.' He scorned to even ask of men (brethren?) who might have known of this Messiah tradition, what Jesus it was, or what he had done, and yet he became the chief promul- gator of and Avitness to the new faith. "Those who were slain, like Stephen, were called martyrs, that is, witnesses, not because they had wit- nessed any historical or actual facts, but because they had witnessed facts in these visions. Those were the proofs ! " Transpose the books of the New Testament to the order in which they were really written and you will have the proofs of all this. First come the Epistles, especially those of Paul, admitted to have been written about A. D. 60, some thirty years after Christ's supposed crucifixion. Then at or about the same time comes the 'Revelation' at the end of the book ; and then, some fifty to a hundred years after, the various ' Gospels ' and * the Acts ' take form and the four Gospels (or five, including the Acts), now in the New Testament have been preserved as most con- ducive to the beliefs that the collectors entertained. For that seems to have been the motive of their selection from many other gospels then extant. "It is evident from these faats and from the miraculous contents of the Gospels and Acts, that they are unreliable historical documents. In them even the original tradition aiBBON. 245 of Jesus, uncertain as it was, has been overwhelmed by the visions, the revelations, the supposed Messiah- prophecies, the Zo(/os-fancies, and the Essenic prayers, morals, fables, miracles, teachings, and customs which form the greater part of them, and which make them in- coherent and inconsistent as they are. Such were the real sources and materials of the gospels, and in this light we know them to be supposed history which was woven and thrown backward some hundred years around the name of Jesus, who never existed as the gospel be- lievers fancied and described, and who never could have even known the purposes, deeds, and words attributed to him. It is evolutionally and historically certain that Jesus, if he ever existed, was perfectly ignorant and in- nocent, not only of the name Christ, but also of all that lias come down to us under the name of Christianity. That the life and literature of the Essenes form the body of the Gospels we know from Eusebius (chap, xvii) ; that the Messiah conception was inwoven we know from the prophecies and the claim that the anointed king of the Jews had come and been crucified. Dreams and visions and miracles did the rest. The Lord's Supper was a special revelation to St. Paul which he gives as such in his own words, but which words are afterwards inserted in Luke when that gospel came to be compiled (see 1 Cor. xi, 23, 26, and then Luke xxii, 19, 20). So the revela- tion to St. Paul about the end of the world (1 Tliess. iv, 15-18), is the main point of the gospels Matthew, Mark, and Luke (Matt, xxiv, 16, 28, etc. Mark xiii, 30-36, ix, 1 ; Luke xiii, 30-36). " But when the Gospel of John was worked out, long after the synoptic gospels, the fact that Jesus had not come in the clouds as foretold was too patent to be faced, and so the fact of tlie promise to come is evaded and prac- tically denied and the logos-idea takes its place and sends the comforter ! (John xvi, xvii, xviii, etc.) 246 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. " Follow out these hints and the Bible will no longer be a sealed book. But first read the books of the Old and the New Testaments and the Apocrjphas, too, in the order in which they were written, and under the light of contemporary ideas, facts, and history, then give evolu- tion a chance, and the truth about the Bible will be your reward — that is, if you consider the game to be worth the candle. Remember that the Bible, as it is now made up and labeled, and sold, as one book, is a practical fraud, at which any honest man should blush. It is utterly unin- telligible in that order and shape. " Under the view just stated the gospels were written backward to supply a vacancy from whence history had irrevocably vanished, if it ever existed. Thus is it found to be with every other religion. Thus Niebuhr reads the early stories in Livy of Romulus and Remus. Tlius Grote disposes of the early myths of Greece. Thus Kuenen ex- plains the creation myths of Adam and Noah. " Thus the personal, the Messianic, the mythic, and the logos or Essenic 'origins of Cliristianity ' have all some- thing true in them. They all contribute to the true and evolutional origin of the religion of the King of the Jews,, whose death and ascension is believed by millions to have secured them a City of God, a kingdom of heaven, ' a tab- ernacle not made with hands,' whose foundation in ' the word' antedated the world itself. It had in its early history many advantages over the Roman empire. It founded a brotherhood of the believers, cemented by a higher power than any earthly sanction. It made them equal before the throne of God. It made human life in- finitely sacred. It was in fact a higher integration, a three-story static realm of heaven, earth, and hell, inspir- ing a higher patriotism than even the mighty city of Rome itself. And because of that, just as in the Arabian Nights, the ship which sailed by the mountain of load- stone had every particle of iron drawn from it, so fell J. p. MENDUM (p. 772). GIBBON. 247 the empire of the Caesars when Christianity drew away its patriotism. Gibbon has pictured this ' Decline and Fall ' of Rome in a history that has been called the rain- bow spanning the dark era of Christian faith, that ' Middle Age,' between the ancient and the modern civilizations of Europe." CHAPTEE XIII. Voltaire, the French Revolution, Thomas Paine. It is strange, and one might say passing strange, that Gibbon, of wide survey, of rare insight, of profound learn- ing, who seemed to know the past like a book, this same man was opposed to the American Revolution — saw no glory in it — no new meaning for humanity. As for the French Revolution, he passes to doubt, disgust, and horror at this " new birth of time." It was much the same with Hume, the boldest philosopher of his time. It only sliows the limitations of the greatest minds, and that genius is rather for special purposes than for universal excellence. Even Shakspere had no voice for democracy. And so, after Gibbon, we pass on to the greatest polit- ical drama of all human history — to Voltaire, the French Revolution, and Thomas Paine. Voltaire. In the world of action we might say that Voltaire is the supreme man of the human race. No man has let loose such far-reaching, potent forces of human develop- ment. Voltaire will not rank as the greatest pliilosopher, or the greatest poet, or the greatest historian, but he will rank as the greatest agitator of all time. No man has so stirred the human mind. No man has been such a revolu- tion in himself. In him were the seeds of the mightiest progress of to-day. He was an electric battery, an illum- inating flash. He was wonderfully fortunate. He was no martyr, yet no martyr ever wrought so valiantly as he. VOLTAIRE. 249 He was richly gifted. His mastery of language was un- surpassed. His words were like diamonds. He poured sunlight upon every topic he touched. His knowledge was universal — of books and of men. He was complete master of himself. His wit is wisdom, a lightning-like process of reasoning. He was no clown, but a teacher of humanity. We can scarcel}^ realize to-day the immensity of the work he accomplished. He was engaged in a ter- rible combat, yet he seemed to do it in gorgeous holiday attire. He was a shining knight in the lists, and victori- ous with tremendous odds against him. His opponents never drew blood, nor laid his beaming forehead in the dust. He was in the fashion, and yet he was a pioneer. Kings were among his friends, and yet he was the pre- lude of democracy. In him was the birth of republics. The transcendent power of Voltaire was the power of expression. His thought was crystal clear. His intellect was like the bright-blue sky. There were no fogs or mists or clouds. From the ample domain of his piercing vision, he could gather a thousand thoughts without confusion. He could array his intellectual forces with the masterly generalship of a Napoleon. He knew where to strike. His luminous sentences were like arrows, and went home every time. In the hands of Voltaire language was like the sword of Saladin. It gleamed, glittered, radiated, and cut. It executed so deftly that the victim was unaware of his de- capitation. If there is one word which expresses the all-round ability and purpose of Voltaire, it is not the word philos- oph}-, or the word poetry, or the word politics ; it is the word humanit3^ Voltaire was passionately sympathetic. He hated wrong with every fiber of his being. Nothing would arouse him like a flagrant act of injustice ; and the lowliest of human beings were as much in his regard as the loftiest. It was for man as man that he labored. 250 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Read the story of Jean Galas and Chevalier de La Barre. What romances these are of devotion, patience, and suc- cess, the most brilliant in human historv. Savs Victor Hugo : " Before the revolution, gentlemen, the social structure was this : "At the base, the people ; "Above the people, religion represented by the clergy ; "By the side of religion, justice, represented by the magistracy. "And, at that period of human society, what was the people ? It was ignorance. What was religion ? It was intolerance. And what was justice ? It was injustice. Am I going too far in my words ? Judge. " I will confine myself to the citation of two facts, but decisive. "At Toulouse, October 13, 1761, there was found in a lower story of a house, a young man hanged. The crowd gathered, the clergy fulminated, the magistracy investi- gated. It was a siiicide ; they made of it an assassination. In what interest? In the interest of religion. And who was accuseii ? The father. He was a Huguenot, and he wished to hinder his son from becoming a Catholic. There was here a moral monstrosity and a material impossibility ; no matter ! This father had killed his son ; this old man had hanged this young man. Justice travailed, and this was the result. On the month of March, 1762, a man with white hair, Jean Calas, was conducted to a public place, stripped naked, stretched upon a wheel, the members bound upon it, the head hanging. Three men are there upon a scaffold, a magistrate, named David, charged to superintend the punishment, a priest to hold the crucifix, and the executioner with a bar of iron in his hand. The patient, stupefied and terrible, regards not the priest, and looks at the executioner. The executioner lifts the bar of iron, and breaks one of his arms. The victim groans and VOLTAIRE. 251 swoons. The magistrate comes forward ; thej make the condemned inhale salts ; he returns to life. Then another stroke of the bar ; another groan. Ciilas loses conscious- ness ; they revive him, and the executioner begins again ; and, as each limb before being broken in two places re- ceives two blows, that makes eight punishments. After the eighth swooning the priest offers him the crucifix to kiss ; Galas turns away his head, and the executioner gives him the coup de grace ; that is to say, crushes in his chest with the thick end of the bar of iron. So died Jean Galas. " That lasted two hours. After his death, the evidence of the suicide came to light. But an assassination had been committed. By whom? By the judges. "Another fact. After the old m.ui, the young man. Three years later, in 1765, at Abbeville, the day after a night of storm and high wand, there was found upon the pavement of a bridge an old crucifix of worm-eaten wood, which for three centuries had been fastened to the para- pet. Who had thrown down this crucifix ? Who com- mitted this sacrilege? It is not known. Perhaps a passer by. Perhaps the wind. Who is the guilty one ? The Bishop of Amiens launches a monifoire. Note what a. monitoire was : it was an order to all the faithful, on pain of hell, to declare what tliey knew or believed they knew of such or such a fact ; a murderous injunction, when ad- dressed by fanaticism to ignorance. The monitoire of the Bishop of Amiens does its work ; the town gossip assumes the character of the crime charged. Justice discovers, or believes it discovers, that on the nigh^ when the eiucifix was thrown down, two men, two officers, one named La Barre, the other d'Etallonde, passed over the bridge of Abbeville, that they were drunk, and that they sang a guard-room song. The tribunal was the Seneschalcy of Abbeville. The Seneschalcy of Abbeville was equivalent to the court of the Gapitouls of Toulouse. It was not less. 252 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. just. Two orders for arrest were issued. D'Etallonde escaped, La Barre was taken. Him they delivered to judicial examination. He denied having crossed tbe bridge ; lie confessed to having sung the song. The Seneschalcj of Abbeville condemned him ; he appealed to the Parliament of Paris. He was conducted to Paris ; the sentence was found good and confirmed. He was con- ducted back to Abbeville in chains. I abridge. The monstrous hour arrives. They begin by subjecting the Chevalier de La Barre to the torture, ordinary and extra- ordinary, to make him reveal his accomplices. Accom- plices in what ? In having crossed a bridge and sung a song. During the torture one of his knees was broken; his confessor, on hearing the bones crack, fainted away. The next dav, June 5, 1766, La Barre was drawn to the great square of Abbeville, where flamed a penitential fire ; the sentence was read to La Barre ; then they cut off one of his hands ; then they tore out his tongue with iron pin- cers ; then, in mercy, his head was cut off and thrown into the fire. So died the Chevalier de La Barre. He was nineteen years of age. "Then, O Voltaire! thou didst utter a cry of horror, and it will be thine eternal glory ! " Then didst thou enter upon the appalling trial of the past ; thou didst plead, against tyrants and monsters, the cause of the human race, and thou didst gain it. Great man, blessed be thou forever!" Bruno, we might say, was the first persistently to de- clare the modern doctrine of human rights. In the old days there were no rights- -only mights. Bights is a modern conception. Jesus never taught universal human rights, nor any of the philosophers of Greece and Rome. The church certainly never respected human rights, and the- ology never discovered them. According to the old the- ology, there can be no rights of man, for God is a tyrant and man is a slave. Man is a totally depraved being, in HORACE SEAVER (p. 803). VOLTAIRE. 253 himself absolutely worthless ; he is born a coudemned prisoner ; he is under ban. His righteousness is but iilthy rags, and, therefore, what can liis rights be ? Man is but cla}- iu the hands of the potter, and what rights has clay ? Tlie old theology was necessarily the annihilation of hu- man liberty and human rights. But the magnificent Pantheism of Bruno necessarily affirmed human rights, for it affirmed human value and human dignity. According to Bruno, man was identical with God. He was iu God and God was in him. There was no essential difference between man and God. Tiie glory of the one was the glory of the other. Bruno's phi- losophy did not annihilate man in God, but elevated and ennobled man by the universal equality of existence. In every man was the divine spark, the divine exaltation, and, therefore, each in his essential nature must be free and a sovereign individual. Thus, in Bruno, first of all. I think, do we find the germ of the Declaration of Inde- pendence : " All men are created equal, and endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Bruno, in his martyrdom and in the splendor of his genius, not only represents the beginning of the era of science, but also of the era of man. He gives us not only the wonderful con- ception of the infinity of worlds, but also the modern con- ception of man — man clothed with rights by the very virtue of his existence, each man the equal of every other man because equal with God himself. Natural rights, the dignity of human nature, its freedom, its glory, the founda- tion principles of triumphant democracy — it was these that Bruno flashed forth upon the world and made im- mortal with the fires of his glorious death. More distinctly and predominantly than Bruno, Voltaire affirmed the natural rights of man. The mystical, pan- theistic element of Bruno was not in Voltaire. Bruno affirmed human rights on the basis of universal divinity, 254 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP PREETHOUGHT. Voltaire on the basis of universal humanity. While Vol- taire was in form Deistical, he was essentially Atheistical. He was the incarnation of common sense. He reasoned on the basis of this world. Bruno insisted more upon the rights of thought, Voltaire upon the rights of action, and, therefore, it is that Voltaire is preeminently the apostle of political libert}'. If we go back into the depths of time we might justly affirm that Bruno and Voltaire are the fathers of the American republic ; that in them originates the spirit of modern freedom ; that from them originates that mighty stream ■ttdiich is constantly sweeping away thrones and tiaras. Greater, indeed, does Bruno tower in the vistas of the past as the first to declare the rights of man, than as the daring man of science, or the enthu- siastic philosopher ; for what are all the stars to us, and all the gods, if man is to be a slave, if man has no natural worth, if he is simply the creature of circumstance, if he is born merely by a freak of fortune to wear a crown or wear a chain, and either is right if such is the original condition ? Surely the magnificence of modern progress is primarily in the affirmation of human liberty and rights, and other progress is useless and turns to dust and ashes unless it makes man more free, and emphasizes the essential grandeur of each individual human being. Out of the fiery heart of Bruno, and his illuminated brain, exalted not only by the wonder of the stars, but by the greatness and glory of man, flows and sparkles the sublim- est hope of the future ; and the radiant genius of Voltaire bore onward this undying light, flaming in horror and de- struction, butpointiugthrough storm and peril to the noblest and sweetest happiness of which mankind is capable. Does it not appear that Bruno, as the first to articulate the inalienable rights of each human being, because in the unity of the universe there must be equality for all — does it not appear that he was in the mind of the most glorious poet of modern times, when he sang : VOLTAIRE. 255 " A farewell look of love be turned, Half calming me ; then gazed awhile, As if through that black and massy pile, And through the crowd around him there, And through the deuse and murky air, And the thronged streets, he did espy What poets know and prophesy ; And said, with voice that made them shiver. And clung like music to my brain, And which the mute walls spoke again, Prolonging it with deepened strain, ' Tear not the tyrants shall rule forever. Or the priests of the evil faith ; They stand on the brink of that mighty river Whose waves they have taiuteil with death ; It is fed from the depths of a thousand dells, Around them it foams and rages and swells, And their swords and their sceptres I floating see. Like fVrecks on the surge of eternity,' " There was not in Voltaire's life the tragical element of Bruno's. This was not because Voltaire was any less de- voted to humanity, but because of the noble fortune which attended him all his life long, and made his career one of the most extraordinary and shining in human his- tory. So long as he lived the priests cowered before his genius. They could not extinguish its fire. It flamed over Europe. Only in death did the power of the church proclaim itself. That was a strange flight of his dead body in the midnight darkness to a place of burial. How the " priests of an evil faith " would have gloated over his dust if they could have laid their hands upon it before it reached a consecrated grave. Voltaire cannot be blamed for revolt- ing against this martyrdom after death, when indeed the cruelty of the church is most horrible. The fate of 256 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Adrienne Lecouvveur was before his eyes, a pathetic tragedy which brands the church with eternal disgrace among those who love art and beauty and genius. Living, Voltaire could confront the church with the radiance of his undaunted spirit, but dead he must flee before the terrible wild beast that would tear and rend his inani- mate body. No one has painted this strange flight with nobler felicity than our own Ingersoll. "His death was kept a secret. Tlie Abl)e Mignot made arrangements for the burial at Romilli-on-tlie-Seine, more than one hundred miles from Paris. On Sunday evening, on the last day of May, 1778, the bod}^ of Voltaire, clad in a dressing-gown, clothed to resemble an invalid, posed to simulate life, was placed in a carriage ; at its side, a ser- vant, whose business it was to keep it in position. To this carriage were attached six horses, so that people might think a great lord was going to his estates. Another car- riage followed, in which were a grand nephew and two cousins of Voltaire. All night they traveled, and on the following day arrived at the courtyard of the Abbey. The necessary papers were shown, the mass was performed in the presence of the body, and Voltaire found burial. A few moments afterward, the prior, who ' for charity had given a little arth/ received from his bishop a. menacing letter forbidding the- burial of Voltaire. It was too late. "Voltaire was dead. The foundations of State and Throne had been sapped. The people were becoming ac- quainted Avitli the real kings and with the actual priests. Unknown men born in misery and want, men whose fathers and mothers had been pavement for the rich, were rising toward the light, and their shadowy faces were emerging froui darkness. Labor and thought became friends." And how glorious was the return of this immortal man, regent even in his coffined dust, and swaying millions as if an emperor in. royal robes. It is said that a live ass is better than a dead lion, but in this case the dead lion 1 VOLTAIRE. 257 was more potent than ten thousand living asses in the church. How they trembled before that imperial dust, in lowly corruption, yet lofty as the stars in its resplendent majesty ! Says IngersoU : "A funeral procession of a hundred miles ; every vil- lage with its flags and arches in his honor ; all the people anxious to honor the philosopher of France — the savior of Galas — the Destroyer of Superstition. " On reaching Paris the great procession moved along the Rue St. Antoine. Here it paused and for one night upon the ruins of the Bastille rested the body of Voltaire — rested in triumph, in glory — rested on fallen wall and broken arch, on crumbling stone still damp with tears, on rusting chain and bar and useless bolt — above the dun- geons dark and deep, where light had faded from the lives of men and hope had died in breaking hearts. " The conqueror resting upon the conquered. Throned upon the Bastille, the fallen fortress of Night, the body of Voltaire, from whose brain had issued the Dawn. "For a moment liis ashes must have felt the Prome- thean fire, and the old smile must have illumined once more the face of death." To sum up the career of this man, read the burning words of Victor Hugo : " Voltaire conquered ; Voltaire waged the splendid kind of warfare, the war of one alone against all ; that is to say, the grand warfare. The war of thought against matter, the war of reason against prejudice, the war of the just against the unjust, the war for the oppressed against the oppressor, the war of goodness, the war of kindness. He had the tenderness of a woman and the wrath of a hero. He was a great mind and an immense heart. " He conquered the old code and the old dogma. He conquered the feudal lord, the gothic judge, the Roman priest. He raised the populace to the dignity of people. He taught, pacificated, and civilized. He fought for Sir- 258 FOUR HUNDREP YEAP^S OF FREETHOUGHT. ven and Montbailly, as for Calas and La Barre ; he ac- cepted all the menaces, all the outrages, all the persecu- tions, calumny, and exile. He was indefatigable and immovable. He conquered violence by a smile, despotism by sarcasm, infallibility by irony, obstinacy by persever- ance, ignorance by truth." And Goethe says of his greatness : " If you wish depth, genius, imagination, taste, reason, sensibility, philosophy, elevation, originality, nature, in- tellect, fancy, rectitude, facility, flexibility, precision, art, abundance, variety, fertility, warmth, magic, charm, grace, force, an eagle sweep of vision, vast understanding, in- struction rich, tone excellent, urbanity, suavity, delicacy, correctness, purity, cleanness, eloquence, harmony, bril- liancy, rapidity, gaiety, pathos, sublimity and universality, perfection indeed, behold Voltaire." How Voltaire Died. The life of Voltaire is well known. It is blazoned in the path of centuries. None can misunderstand its mean- ing. His death is somewhat shrouded. The light burns low amidst the clouds of bigotry and the barbarism of the times. The mind is still triumphant. It is the poor body that must be guarded, that it may be peacefully received into its mother earth. Mr. Eugene M. Macdonald has carefully recorded this closing tragedy of a great life, and it is too important a document to be omitted in this history of Freethought: Upon this subject so much has been said that is un- true, and so little that is authentic is accessible to the general reader, that the editor of the " Truth Seeker An- nual " has thought it advisable to put the principal facts of the case here in a form adapted at once for ready refer- ence and for preservation. Perhaps the person in the deepest darkness with D. M. BENNETT (p. 694). VOLTAIRE. 259 regard to what really occurred just previous to the death of the great French heretic is the editor of the " Cliristian Statesman." In that paper, some time ago, occurred this paragraph : "Voltaire's renunciation of infidelity. " Let it be distinctly understood as forever beyond question that Voltaire fully recanted his Infidel principles and professed his belief in the Christian religion. The new Life of Voltaire by James Parton settles this point beyond contradiction. Mr. Parton cannot be suspected of an undue bias for orthodoxy, and it is only after a patient search and candid study of authorities that he gives this confession to the world. Mr. Parton says : ' The profes- sion of faith, written in Voltaire's own hand, was as fol- lows : "I, the undersigned, declare tliat having been at- tacked four days ago by a vomiting of blood, at the age of eighty-four years, and being unable to get to church, the cure of Saint-Sulpice being willing to add t-o his good works that of sending to me the Abbe Gaultier, priest, I have confessed to him, and declare further that if God dis- poses of me I die in the Catholic religion in which I was born, hoping from the divine mercy that he will deign to pardon all my faults, and that if I have ever scandalized the church I ask pardon of God and of it. Signed, Vol- taire, March 2, 1778, in the house of the Marquis de Vil- lett in the presence of the Abbe Mignot, my nephew, and of the Marquis de Villevielle, ray friend." ' " Tennyson has said that — " A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with out- right, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight." The ''Christian Statesman's" presentation of the case is partly true, but at the same time it is half a lie, and is 260 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. meant to deceive. Mr. Partou does not say that Voltaire recanted. Neither does any other honest person who knows the circumstances of his death. It is true that Mr. Parton gives the foregoing " profession of faith," which is undoubtedly genuine. Mr. Parton tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so far as he knows it. He has given us the life of Yoltaire just as it was. It has never been pretended that Voltaire was a saint, but take him all in all, put his work for humanit}' in one side of the scales and his personal faults in the other, and he must be conceded to be the grandest man of his time. He believed in God, hated superstition, and loved his fellow-man. He did more than anyone else to break the hold the church had upon the people of Europe. He was a man of letters, of science, a lover of art, a patron of the drama. In his personal affairs he was a man of the world, yet a good deal better and more moral than the kings and courtesans — all good Cliristians — among whom he lived. He braved the anger of the church, when although "living virgins were merchandise which the king himself bought, a light song about the Virgin could bring a man to the fire." Voltaire's " profession of faith" was written and signed simply that when dead he might not, as he expressed it, be "thrown into the sewer." He knew what could be expected for a heretic. The sight of the burial of poor Adrienne Lecouvreur never left him. The great actress was a warm friend of his, and when she went one night from the scene of her triumphs at the theater " to die after four days of anguish, Voltaire hastened to her bedside, and watched near her during her last struggle for life ; and when she was seized with the convulsions that preceded her death he held her in his arms and received her last breath. Being an actress and dying without absolution, she was denied ' Christian burial,' and the gate of every recognized burial ydace in France was closed against her VOLTAIRE. 261 wasted body, the poor relic of a gifted and bewitching woman, whom all that was distinguished and splendid in the society of her native land had loved to look upon. At night her body was carried in an old coach (fiacre) a little way out of town, just beyond the paved streets, to a spot near the Seine now covered by the house No. 109 Rue de Burgoyne. The fiacre was followed by one friend, two street porters, and a squad of the city watch. There her remains were buried, the grave was filled up, and the sjDot remained uninclosed and unmarked until the city grew over it and concealed it from view. " The brilliant world of which she had been a part heard of this unseemly burial with such horror, such dis- gust, such rage, such ' stupor,' as we can with difficulty imagine, because all those ties of tenderness and pride that bind families and communities together are more sensitive, if not stronger, in France than with our ruder, robuster race. The idea of not having friendly and decorous burial, of not lying down at last with kindred and fellow- citizens in a place appointed for the dead, of being taken out at night and buried at a corner of a road like a dead cat, was and is utterly desolating to the French people. Voltaire, for example, could never face it ; he lived and died dreading it." It is no wonder he wished to avoid such a burial as that ; most Frenchmen would have done a great deal more than sign such a " profession of faith " to have avoided it. All that the " profession " says at most is that " if God dis- poses of me, I die in the Catholic religion," and it is not hard to belong to that institution if one wants to. A very slight ceremony will suffice, and a change of faith is in no wise necessary. The clause that " if I ever scandalized the church, I ask pardon of God and of it," was added at the reqidsition of tlie priest, and as Voltaire said, " to have peace.''^ This " profession of faith " is not a " profession " at all. In it Voltaire nowhere retracts what he had all his life been 262 FOUR HUNDRKL) YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. saying, that the church is a monster sapping the life of nations, and shouhl be crushed. He had his reasons for doing what he did, which cannot be better stated than by quoting Partou. When he returned to Paris after his long exile he was overwhelmed with work, so much so that " his health visibly declined." " Standing so many hours every day to receive company caused his feet to swell, for he had been accustomed at home to spend most of the working day upon his bed. Other painful and menacing symptoms warned him of the risk he was incurring, and he began to foresee the need of making arrangements in Paris to avoid the indignity of being denied burial. Ferney being five days' laborious journey from Paris, if he were taken sick, he could sca.rcely hope to be again in a condition to travel so far. He had had visits from several unbeneficed priests, besides the one whose coming he related to Madame du Deffand. One of these Wagniere had had the pleasure of hustling out of the room ; but there was another, the Abbe Gaultier, who seemed more tolerable than the rest, and him he had received very politely, as a good-natured simpleton, who would be content with the minimum of concession from a penitent like himself. About February 20, when he had been ten days in Paris, he consulted D'Alerabert upon the delicate pcniit in ques- tion, and in a letter to the king of Prussia D'Alembert mentioned the advice he gave : " ' He asked me,' wrote D'Alembert, ' in the course of a confidential conversation, how T should advise him to proceed if, during his stay in Paris, he should happen to fall dangerously ill. My reply was such as every pru- dent (sage) man would have made in my place, that he would do well to conduct himself, in that case, like all the philosophers who had preceded him ; among others, like Fontenelle and Montesquieu, who had followed the usage, " and received you hioio ivhat loitli much reverence.'' He much VOLTAIRE. 263 approved my reply. " I think the same," said he to me ; " for I must not be thrown into the kennel, as I saw poor Lecouvreur." He had, I know not why, much aversion to that manner of being interred. I avoided combating this aversion, desiring that, in case we sliould lose him, all should pass without trouble and without scandal.' " Fortified thus bj the advice of the most eminent of his co-workers, he looked to the Abbe Gaultier, chaplain to the Hospital for the Incurable, as the man upon whom to call in case of need. That unhapp}" case soon arrived. "February 25th, his fifteenth day at Paris, about noou^ as he was dictating in bed to Wagniere, he coughed vio- lently three times, and a moment after cried out, ' Oh ! oh ! I am spitting blood.' The secretary turned toward him, and saw blood bursting from his nose and mouth, ' with the same violence,' he says, as when the faucet is turned of a fountain upon which there is pressure.' Wagniere rang, and Madame Denis came. Dr. Tronchiu was sent for. All the household came running in, and the room was soon filled with people. ' He ordered me,' says Wagniere, ' to write to the Abbe Gaultier, to ask him to come and speak to him, as he did not wish to be thrown into the sewers. I avoided sending my letter, not wishing to have it said that M. de Voltaire had shown weakness. I assured him that the abbe could not be found. Then he said to the persons in the room, "At least, gentlemen, you will be witness that I have asked to fulfil what are here called our duties" [devoirs].' " For three or four da3-s the patient was extremely weak, and sufficiently obedient to the doctor's orders. Yery slowly, and with frequent relapses, he gained a little strength. Several of the notes which he wrote and dic- tated to Dr. Tronchin during his dubious convalescence have been preserved, all of which contain gleams of his wonted gaiety and complaisance. An ill turn, however, ii;iduced him to send again for the Abbe Gaultier. Upon 264 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREflTHOUGHT. his arrival the patient said to him : ' Some days ago I in- vited 3'ou to come and see me for you know what. If you please, we will at once transact that little business.' The abbe replied : ' Yery willingly,' and requested all present to leave the room. ' The patient wished us to remain,' says Wagniere, ' but the Abbe Gaultier did not.' So they all went out, and left the priest alone with his penitent for an hour.' On that morning D'Alembert visited him, und his narrative, as given in his letter to the king of Prussia, is the last source of our information concerning what followed : " Finding himself worse than usual on one of the d&js of his sickness, he bravely took the part of doing what he had agreed upon. During a visit which I paid him in the morning, as he spoke to me with considerable vehemence, and as I begged him to be silent in order not to distress his chest, he said to me laughing, ' Talk I must, whether I wish it or not ; don't you remember that I have to con- fess? The moment has come, as Henry IV. said, to make the perilous leap ; so I have sent for the Abbe Gaultier, and I am waiting for him.' This Abbe Gaultier, sire, is a poor devil of a priest, who, of his own motion and from mere good will, introduced himself to M. de Voltaire some days before his sickness, and offered him, in case of need, his ecclesiastical services. M. de Voltaire accepted them, because this man appeared to him more moderate and reasonable than three or four other wretched priests [cajielans'], who, wdthout being sent for, and without any more knowing Voltaire than the Abbe Gaultier, had come to his room to preach to him like fanatics, to announce to him hell and the judgments of God, and whom the old patriarch, from goodness of heart, had not ordered to be thrown out of the window. This Abbe Gaultier arrived, then, was shut up an hour with the sick man, and came out so well satisfied that he wished to go at once to get at the parish church what we call the bon Dieu. This the PARKER PILLSBURT (p. 787). VOLTAIRE. 265 sick man did not wish, ' for the reason,' said he, ' that I am spitting blood, and I might by ill chance spit out some- thing else.' He gave to this Abbe Gaultier, who asked him for it, a profession of faith, written entirely with his own hand, and by which he declared that he wished to die in the Catholic religion, in which he was born, hoping from the divine mercy that God would deign to pardon all his faults ; and added that, if he had ever scandalized the church, he asked pardon from God and from it. He added this last article at the requisition of the priest, 'and,'' said he, 'to have peace.' He gave this profession of faith to the Abbe Gaultier in the presence of his family and those of his friends who were in his chamber, two of whom signed as witnesses at the bottom of the profession." " Wagniere, being a Protestant, and in extreme ill- humor with the persons surrounding his 'dear master,' regarded this transaction with such sorrow and indignation that, when Voltaire asked him what was the matter witli him, he could not command his voice to reply. Four days before this ceremonial, at a moment when it appeared cer- tain that the patient could not recover, and he felt sure himself that he was dying, Wagniere begged him to state precisely his 'way of thinking.' He asked for paper and ink ; then wrote, signed, and gave to his secretary the fol- lowing declaration : " ' / die, adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies, and detesting superstition. February 28, 1778. Voltaire.' " With this paper in his possession, and having Swiss ideas of the sanctity of the seriously spoken word of a dying man, poor Wagniere was aghast at the tone of the company on this occasion. ' When,' he says, ' the Abbe Gaultier invited us to re-enter the room, he said to us, " M, de Voltaire has given me a little declaration, which does not signify much. I beg you will be so good as to sign it also." The Abbe Mignot and tlie Marquis de Ville- 266 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUfiHT. vielle signed it without hesitation and without knowing its contents. The abbe then came to me, and asked me to do the same thing. I refused hjm. He insisted much. M. de Voltaire observed with surprise the vivacity with which I spoke to the Abbe Gaultier. I replied at last^ tired of this persecution, that I neither would nor could sign, as I was a Protestant. He then let me alone. He next proposed to the sick man to give him the communion. He replied, " Mr. Abbe, observe that I coutinually spit blood ; I must beware of mingling that of the good God with mine." The confessor did not reply. He was asked to retire, and he went out.' Before leaving he received from his penitent a gift of twenty-five louis for ' the poor of the parish ;' which also was according to polite usage. " He said to the Abbe Duvernet, ' They ivill not throiv me into the kennel, for I have confessed to the Ahb^ Gaulfier.^ " Voltaire, having thus prepared to die, got strong again and enjoyed many triumphs. Later when he was again upon the sick-bed, and knew he must pass away, he wanted no religious ministrations. He had made his bargain, and more hypocrisy than was necessary to accomplish his ends was distasteful to him. If necessary to get a decent burial he would have kissed the pope's toe, but having fulfilled his share of the contract he wanted to hear no more about it. He knew, and the priest knew, why he did it. and it was no use to make sentiment out of a purely business transaction. He lay dying for several days, getting weaker and weaker, but suffering little pain. " He recognized," says Parton, " some of his old friends when they came near his bedside or spoke to him. 'I visited him when he was in this condition,' says D'Alembert, ' and he always knew me. He even used some expressions of friendship ; but, immediately after, Avould fall again into his stupor, for he was in a continual slumber. He awoke only to complain, and to say that he had come to Paris to die.' "Two days after the incident of the Count de Lally, the VOLTAIRE. 267 Abbe Mignot, who was a considerable personage, a mem- ber of the Grand Council, as well as the titular and bene- ficed head of an abbey, called upon the cure of Saiut- Sulpice, and explained to him his uncle's condition. With regard to what followed the best authority is the narrative drawn up by D'Alembert for the information of the king of Prussia — a narrative which is confirmed by all the eye- witnesses who placed their observations on record : "The cure of Saint-Sulpice replied to the Abbe Mignot that, since M. de Voltaire had lost his recollection, it was useless to visit him. The cure declared, however, that if M. de Voltaire did not make a public, solemn, and most circumstantial reparation of the scandal he had caused, he could not in conscience bury him in holy ground. In vain the nephew replied that his uncle, while he still enjoyed the possession of all his faculties, had made a profession of faith, which the cure himself had recognized as authen- tic ; that he had always disavowed the works imputed to him ; that he had, nevertheless, carried his docility for the ministers of the church so far as to declare tliat, if he had caused any scandal, he asked pardon for it. The cure replied that that did not suffice ; that M. de Voltaire was notoriously the declared enemy of religion ; and that he could not, without compromising himself with the clergy and with the archbishop, accord to him ecclesiastical burial. The Abbe Mingot threatened to apply to the parliament for justice, which he hoped to obtain with the authentic documents he had in his possession. The cure, who felt he was supported by authority, told him that he could do as he pleased. • • • " On Saturday, May 30th, the day of his death, some hours before that fatal moment, the Abbe Gaultier o£fered his services, in a letter which he wrote to the Abbe Mignot, who went at once in quest of the Abbe Gaultier aud the cure of Saint-Sulpice. The cure approached the sick man, and pronounced in his hearing the words Jesus 268 FOUR HQXDRED YEARS OF FRKETliOUGHT. Christ. At these words M. de Voltaire, who was still in a stupor, opened his eyes, and made a gesture with his hand, as if to send the cure awa}' ; and said, 'Let me die in peace.' The cure, more moderate on this occasion and more reasonable than usual with him, turned toward those who were present and said, ' You see plainly, gentlemen, that he has not his head.' " At this moment, however, he had complete posses- sion of his reason ; but the persons present, as you may well believe, sire, took no pains to contradict the cure. That pitiful parson (capelan) then retired from the cham- ber, and in the conversation which he held with the family, he was so maladroit as to betray himself, and to prove clearl}^ that all his conduct was an affair of vanity. He told them that they had done very ill to summon the Abbe Gaultier, who had spoiled everything ; that they should have addressed themselves to him alone, the parish priest of the sick man ; that he would have seen him in in private without witnesses ; and that he would have arranged everything." " The Abbe Gaultier's narrative does not materially differ from that of D'Alembert. *' Belle-et-Bonne, who never left his bedside during these last days, said to Lady Morgan in Paris forty years afterwards, as she did to every one with whom she ever conversed on the subject : ' To his last moment everything he said and did breathed the benevolence and goodness of his character ; all announced in him tranquillity, peace, resignation, except a little movement of ill-humor which he showed to the cure of Saint Sulpice, when he begged him to withdraw, and said : "Let me die in peace." ' " He lingered until late in the evening. Ten minutes before he breathed his last, he roused from his slumber, took the hand of his valet, pressed it, and said to him, ' Adieu, my dear Morand ; I am dying.' These were his last words. He died peacefully and without pain, at a VOLTAIRE. 269 quarter past eleven, on Saturday evening, May 30, 1778, aged eighty-three years six mouths and nine days." The sentiment entertained by Voltaire for the useless rites he was obliged to submit to is shown in his letter to the king of Prussia, written seven years before his death : " I do not fear death, which approaches apace ; but I have an unconquerable aversion for the manner in which we have to die in our holy, Catholic, apostolic, and Koman religion. It seems to me extremely ridiculous to have myself oiled to depart to the other world as we grease the axles of our wagons before a trip. This stupidity and all that follows is so repugnant to me that I am tempted to have myself carried to Neufchatel to have the pleasure of dying within your dominions " (Voltaire in Exile, p. 49). In the year 1777, but a little while before his death, he wrote to the same person : " I have more aversion than ever for extreme unction and those who administer it." Mr. Parton's work is almost without comment on Vol- taire's motives in summoning a priest. All the way through the reader is left to form his own conclusions upon Voltaire. The truth, so far as ascertainable, is stated, and when the authority for anything is doubtful Mr. Parton has no hesitancy in saying so. One of the best proofs that Voltaire did not recant is that the ecclesiastical authorities who were over the " poor devil of a priest," Gaultier, denied Voltaire sepulture, and, although his bones were laid in the Abbey of Scellieres, it was only because they arrived there a little ahead of the prohibition of the Bishop of Troyes. The prior of the abbey was very nearly expelled for permitting Voltaire's body to be received. He was compelled to visit Paris, and it was only after much trouble that he overcame the persecution of his brother church officials. For thirteen years the bod}- of Voltaire remained in the vault of the village church in Champagne. Then by a grand triumphal procession it was removed to Paris, 270 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. where it rested one night and part of the next day upon the ruins of the Bastille on the very spot where, wlien liv- ing, he had been confined. All Paris visited the spot and paid its tribute of love and respect to him. The body was transported in magnificent procession to the Pantheon, where it remained until the return of the Bourbon king to Paris, after the departure of Bonaparte to Elba. In 1814 the royalists represented to the ministry that the presence of Voltaire's remains m the ancient church of Sainte- Genevieve was an outrage not to be borne by the church, and "one night in the month of Ma}', 1814, the bones of Voltaire and of Rousseau were taken out of their coffins of lead, tumbled into a common sack, and placed in a hack- ney coach stationed in the rear of the church. The car- riage moved away slowly, accompanied by five or si:: per- sons, and went out of town by unfrequented streets to the^ barrier De la Gare, opposite Bercy. Near that barrier there was then an extensive piece of waste ground inclosed by a board fence, public property, not yet put to any use whatever. Near the middle of the inclosure a deep hole had been previously dug by persons who were then wait- ing for the arrival of this strange burial party. The sack of bones was emptied into a pit ; a sack of lime was poured upon them. The hole was then filled up with earth, all traces of the meeting were obliterated as far as possible, and the party then separated in silence. " The secret was well kept. There was occasionally a. rumor, difficult to trace, and not generally believed, that the sarcophagus was empty. In 186-4, when the family of the Villettes became extinct, the heart of Voltaire (which had been removed from the body when it was embalmed, in 1778, inclosed in a silver vase and given by Madame Denis to the husband of Belle-et-Bonne) became the prop- erty of the nation, and it was a question with the usurper what should be done with it. He suggested that it be placed with the other remains of the poet in the church of ELLA ELYIRA GIBSON (p. 743). VOLTAIRE. 271 Sainte-Geiievieve. The Archbishop of Paris, who was probably acquainted with these facts, observed that it might be well to ascertain first whether the ashes of Vol- taire were really in the place where they had been de- posited. An examination of the sarcophagus was ordered. It was opened, and found to be empty. Thus the fate actually befell the remains which the poet had dreaded from tlie time when he saw the body of Adrienne Lecouv- reur carried out at dead of night, and placed in an un- marked grave in a vacant lot on the outskirts of Paris " (Parton's Life of Voltaire). Thus the church wreaked her cowardly revenge upon the bones of her great enemy. Voltaire dreaded this fate, and to avoid it he made the " profession of faith " which has been quoted. He should have known the church better. He might have known that she has no heart, no conscience, no sense of honor. None knew better than he that her course for centuries had been deceit and treachery. As well might he have suffered himself to be embraced by a serpent. But his life had been a stormy and tempestuous existence. He had been exiled, had been in the Bastile for his heresy. He had seen the body of poor Adrienne Lecouvreur thrown into the ground like a dog because she did not believe in the Christian re- ligion. He had seen the unseemly strife of priests over corpses which had not received the sacrament and could not be buried in consecrated ground. The priests con- trolled the bodies of the people, living and dead, whoever controlled their souls. Voltaire's Avhole being revolted at the thought of being treated like a brute. He wanted no wrangle over him when dying, and when dead he wanted decent sepulture. That he could not got outside of the church. All graveyards were consecrated, and the only place a heretic's bones could have was the roadside or a waste field. And so he played the hypocrite, jesting while he did so, and ridiculing the sacrament he was receiving. 272 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. Perhaps it would have been better had Voltaire never acted the part he did, but after death, at least, he wanted peace. The horrid burial of the dead actress was ever before him, and he could see the lonely cortege going out to the " corner of a road " in the night to bury her who had died without absolution. He revolted at such an ending; and who can blame him for it? If by the simple writing of a few words he could, as he thought, secure decent burial, and an end to the strife, small blame can attach to one who sought to " crush the monster " all his life. He calmly prepared for death, and in order not to be thrown into the kennel like poor Lecouvreur, he got a " poor devil of a priest, a good-natured simpleton who would be con- tent with the minimum of concession," to perform some rites which would let him into a decent graveyard. He drove a hard bargain with the church, getting what he wanted without giving an equivalent, and it is well he did, for the church repudiated her part of the contract after his death. This is a true historv of the death of Voltaire. Ac- counts differ in some minor degree, but in essentials are a unit. Voltaire never " recanted," and those who say lie did speak without authority, and upon a subject about which they have taken little pains to inform themselves. With reference to the foregoing article, Mr. Parton, author of the Life of Voltaire, has written the following to the editor of the " Truth Seeker :" Tour article upon the alleged recantation of Voltaire covers nearly the whole ground, but not quite. Allow me to go back a little and remind you of events that occurred previous to his last triumphal visit to Paris. You remem- ber that after a contest of forty years with the hierarchy, in which he displayed more wit, more tact, more audacity, more of everything that makes a man victor over disad- vantages, than was ever before exhibited by mortal man, he conquered for himself a secure home on the soil of his VOLTAIRE. 273 native France. This home was Ferney, within a few min- utes' ride of three foreign dominions, to which he could escape if notified of danger from Paris. Here, during the remaining twenty years of his life, he assailed the despotic superstition under which the intellectual life of Europe was stifled by every weapon which the literary art has de- vised ; and yet, private man as he was, living in the king- dom of France, he was almost as safe from attack as he could have been in a free country. This security was due to one simple maneuver of his — he kept on his side the in- dividual who had the king's ear last at night, first in the morning, and oftenest the rest of the time. If you say that this was not a very lofty style of war- fare, I answer you : He was a lone man in a wide field, with a whole herd of bulls burning to destroy him. He had to trick and deceive them as best he could. He was fully resolved not to let them get the better of him. He was not disposed to be a martyr and leave them free to rage and destroy. As long as he was alive he knew that he could bajffle them. But all men must die. As soon as he had fully secured liis earthly abode he set about preparing a safe resting-place for his bones. He built a tomb in his parish church, he gave a small pension to the pastor of the parish, and he depended on his riglit as lord of the manor to secure a decent burial in the tomb which he had caused to be constructed. He had not merely a sentimental ob- jection to being buried in the highway or cast into the kennel like a dead dog. His chief motive was to deprive the bishops of the triumph of insulting his remains. As he had defied them in his life, he desired to baffle them after his death. To this end he made arrangements to spend his last hours in one of tlie cantons of Switzerland, where his secretary hired a house for the purpose ; and in case there should be any difficulty about his interment in his tomb, he ordered his secretary to place his remains 274 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. in a portion of his bath-house, a building separate from the chateau. All these arrangements were rendered unavailable through his dying at Paris. Acting upon the advice of his stanchest friend, D'Alembert, he deemed it best to make a confession to the priests, as the least of many evils. He made the usual formal acknowledgment in the expectation of saving his famil}-, his friends, and the French Academy from embarrassment and inconvenience after his death. He was then living in another man's house, in a city which was four days' journey from his own abode. Nevertheless, I wish that he had made no concession whatever to the church. I wish that he had given himself no concern about his barial, and that when the breath Avas out of his body the family had thrown upon the govern- ment the responsibility of his interment, saying, in decent official form : " The great Voltaire is no more. A parish priest refuses him burial. Dispose of his remains." Such a course would have reduced the government to a dilemma of an embarrassing character, which could scarcely have failed to benefit the cause for which Voltaire lived and died. It is the easiest thing in the world for us who inherit the results of his labors to sit here in peace and say what ought to have been done in Paris in 1778. He took the course that then seemed best ; and the more intimately we know the period and the circumstances the less we shall be surprised at what he did. Very truly yours, James Parton. EoussEAU.— 1712-1778. Rousseau, we might say, was a piece of Voltaire, a part of him electrified, and made luminous with such concen- trated energy that, at times, he shines with even more in- tense brilliance than Voltaire himself. He is narrower ROUSSEAU. 275 tlian Voltaire. He is simply volcanic, towering and flam- ing, but be does not include the witle spaces of Y poverty, chastity, obedience. They were to go wherever commanded. They were absolutely subject to the pope, and not to the church. They penetrated into the remr)test corners of the earth. They silently en- grossed the eilucation of the young. There was no guise under which the Jesuit might not be found — a barefoot beggar, a learned professor, a man of the world. They sat in the cabinets of kings. To the Jesuit all things were proper for the sake of the church. His was the motto : 'The end justifies the me.ms." Murder^ falsehood, con- spiracy — anything was right if it helped the cause. They were spies upon each other; and under o;ith to reveal THE PARIS SALON. 281 everything to the superior. They were mixed up with almost every affair ; were at the bottom of every intrigue. They made use of commerce, business, love, disappoint- ment, hatred, revenge, every human passion and weakness, for the accomplishment of their purpose. An intolerable apprehension of their vast and unscru- pulous agency made all Europe put them down at last. Men found within the silken glove an iron hand. It was like a prodigious, yet invisible, machine, existing in the very heart of society, while its movements were unknown, except some event flashed to the surface. The organiza- tion was known to exist, with enormous wealth, with thou- sands committed to its mandate without any reserve ; a unit in its tremendous potency; and yet where was it? who could reach it? who could contend against it? It was like a shadow, penetrating like a baleful pestilence, of which all kings, statesmen, courtiers, great ladies, and even good Catholics who were not within that secret circle, were in terror, and knew not when they might be smitten by that awful power. They Avere suppressed by the parliament of Paris in 1762; and by the edict of the king in November, 1764, and were abolished by a papal bull in 1773. Tfeey, however, have again been re- stored ; but through the influence of Voltaire and the Encyclopedists the society, at this time, was under the popular ban. Voltaire, in his early life, had experience of the methods and spirit of the order of the Jesuits, and he was their uncompromising and powerful foe. The Encyclopedia, shining over the fall of the Jesuits, was the rising power for freedom and progress. This was one of the greatest undertakings in literature, a work which excited extraordinary attention, and ex- ercised a marvelous influence on men's opinions and was dreaded by the church, not only for its learning and genius, but for the revolutionary ideas which sparkled upon its freighted pages. The Jesuits persecuted its 282 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. authors and sought to destroy it. Fortunately, their power was waning, and the perseverance of Diderot through a thousand difficulties completed this monumental work. Diderot was born in 1713 and died in 1784. " Diderot," says Victor Hugo, " a vast intelligence, inquisitive, a tender heart, a thirst for justice, wished to give certain notions as the foundation of true ideas, and created the encyclo- pedia." A bookseller applied to him with a project for the translation into French of Chambers's Cyclopedia. He persuaded the bookseller to enter on a new project, to collect under one roof all the active writers, all the new ideas, and the new knowledge that was then in the cul- tivated world. In 1750 an elaborate prospectus announced the publication, and in 1751 the first volume was given to the press, and not until 1772 was the final volume put forth. There were over four thousand subscribers. The ecclesiastical party detested the Encyclopedia, in which they saw, and rightly, a new stronghold for their philosophic enemies. The Encyclopedia takes for granted the justice of religious tolerance and speculative freedom. It asserts distinctly the democratic doctrine that it is the common people in a nation whose welfare ought to be the main concern of government. From beginning to end it is one unbroken exaltation of scientific knowledge and peaceful industry. Among the contributors to the work were Voltaire, Euler, Marmontel, Montesquieu, D'Anville, D'Holbach, and Turgot. Such was tlie opposition to the work and the indignities heaped upon its authors, and the inter- ference of governmental authorities, that D'Alembert and Turgot withdrew. Diderot completed the work as best he could. For seven years he labored like a slave at the oar. He wrote several hundred articles. He wore out his eyesight in correcting proofs. He was incessantly GEORGE W. FOOTE (p. 831>. THE PARIS SALON. 283 harassed by alarms of a descent from the police ; and at the very last moment he suffered the crowning mortifica- tion — the bookseller, Lebreten, and his foreman hastily, secretly, and by night, cut out whatever appeared daring or likely to give offense, mutilated most of the best articles and burnt the manuscript as tliey proceeded. The dis- covery put Diderot into a state of frenzy and despair from rage and grief. The monument to which he had given twenty long and oppressive years was thus irreparably defaced. The annual salary of Diderot for this work was one hundred and twenty pounds sterling. " And to think," says Voltaire, " that an army contractor made eight hun- dred pounds in a day." Mutilated as it was, however, the Encyclopedia contained new and fruitful ideas for every field of intellectual interest. No encyclopedia has been of such political im- portance, or occupied such a place in the civil and literary history of its race. It sought not only to give informa- tion, but to guide opinion. It was opposed to the clergy, and treated dogma historically. It attacked the despotic government as well as Christianit}' itself. No work was produced under greater difficulties or exercised more wide- spread influence. Diderot's special department was philosophy, arts, and trades. He passed whole days in workshops, and began by examining a machine carefully ; then he had it taken to pieces and x)ut together again ; th3n he watched it work and finally worked it himself. He announced the principles of a new drama — the serious, domestic, bourgeois drama of real life — in opposi- tion to the classic French stage. He gave a decisive bias to the genius of Lessing, which has exercised so powerful an influence upon the modern theater. In pictorial art the criticisms of Diderot are fertile in ideas. His Essay on Painting is justly described by Goethe as " a magnificent work, which speaks more helpfully to 284 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. the poet than to the painter, though to the painter it is as a blazing torch." "Before Diderot," says Madame Neckar, " I had never seen anything in pictures except dull and lifeless colors ; it was his imagination that gave them relief and life, and it is almost a new sense for which I am indebted to his genius." Diderot, above all things, was interested in the life of men, not the abstract life of the race, but the incidents of individual character, the relations of concrete motives, the pathos and problems of common life. Diderot was an Atheist, and turned for the hope of the race to virtue, to such a regulation of conduct and motive as shall make one tender, pitiful, simple, contented. He hated the political system of France, which made the realization of universal domestic tranquillity so hard, since it was not for the benefit of the common people. Along with Diderot shine other great figures — Buifon, the founder of naturalism ; Montesquieu, who discovered in law the eternal right ; Helvetius, whom Voltaire called his " Young Apollo ; " Condillac, a luminous and ad- mirable philosopher; D'Alembert, a model of accurate thinking and elegant composition, who did not conceal his manly hostility to the Christian religion. He was a found- ling. His foster-mother, who tenderly cared for him for over thirty years, did not much rejoice in his fame. " You will never," she said, " be anything but a philosopher. And what is a philosopher ? A ' fool who plagues himself dur- ing his life that men may talk of him after his death.' " D'Alembert was a born mathematician. Neither theology, law, nor medicine, which he successively studied, could lure him from his first love. Satisfied with a small in- come, he did not aspire after opulence or honors. His fame spread rapidly throughout Europe. After the death of Voltaire he was regarded as the leader of the phi- losophical party in the Academy. The author of " Biog- raphie Universelle " says : " D'Alembert sh^onld be ranked THE PARIS SALON. 285 as high as any contemporary geometer, when we con- sider the difl&culties he overcame, the intrinsic vahie of the methods which he invented, and the ingenuity of his ideas." Conspicuous in the Salon, around wliose table gathered the most distinguished men of the time, is the opulent and elegant D'Holbach. What a world of wit and wisdom would flash upon us if the conversations of his Sunday entertainments could be reported. There was revolution of all sorts — Deism, Patheism, and Atheism. The most daring theories were broached. There was perfect liberty. The genial host, the author of the " System of Nature," one of the clearest and most vigorous books ever written, which shocked even the enlightened skeptics of Paris, was open-minded to every doctrine, however radical or absurd. Diderot, who was much more powerful in talking than writing, was famous for his inspirating declamations. Rousseau was there, Montesquieu, D'Alembert, all con- tributing to the sparkling thought of the occasion. D'Holbach was a man of the world. His philosophy was that of a man of the world. He regarded religion as men of the world regard it, as a superstition. He had no senti- ments or fancies, but plain common sense. He was fond of amusement and social entertainment. He was shrewd enough to avoid the oppression of the powers that be. He published his works anon5'^mousl3-. He lacked the en- thusiasm of Rousseau, the vast ability of Diderot, the glittering genius of Voltaire, but he was cultivated, strong, bold, and a consistent thinker ; and he was undoubtedly, by means of his wealth, culture, amiability, charming manners, and courageous spirit, one of the great forces of that disintegrating era, a man to be remembered and honored for his service to Freethought. He was really the most advanced intellect of his time. He says : "Man is the work of nature. He exists in nature. He is sub- mitted to her laws. He cannot deliver himself from them. 286 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. He cannot step beyond them, even in thouglit. It is in vain Lis mind would spring forward beyond the visible world ; an imperious necessity ever compels his return ; for a being formed by nature, who is circumscribed by her laws, there exists nothing beyond the great whole of which he forms a part." Woman played an important part in the Paris Salon. Her geniTis was recognized, applauded, and admired as never before in ain' society in the world. She was ad- mitted as an equal. She swayed b}' virtue of her talents. The old theological idea was banished. The soul, the genius, the learning, as well as the grace and the beauty of woman, were acknowledged. Woman was looked upon as an intellectual companion, as capable of giving as well as receiving the treasures of human thought. Her " rights " were never questioned, as they never will be questioned in any ideal society, and the Paris Salon, so far as it went, was a truly free and equal commonwealth. There were no "upper classes," or "lower classes," or " caste," or " sex ;" it was a society of congenial minds, where the intellect only was the standard of the man and the woman. There were the salons of Madam Geoffrin, Madame Helvetius, Madame du Deffand, and the deep-eyed de Lespinasse, around whom hovers the romance of the love and friendship of D'Alembert. What a picture could be given of the world's progress in its deeper, inner currents if we could look upon the extraordinary brilliancy of these gatherings, under the auspices of these beautiful women. What a pathos and sublimity about these lumi- nious halls, when we remember the after results, the ruin and tragedy which followed ; a king and queen executed, the streets of Paris drenched in blood, and many a fair and noble head rolling beneath the guillotine ; when women, young and old, gray-beards and youth, learned to die with stoic indifference. the french revolution. 287 The French Ee volution. The French Revolution burst upon the world, " the greatest, the most unmixed, the most unstained and wholly perfect blessing Europe has had in modern times, unless, perhaps, we except the invention of printing," says Wendell Phillips. Victor Hugo calls it " a blest and superb catastrophe which formed the conclusion of the past and the opening of the future." Certainly the French Revolution is the greatest event which ever took place in human history. It was not a transitory cataclysm. It was the tremendous result of vast processes before, of thought, of sentiment, of phi- losophy, art, and literature. It was an incarnation of poetic justice. Sudden in its fury, it was slow in its ac- cumulations of pover. It was the flowing together of many streams. It was a display of genius unapproachable in grandeur and magnitude. It was not a revolution, so much as it was an evolution, the profoundest in the sweep of time. It seemed a reversion to original elements, and yet it was a transformation to higher life. It was a tidal wave of progress, '• Now dark, now glittering. Now lending splendor, now reflecting gloom." It was a universal movement. Every throne tottered and every slave felt a thrill of hope. Its flame en- circled the planet. Its thunders reverberated to dis- tant shores. The American Revolution which preceded it in time was still its result in the domain of ideas, for before its palpable birth it existed in the chambers of immortal genius. It was born a giant, full-grown like Minerva from the brain of Jove. The fall of the Bastile and the Declaration of Independence are con- temporary in the world of thought. There was no prece- dence, no cause and effect, no antecedent and consequent. 288 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. but an actualization iu each of what had already been bodied forth in the mind of man. The intellectual French Revolution which preceded its physical manifestation was what created the American republic. Blind is he who thinks the French Revolution was simply an ebullition of popular discontent; that it could have been avoided by some trivial compromise. No peace was possible under the circumstances. Notliint; could have sta,yed that on- ward march, any more than Saturn by strength or strategy could have stayed the triumphant Jove. A new era was coming, and no king or priest or political juggler could alter that imperious destiny. A thousand forces were in play. From martyr fires, and dungeon gloom ; from rack and fagot, and blazing home, and bloody field ; from cries of agony and tears of despair ; from philosopher's closet, the poet's burning heart, and secret cell of science ; from Galileo's telescope and Ziska's sword ; from the skies of Nolan and Taurisano ; from the halls of Feme}' ; from the workshop and the student's lamp ; from the palace even of the king, the lint of the mountaineer and the vine-clad cottage on the plain ; from crowded street and forest depth ; from ragged multitude and jeweled assembly ; from garret and drawing-room ; from music low and sweet on lips of love, and martial strain ; from book and song and speech, came the creative energies of this surpassing mo- ment. There never was a period dowered with such wealth of meaning; that had back of it such intensities of en- ^J3Sf7-H«s»-« TfJ^-^^'^'f^i^- COURTLANDT PALMER (p. T82> THOMAS PAINE. 307 ness of statement, and absolute tliorouglmess, it has never been excelled." Paine bad a great work to do in France, to guide the Revolution to the goal of a Republic. He failed for the time being. The Revolution overwhelmed the Republic, and the despotism of a democracy was established, a des- potism as cruel as that of an absolute monarchy. Paine labored for constitutional liberty. He opposed, at the peril of his life, the execution of Louis Capet. " Kill the king, but not the man," was his motto. This was not only a generous sentiment, but sound political doctrine. Paine was not a sentimentalist. He was a far-seeing statesman. He dealt Avith principles and would accept their logic what- ever the consequence. Paine was opposed to despotism of every kind — the despotism of a democracy as well as that of a monarchy ; and as a monarchy should be limited by a constitution, so should a democracy. Tlie object of a constitution is to defend the rights of a minority. A democracy in which the will of the ma- jority is the source of law is as much to be objected to by every freeman as that the will of one man shall be the source of law. Jefferson states that no man surrenders any natural right when he comes in the association of the state. This is the only true doctrine — no surrender of individual rights to any form of government. France, in spite of the warnings of Paine, drifted into party rule and the despotism of the majority ; and hence " The Reign of Terror," the imprisonment of Paine himself and his narrow escape from the guillotine. But the principles of Paine are sure to triumph — the principles of constitu- tional democracy and the rights of man. Paine thus clearly states his position : " Had a constitution been established two years ago as ought to have been done, the violences which have since desolated France and injured the character of the Revolu- 308 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. tiou, would, iu my opinion, have been prevented. The nation would have had a bond of union, and every indi- vidual would have known the line of conduct he was to follow. But instead of this a revolutionary f^overnment, a thing without either principle or authority, was substi- tuted in its place ; virtue, or crime, depended upon acci- dent ; and that which was patriotism one day became treason the next. All these things have followed the want of a constitution ; for it is the nature and intention of a constitution to prevent governing by a party, by estab- lishing a common principle that shall limit and control the power and impulse of party, and that says to all parties. Thus far shalt thou go and no farther. But in the absence of a constitution, men look entirely to party ; and instead of principle governing party, party governs prin- ciple. "An avidity to punish is always dangerous to liberty. It leads men to stretch, to misinterpret, and to misapply even the best of laws. He that icoidd make his oivn liberty secure must guard even his enemy from opjjression ; for if he violates this duty he establishes a iwecedent that ivill reach him- self- It will thus be seen how Paine represented the im- mortal part of the Revolution ; that which is destined to survive with civilization itself, and be an incalculable political blessing. In Paine, more than in any other man, more than in Voltaire or Rousseau, do we see the shining principles of that government which is "of the people, by the peo])le, and for the people." Voltaire emphasized justice. Rousseau emphasized liberty. Paine emphasized both liberty and justice, that liberty for all must be jus- tice for all, and that justice for all finds its surest guaran- tee in liberty for all. To reconcile liberty and justice, the state with the individual, is the greatest problem of civili- zation ; and Paine anticipated the world by a hundred years in some of his pregnant maxims, while through him CONDORCET. 309 the French Kevolution as well as the American Eevolution acquired its noblest meaning and unequaled benefit to mankind. When we contemplate the career of Paine, the song of the poet will inevitably surge within our hearts : " We may veil our eyes, but we cannot hide The sun's meridian glow ; The heel of a priest may tread us down, And a tyrant work us woe ; But never a truth has been destroyed ; They may curse it and call it crime ; Pervert and betray, or slander and slay, Its teachers for a time ; But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, As round and round Ave run ; And the truth shall ever come uppermost, And justice shall be done." CoNDORCET. —1 743-1 794 A beautiful and heroic figure appears by the side of Thomas Paine in these dark and tumultuous hours — Con- dorcet. What a pathos, that makes the heart bleed, sur- rounds his death ! A noble spirit, richly endowed, giving all to freedom, occupying a commanding position, filled with hope for humanity, and yet, at last, in a dungeon's gloom, after untold sufferings, dying in horror and despair. We cannot forget his great name, his splendid services, his vast genius in the roll of Freedom's martyrs. No man did more with Paine to bring out all that was best and brightest in the French Revolution, and to make it point onward to a happy future. A keen, delicate, wise, logical, imaginative, comprehensive mind he was, illuminated with the treasures of the past, infusing them with new promise, and heralding the p8rf(>ctibility of man through liberty and reason. 310 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Marquis de Condorcet was born 17th of September, 1743. His first public distinction was gained in matliemat- ics, but, with his many-sided intellect, it was impossible for him to be a specialist. Philosophy and liter, iture attracted him no less than geometry. In 1769 lie was received as member of the Academy of Sciences. D'Alem- bert and Voltaire, for whom he had great affection, and by whom he was highly esteemed, contributed largely to the formation of his opinions. He helped in the prepara- tion of Diderot's Encyclopedia. Condorcet was, of course, hurried along by the con- flicts and confusion of the Revolution. He greeted with enthusiasm the advent of democracy and labored to hasten its triumphs. He was chosen by the Parisians to repre- sent them in the legislative assembly. He was chief author of the address to the European powers when they threatened France with war. At the trial of Louis XVI. he voted him guilty of conspiring against liberty, but, with Paine, voted not to put him to death. He took an active part with Paine in framing a constitution. His sympathy with the Girondists led to his accusation and condemnation. Friends sought for him a refuge at the house of a Madame Vernet. Without even knowing his name, this truly heroic woman said : " Let him come, and lose not a moment, for while we talk he may be seized." When he found that his presence exposed his protectress to a terrible danger he resolved to seek a refuge elsewhere. He baffled the vigilance of his generous friend and escaped. He hid for three days and nights in the thickets and stone quarries of Clamart. On the evening of April 7, 179-4, lie entered a tavern and called for an omelette. " How many eggs in your omelette?" ''A dozen." "What is your trade?" "A carpenter." "Carpenters have not hands like these, and do not ask for a dozen eggs in an ome- lette." His papers were demanded. He had none to show. The villagers seized him, bound him, haled him CONDOROET. 311 forthwith on bleeding feet towards the jail ; he fainted by the way, was set on a horse offered m pity by a passing peasant, and at the journey's end was cast into a cold, damp prison cell. When the jailers looked in on the morning his body lay dead on the floor. Condorcet's fame rests chiefly on the work he wrote when lying concealed from the emissaries of Robespierre in the house of Madame Vernet, '" Historical Sketch of the Progress of Man." It is thoroughly anti-Christian, op- posed to priests and rulers. His fundamental idea is human perfectibility manifested in the continuous prog- ress of the past. He represents man as starting from the lowest stage of barbarism, with no superiority over other animals except that of bodily organization. The stages through which man has already passed are re- garded as nine in number. In the first epoch men are hunters and fishers. The second epoch is the pastoral state where there is some leisure and the simpler arts. The third is the agricultural, where means of communica- tion are increased and extended. The fourth and fifth ,pochs correspond with Gi'eece and E, >me. The Middle Ages are divided into two epochs— the former of whicli terminated with the Crusades and the latter with the in- vention of printing. The eighth epoch extends from the invention of printing to the revolution in the method of inquiry accomplished by Descartes. The ninth epoch begins with that great intellectual movement and closes with the Revolution of 1789, which epoch, says Condorcet, is illustrious with the discovery of the system of the uni- verse by Newton ; of human nature by Locke and Con- dillac ; and of society b}- Turgot and Rousseau. There is a tenth epoch, and in this we find the most original part of Condorcet's essay. He argues that there are three tendencies manifested in human history which must make for human progress : First, the destruction of inequality between nations ; second, the destruction of inequality 312 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. between classes ; third, the improvement of individuals, intellectually, morall}^ and phj^sically. The equalit}' he argues for is not, of course, absolute equality, but equality in freedom and rights. This book is full of hope. It inspires. One may not agree with all its details, but its general ideas are lofty and magnificent. This book makes Condorcet a living influ- ence to-day. His tragic death ennobles and immortalizes his glorioiis dreams. They come from a heart passion- ately devoted to truth and libert3^ VoLNEY.— 1757-1820. Amidst these disasters and catastrophes shines with milder luster the planet of Yolney that by some charming fortune circles placidly through these epoch-making years. He was born February 3, 1757. At the age of seventeen he went to Paris. In 1783 he started on foot to Egypt and Syria, with a knajDsack on his back, a gun on his shoulder, and gold concealed in a belt. He shut himself up for eight months in a Coptic monastery, where he made himself master of Ara- bic. He traveled four years and then returned to France. He published in 1787 the best description of Egypt and Syria that had yet appeared. It obtained a rapid and general success. The Empress Catherine sent the author a medal. When, in 1789, the empress declared war against France, Volney returned the gift, saying : " If I obtained it from her esteem, I can only preserve her esteem by retui'ning it." The Revolution opened to Yolney a political career. He was deputy in the States-General. He proposed and -carried this resolution : " The French nation renounces from this moment the undertaking of au}^ war tending to increase its territory." In an essay on the sale of domain lands, he laj's down these principles which lie at the heart of present reforms : JOSEPH HAIGH, VOLNET. 313 The force of a state is in proportion to its population ; population is in proportion to plenty ; plenty is in propor- tion to tillage ; and tillage to personal and immediate in- terest, that is, to the spirit of property. Whence it fol- lows that the nearer the cultivator approaches the passive condition of a mercenary, the less industry and activity are to be expected from him ; and, on the other hand, the nearer he is to the condition of a free and entire proprietor, the more extension he gives to his own forces, to the pro- duce of Ijis lands, and to the general prosperity of the state." In 1792 he went to Cors-ica, and returned to Paris in 1793. He was accused of disloyalty to liberty, and im- prisoned for ten months. In 1794 he was appointed Pro- fessor of History in the Normal School. Immense and applauding audiences attended his lectures. He visited America in 1795. Washington bestowed upon him marks of honor and friendship. He returned to France 1798. He was offered high official positions, but refused. It has been said of him, " although he refused to work with the ruling powers of that day, he never ceased to work for the people." His " Ruins " is a book which will immortalize him in the annals of Free thought. He Avas a learned, brave, independent, and tireless seeker for truth. He traveled the four quarters of the globe. He read the lessons of histor}^ amidst the ruins of time. The following shows his progressive and philosophic spirit: "Nature lias established laws. Your part is to obev them ; observe reason and profit by experience. It is the folly of man which ruins him, let his wisdom save him. The people are ignorant, let them acquire instruction ; their chiefs are wicked, let them correct and amend ; for such is nature's decree. Since the evils of society spring from cupidity and ignorance, men will never cease to be persecuted till thej' become enlightened and wise; till they practice justice founded on a knowledge of their re- lations and of the laws of their organization." CHAPTEE XIV. Shelley.— 1792-1822. Goethe.— 1749-1832. Three grand poetic eras have adorned and glorified the history of man ; eras that are simply wonderful in the depth and splendor of their poetic capacity ; where the human mind is the most vigorous, the most elastic, the most mobile, the most penetrating, the most brilliant and overflowing ; radiant with imagination ; responsive to all the beauty and grandeur of nature ; creative and kindling, glancing from earth to heaven, and heaven to earth ; illum- inating the onward path of man ; giving new hojjes, new thoughts ; flushing the world with a diviner atmosphere, and giving a fresh significance to every object of sense. Only three such eras have ennobled the world's history, making it so beautiful, so entrancing, so consoling, that, no matter what may be the darkness of one's lot, the trag- edy of life, these grand ages make one endure the littleness of his own destiny with a triumphaDt expectation, for what man has done, man may do, and the genius of the past is not impossible to the glowing future. The age of Homer is the first supreme poetic era. A golden age it seems, as we look back to it from this present time, shining through the long vista of years. What made that ase, what were the influences of the centuries before : of far-off Ind ; of Egypt ; of the vast plains of Asia ; of the enchanted shores of Europe ; of the magnificent Mediterranean, to make this beauteous flower, in the lovely SHELLEY 315 land of Greece ? How fresh, how strong, how expanding must have been the heart of man when glorious Homer touched his lyre. How many poets must have been in that age, and we know not how many of their songs mingled with Homer's master strain. Even if Homer were blind and a beggar, what an age it surely was to have enabled him to pour forth such music. Poetry like this could not be except as the product of a time when the mind of man was at its best, when it was buoyant with poetic inspirations. Homer could not have sung to un- appreciative audiences. He could not have been a solitary genius — " The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle." He must have touched elbows with his fellow-men ; he must have mingled with them in every variety of scene ; he must have been a genial, responsive man ; a story-teller he was, indeed, and a story-teller is always popular, even if he is ragged. He may not have been rewarded with gold, but the plaudits of the multitude were always his. Homer was not the one to eat his heart out in loneliness and despair. He had a heart for any fate. He was with the crowd. That was his nature. He was a thoroughly social being, intensely human. There was nothing morbid about him. He was as healthful as a street Arab, drink- ing in the deliciousness of life with an exuberant spirit, with tingling blood, a quick brain, a supple body. Homer was not a man of the drawing-room or the closet. He was an out-door man. He liked the winds and seas, the woods and hills. He liked the bright-blue sky, the flowing river. He liked man as he was, and took him as he was. He did not create ideals. His heroes are a dreadfully bad lot. They don't arouse our admiration at all, but they in- terest us deeply, just as our neighbors interest us in the drama of their lives. Our sympathies are with them, for it is as if we ourselves were in the midst of the mighty 316 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. battle ; as if we were driving tlie chariots, and hurling the spear, or biting the dust. Homer writes what he sees. He is no dreamer. He is an observer — the keen newspa- per man of his times, who knows how to use his material to the best effect. He paints from nature, and, for that reason, his pictures are marvelous. Think of Homer, roughened by travel, worldly wise, a sight-seer in many lands ; a student, a hail fellow well met, a wanderer in court and camp ; equal with the king, and jovial with soldier and shepherd ; mingling with the harvest train and following the hunt ; seeing all life, all men, all cities, all places; taking into his ample brain all the impressions of the most gorgeous clime, and the sweetest sceneries, where the oriental mind first touched the splendor of the West, and, amidst mountains and seas, and rivers and forests, and plains and shores of surpassing beauty, rev- eled in the expectations of a new outlook, in the enchant- ment of a wide and unknown future. Right here the great heart of Homer beat, right here his luminous brain caught all the glory of earth and sky, and all the riches of ex- perience in the versatile Greek intellect. And then there were the gods, the divinities, every- where. How true it is, what Goethe says, that Polytheism is the belief for art, and not Monotheism. A lonely God is no poetic object, and kindles no j)oetic enthusiasm. Even Dante had to have his Beatrice, and Milton his Lucifer. Monotheism is a dead failure in art and poetry. If poetry must have the god-element, it must be a multitudinous element. There must be gods and goddesses, naiads and nymphs, fairies and gnomes. There must be a divinity in every grotto, fountain, forest, hill, sea, and chamber of the sky. The sun is Apollo, the moon Diana, the thunder Jove, the sea Poseidon. And these gods must be pre- eminently human as they were in Homer's time, passion- ate, revengeful, ambitious, loving, and beneficent. The gods in Homer's poetry are not a symphony of the true, SHELLEY. 317 the beautiful, and the good. They are a wild, splendid, dramatic representation of man's manifold being, " Not too bright or good For human nature's daily food." Think of the exquisite land of Greece suffused with such divinitv as this — gods sparkling everywhere, in every lovely and sublime prospect, answering to every emotion of the human heart, radiating in the varied seasons; a god of the seed-time and the harvest, a god for the household, for the fruits one ate, for the waters one drank, for the wine and the flowers, for the vast ocean, the starry sky, and golden suu itself. "Was not this a world for poetry ; an exhilarating mo- ment? And so Homer's epic rolled forth : " Whose melody shall haunt the world for aye, Charming it onward on its golden way." And this wonderful poetry of the Homeric era flowed on into tlie sublime, dramatic poets of Athens. It was not easily exhausted. It was munificent. It was effluent, in Athens, beautiful Athens charmed city of the world, reveling in the loveliness of sea and earth and sky, with luminous hills about it, resplendent waves ever before it, and soft skies above it ! With renewed brilliance the grand poetry of Homer gleamed and surged and thundered in the majestic dramas of Sophocles and Eschylus. These flowed from the same fountain as the epic, but the poesy seemed to suffer a " sea change Into something rich and strange," for the drama was equally original with the epic. It came, not from study, but from nature's burning heart. These •dramas are like marble palaces, simple and sublime, with scarce an ornament ; illustrious in their native splendor. 318 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. needing no embellishment to add to their original bright* ness. Immortal are these tragedies, speaking to the human heart forever of the wonder of life, its depths, its hights, its glories, its sorrows, its struggles, its victories. How those great mountain peaks of poetic power shine through the vista of ages. It does seem as if that might be a golden age when such geniuses thronged the world ; when such poets and philosophers walked the earth ; when such thoughts were in men's minds ; when imagination was like the sunrise of a summer's day. Across the darkness and horror of a thousand years, how this world of poetry, born of ten thousand years of anterior hopes and joys ; the blossom of man's manifold experiences through immeasur- able spaces of time in wide wanderings ; how it shines like a blessed beacon-light even for the proud civilization of to-day ; and we can acquire wisdom still from these an- cient sages, and can partake of these rivers of song and story, whose delight will never vanish, whose music will never cease. " Thus Greece arose, and to its bards and sages In dream the golden-pinioned genii came, Even where they slept amid the night of ages. Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame, Which thy breath kindled. Power of holiest name ; And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave New weapons to thy foe, their sun-like fame, Upon the combat shone, a light to save, Like paradise, spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.'* Rome succeeded Greece, but Home brought no great poet like Homer, like Sophocles, like Eschylus. There were eloquent poets, finished poets, like Virgil and Horace, there were beautiful pastoral poets, who sang sweetly of the green fields and woods ; and brilliant dramatic poets, like Terence ; and there were mighty men of war, but there was no genius to bring forth from tlie joyous earth its J. M. LEON GARCIA (p. 850). SHELLEY. 319 marvelous music ; no one to give new and mighty thoughts to men. lu all the centuries of Rome's existence, in all the length and breadth of its magnificent empire, there was not one creative genius. Its songs were the old songs, its gods the old gods, its philosophy, its literature, the fruit of Greece. Rome was simply a world of action, huge, tumultuous, imperious, thundering ; wielding the glittering sword, a destroyer, a builder ; but it was not a world of thought. Its burnished eagles caught the fire of the sun, but did not pour forth its music like Apollo, There were warriors and statesmen, heroes and patriots ; there were eloquence, superb talent, and splendid achieve- ment ; there were art and culture, elegance and refinement, and vast monuments of human power. Rome towered to the skies, but she did not fill the skies with glory as Homer did. Rome conquered the earth, but she did not unlock its fountains of melody. She could build thrones and palaces, but could not add one string to the harp of poesy. In her stupendous and glittering sovereignty, and the melancholy grandeur of her ruins, she might be an object of poetry to others ; but in herself there was no pro- found poetic enthusiasm, no breaking up of the great deeps of man's intellectual being, so that new worlds emerge, new continents and isles and seas in the world's glowing horizon. Rome was the subject of Virgil's imperial poem, a beautiful poem indeed, a veritable palace of art, exqui- sitely constructed, nobly adorned, with scarcely a flaw in its marble elegance ; a garden of flowers, too, through which one might wander with ceaseless delight ; and through it all shines the grandeur of that mighty empire, which did so much to make mankind a unit, to construct the basis of a noble social order, by giving universal law ; but it does not detract from the real merits of Yirgil to say that he was not a Homer, that he was not a creator in the realm of poetry. It is not given to many to occupy so 320 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. transcendent a position, and no one can make it for him- self ; no one can surpass liis conditions. The poet is the child of circumstance as well as the artist. He must have his material in the universe about him. He cannot weave it out of his own consciousness. The fountains must flow, the winds must sweep, the stars must shine, and the day dawn by powers beyond the poet's genius, and the poet's genius must flow with these ; and unless in them burns the immortal fire it is not for any brain or heart of man to ex- press the abounding radiance. Rome could not have been greater than it was, nor could Virgil have dowered the world with the wondrous music of the unequaled Greek. The spirit of the times was otherwise. It made the magnificence of a Csesar, perhaps in action the greatest of the sons of men, an elemental force indeed ; in this re- spect a creative force, like Homer in poetry, since he has changed the politics and civilization of the race as no other man has or ever will. The genius of Rome was not for poetry, for originality, but for synthesis, for combination of existing forces. She afforded a great arena for what was already attained, that it might become opulent and magnificent with outward advantages. But whatever Rome might have become with a happier destiny shining over her triumphant eagles, it was all lost in that tremendous and desolating movement, Christianity, which originated in the most destructive pessimism that has ever cursed humanity. It swept away the beautiful deities of the oldentime, God Pan and all. It destroyed romance and poetry, philosophy and science. It abased man and nature. It stripped earth of all its glory, and blackened heaven, in which shone but a dim spot of celes- tial brightness, and that only for the elect; a jeweled city in the midst of enormous ruins. For a thousand years Christianity choked every avenue of natural inspiration. It made this world a "dim, vast vale of tears;" man a SHELLEY. 321 "pilgrim and a stranger." For Christianity there were no smiles, no home joys, no " splendor in the grass or glory in the flower ; " no haunting divinities in wood or vale or stream. Whatever it might have been from the lips of Jesus, who seemed to have some regard for nature and man, and spoke from a warm but ill-directed imag- ination and a real sympathy with toil and suffering, and did dream, perhaps, of a rejuvenated world, a paradise beneath "the bright-blue dome of his own Palestine, yet how soon this vanislied, and the religion which it is said he founded, but which in reality was founded afterwards, became not a life, but a dogma, so cruel, so devastating, that the human mind seemed benumbed with terror, and the old savage darkness came back. There was no poetry in this Christian religion, for there was nothing in it spon- taneous. It was an artifice, a scheme, a plan of redemp- tion as utterly devoid of beauty, warmth, tenderness, flowers, as the fig-tree after it was cursed by Jesus. In the place of nature it substituted a superhuman God, who had no heart, no sweet human uffection ; who was onl}' a vast shadow seated upon an icy throne, cold and white as the' frozen glories of the pole. There was a cer- tain grandeur in Christianity ; it was a stupendously awful afi'air ; it made one shiver and crouch and tremble ; but it did not kindle and arouse. It did not breathe inspiration to the common man. In its triumph it became a tyranny. Universal mental slavery prevailed, or if it did not prevail, then the sword was drawn and the liberal spirit was crushed. It was not education, but persecution, that seated the church upon its terrible throne. It was the dungeon, the rack, and the fire. Where was there any chance for poetiy to flourish in the theological domains of Augustine and Calvin ? Was there ever a more dreary in- tellectual field than this ? — man totally depraved, haunted by demons, destined to eternal hell, save only a few, and these destined to a heaven so barren of all goodness that 322 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. hell itself became attractive in comparison ; and this heaven was reached only b}- an act of infinite injustice that must freeze with iiopeless terror the heart of hu- manity — a gallows erected in the center bf the universe as the only guarantee of celestial bliss. No wonder that for a thousand years there was no progress ; that the en- ergies of man were wasted ; that a pall was over the Avorld ; and we can find no better term for the days of Christianity's greatest triumph than " The Dark Ages." Yet beneath all this tyranny, this intellectual repast of horrors, this superstition, this fear both of the powers of this world and of the world to come, the human heart was living, beating still. The fountains were not altogether dried up. Fortunately for the world, Mohammedanism arose, rivaled the magnificence of the Roman empire, broke the dark spell, gave philosophy and science some chance to win, opened the sources of chivalry and romance, and songs reverberate^ from the shores of Greece to Spain. It was impossible to kill human love. Something of the old pagan spirit siill prevailed. In the services of the church, Christmas was not forgotten, nor Easter day, and the blooming spring- tide still bore promise. So long as the blue air encircled the eartli ; so long as the waters ran ; so long as the moun- tains lifted their summits in misty glory ; so long as the SPa rolled its azure splendor, and flowers spoke their glittering language along the pathway of men; so long there must be music in the human heart, and songs from human life ; so long will humanity keep up its mighty battle against wrong and oppression ; so long will there be hopes and dreams ; and there will be martyrs who in their blazing death-march will sound the reveille of a new morning and a new advance. And thus the Renaissance dawned and flashed first in Italy, heralded by the gloomy and powerful Dante, who never would be remembered to-day but for the sweetly SHELLEY. 323 human music of his immortal lines, Dante did not write for the theologian, or the " curled darlings " of fashion and despotism, but for the people ; and in the, very hor- rors that he depicts shines forth the surpassing beauty of his own native land ; and the music of Arno triumphs over the lurid terrors of his dogmatic pictures. But more than Dante the bold and comprehensive and liberal-minded Petrarch was the representative of the new era. And Boccaccio, too delicate and sensitive to battle with all the superstitions of his time ; still his delicate and airy spirit in the flush and prime of life dowered the world with those beautiful fancies, which, like clouds floating in tlie morn, are laden with the beams of the coming day ; and the elegant and witty Pulci, whose melodious arrows struck home to the hypocrisies and mockeries of his age, and revealed the true heroism of humanity ; and romantic Ariosto, gifted by all the fairies of happy birth, to tell the noblest tales of cliivalry ; and the sad, immortal Tasso, scorned by tyrant and church, pale as a ghost, pining and dying in the prison-house, yet to-day shining free and glorious in the heavens of fame ; while all over Europe there were minstrels and singers innumerable. And then Rabelais came, rotund as Falstaff, with scarceW more con- science, yet human to the core ; the greatest genius since Homer, and Homeric in his glorious outbursts of fire, passion, and wisdom ; and Cervantes, poor as a church mouse, always in toil and suffering, a chained Pro- metheus, yet flinging forth the fire of heaven, making rich the world forever, which no king could do though he possessed the wealth of the Indies. And in England was the merry, wise, delicious, sociable Chaucer, and majestic, golden, shining Spenser. Finally all these wonderful streams of poeti'y, wit, humor, pathos, song, passion, fancy, imagination, art, invention, wisdom, grandeur and vastness of thought flowed into the supreme and marvelous excel- lence of Shakspere, the " long result of time," for Shak- 324 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. spere is the true child of the Italian Renaissance, its chief flower in the civilization of Europe. Shakspere was not a miracle, for we can trace his gradual production in the preceding centuries, from the shores of Italy to London, the then mighty center of the commerce, literature, and travel of the world ; the only place where a Shakspere could have found fuel for his exuberant faculties. The Shaksperean era is the second grand poetic period of man's history. How different and yet how like the Homeric period ! There is the same out-door life, the same rush and recklessness, the same fervor, the same far-onward look to the new and the unknown, the same recognition of nature as a living, breathing, multitudinous force, the same revealing of man as having in himself the motives of his actions ; not played upon simply by outside forces, not clay in the hands of the potter, not a mere ma- chine or slave of fate, but an original potency, an evolving spirit, not totally depraved, nor an angel, but a being of powers and passioiis, excellences and defects ; swayed by circumstance indeed, but not merely by outward but in- ward circumstance, by the conditions of his own person- ality, by the ever-flowing fountains of his own will and emotion. Shakspere and Homer are both poetis of evolu- tion in the domain of humanity ; that is, each situation is the direct result of what goes before. It is evolved ; there is no superhuman, arbitrary interference. God is simply machinery, not dramatis jjt^r.svjnrt. He simply fills in, but does not make or create. In Shakspere and Homer we do not see man as a perfected creation, but man in the making ; man growing, evolving, changing, in and through his own activities. He is not moulded, but moulds him- self, makes and mars his own destiny. Yet the man of Shakspere is not like the man of Ho- mer, and certainly the woman of Shakspere is infinitely superior to the woman of Homer. How much more mani- fold is humanity in Shakspere than in the Greek. How JULES DBS ESSARTS (p. 840). SHELLEY. 325 much more complex, more problematic. How many more varieties of motive come into play. If one could, by any possibility, make a perfect blank of time between Homer and Sbakspere, and then read the former, and then the latter, what a chasm there would be ; and only in this way can we realize the vast growth of humanity for these two thousand years. Compare Achilles with Hamlet. Both are true to nature, with common attributes, capable of the same passions ; yet Achilles is simple, swayed by a few motives, and these easily understood ; while Hamlet is swayed by many motives, interwoven and conflicting with one another, and so various and subtle that, to this day, we cannot understand why he acts as he does, and yet he acts naturally. Homer could not have conceived of a Hamiet. It was beyond his experience. Intellectually and otherwise the characters of Shakspere are superior to the characters of Homer, because, in the former, we liave the evolutions of two thousand years, out of which the poet drew his abundant material. This exhibits not merely the tran- scendent genius of Sliakspere, but the vast growth of hu- manity itself. The characters of Shakspere were not thought out in the loneliness of closet composition ; but were struck off, like vivid sparks, from that great living world in which he mixed, of which lie was a part, and out of which he drew the elements of his surpassing power. I liave already depicted the poetic age of Shakspere, its marvel, its amplitude, its correlation with the past, its own intensity, and its influence on what will be. Beyond all question it is the wonder of human history. We shall never exhaust its wealth. " Age cannot wither, nor custom stale, Its infinite variety " And it would seem that, after Shakspere, there could be nothing new, that other poets, however great, would 326 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. simply repeat what already was in Greek or English poetry. They might give uew forms, but no more new material ; they could not add to the poetic wealth of the world, but simply change it. But Shakspere had his limitation. His sea of thought sometimes breaks on narrow boundaries, A recent critic has pretty conclusively shown that he was, at heart, an aristocrat. He did not believe in the people. He must have been far ahead of his times to liave done so ; for not then had democracy been heralded b}' a Franklin, a Wash- ington, a Jefferson, or a Paine, and begun its career of grandeur on a new continent. It needs but slight study of the author of Coriolanus to see that he does not voice the infinite hopes of democracy. This last and greatest aspiration of humanity finds no recognition in his glowing pages. He is the singer of a brave and gentle aristocracy, looking witli kindly aspect upon all phases of humanity, and flinging over the lowest station the spell of his en- trancing light; but those vast, dumb thoughts that poured out at length in thunder and battle, lie did not detect. We could hardly expect it. If he had, he miglit not liave seen so much of the glory of the olden time ; he miL'ht not have reveled so grandly in the life of his own day ; his melody might have had a tone of harshness ; his thought might have been fierce and somewhat less varied ; in fact, he might not have been Shakspere ; and so, for the sake of Shakspere, we will let democracy, in this case, go by the board. We must take the immortal in his own efful- gence. It is Avell that the glory of the world's finest aris- tocracy has been expressed in so illustrious a manner. Henceforth we must have a kindly feeling for it. It was not harsh or cruel. It meant not to crush, it tried to make happy. But it profoundly distrusted the masses. They might have some sublime virtues, and be gifted occasionally with wit and wisdom, but they could not rule. This is the impression of Shakspere's pages. The breath SHELLEY. 327 of a vast free people is not there ; only a gallant and splendid aristocracy, who form the chief figures of the im- posing drama. The people only help to fill in, to make fools, gravediggers, etc. Was there a poet of democracy to come ? Was there to be a new song, to which the world had not listened be- fore ? Was there to be an added glory to Homer and Shakspere ? Was there to be an original genius, another outflow of poetry, another golden sea to sparkle upon hu- manity, as after the Atlantic the Pacific sparkled upon the eyes of those who " stood upon a peak in Darien ?" There was something in Milton, and yet not the su- preme effluence. Milton is like a narrow and lofty moun- tain, or, as Wordsworth sings, he was a star that dwelt apart. Milton was egoistic. He wrote with a purpose. In thought, he was not one whit beyond the age in whicli he lived. He was not myriad-minded. He looked at things mainly from one standpoint. He had not the boundless inventive faculty of Shakspere, nor his wealth of expres- sion. Two-thirds of his great poem, " Paradise Lost," is worthless. It is neither poetry nor common sense, neither rhythm nor reason. It is simply theology. He is only poetical when he quits heaven. Of course there is a maj- esty and splendor in Milton which is unsurpassed, but it cannot be said that he added anything to the life or thought of man. He wrote a great poem, and other beau- tiful ones, biit there was no new outlook, no discoveiy, no invention except in the choice of material. Milton posed as a reformer, but it was more a personal affair than devo- tion to universal principle. He labored and became blind to put one despotism in the place of another. He had no sympathetic imagination. His imagination was orthodox, straight up and down, like a mirror, not flowing like a sea. Milton was a Puritan, brave, honest, true, generous, but one thing he and no Puritan has ever learned to do, and that is, "Put yourself in his place." Milton never did 328 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. that. Eveu his Lucifer was Puritan. His devils were bigoted. They did just what Milton would do in the same circumstance. His Adam and Eve are Puritans, and his " God " is of the same stripe. All are Puritans, and all Miltonic. All are struck in the same mould, all are elab- orations. There was no spontaneity in Milton; no vast, unconscious power ; no tide of nature swelling with unde- termined force. Milton was, indeed, magnificent. He poured forth some of the grandest music. He was clothed indeed in the royal robes of song. He is a majestical and beautiful figure in English literature ; but he is of the old, and not of the new. He gathered from the past enormous material and infused the mass with his own glowing spirit, and made it flashing and picturesque ; re- splendent in color, sublime in form ; but there was no actual advance. No new territory was gained. Milton was no more original than Lucretius, the great Latin poet, " Who flung his plummet down the broad, Deep universe, and said there is no God." Lucretius and Milton were of the same mould — intense, bold, lofty, piercing, with an eagle's flight, gazing over vast prospects with vision that could meet the sun in its glory ; and yet they never voyaged to an unknown shore ; they never drew back the misty veil of undiscovered deeps. They gave an added beaut}' and grandeur to what was, but what might be in man's ampler future the}- did not guess. The}' built on the past, not into the future as Homer and Shakspere did, laying anew the foundations of human thought, in the still untraversed sea of time, like bridge-builders making a place for humanity to move on where before it could not. " Glorious John Dryden " was a poet indeed of admir- able quality, who was very near to Milton in the greatness of his genius. If he was not so sublime, and touched not the vast bights, he possessed wit and humor which Milton SHELLEY. 329 did not. He was broader than Milton and more genial, and equally sincere in his religious convictions, being a Catholic; and he was so not merely for the sake of fortune, but from real belief. He was more gentle in the defense of his creed, and was a better reasoner in verse than Mil- ton. There is scarcely any poet who can argue so well in rhyme as Dryden. In his moments of inspiration there is a buoyancy in his lines that is truly refreshing ; quite dif- ferent from the elaborate sentimentalism of much of the poetry of to-day, where melody of words takes the place of variety of ideas. Dryden writes like a strong, earnest, straightforward, whole-souled man, who has something to say and says it in a vigorous and harmonious fashion. Dryden has a permanent fame whatever may be the transi- tions of poetic taste, for there is an element of humanity in him, a touch of this world, which declares that his poetic fervor was not the result of his theology, but of his native excellence. But he soared not beyond the empy- rean of his own day. He touched no new string, he made no new melody. He was thoroughly the child of his time, and in his time poetry was at an ebb. It was not over- flowing into new regions. And it reached a lower ebb in Pope, the magnificent poet of common-place ; the poet of the drawing-room, of society — a parlor poet, keen, versatile, polished, elegant, thoroughly artistic, but devoid of nature. Pope was a Deist, a Pantheist, a Christian, a heretic — anything, almost, for the sake of a good rhyme or telling point. Pope was all for wit. He is, perhaps, the wittiest poet in the Eng- lish language, since he had no humor to soften his diamond- like brightness. The poetr}' of Pope is like a crystalliza- tion. There is no rush, no impetuosity, no tides, no dy- namics ; simply a sparkling effervescence, like champagne in a glass. It is not a river, or a sea of thought, flowing on and on. It is always a pleasure to read Pope. He is stimulating, vivacious, suggestive. He is at heart a Free- 330 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS Oh" FREETHOUGHT. thinker, but liis Freethought is subservient to his art» His art comes first. To write a fine poem is the main thing ; not necessarily a truthful one. Pope never makes a miss. He has written less bad poetry than any other English bard. Pope knows just wliat he can do, and does it with exquisite skill. He adopts the golden mean. He does nothing great, and he does nothing ill. He is Baco- nian in his method, in that he does not seek the unattain- able. He is no emulator of Daedalus. He would never aspire to drive the chariot of the sun. He will keep on English soil. Life to him is a pleasant comedy. He sings, " Whatever is, is right," which, of course, is a lie, but a very nice one, and people like it. Pope saw no tragedy, no tears, no agony, no despair, no millions crushed to earth, no martyrs, no murdered innocence, no injustice, no crime seated on a throne, and virtue in a dungeon. Pope was an optimist, suited for his time and ordinary people. He was popular, and always will be popular. He keeps to the middle of the road. He has no eccentric- ities. He is a true singer — born to be so. "He lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." Pope was not merelv a rhymester. He was a poet in his own way — a genuine poet. He was not an imitator. His verse sparkles with thought. He is not monotonous. He has plenty of variety. But he is the representative simply of a society, not of nature, or universal man. But what he does represent, he represents truly and honestly. He is not artificial ; he is artistic, more an artist than a poet, but a poet still, and when occasion offers he gives utter- ance to splendid Freethought sentiments, like the folio-w- ing : " For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." 0. OILWA, Editor " La Verite." SHELLEY. 331 As a matter of fact Pope expresses more distinct Free- thought ideas than any previous English poet. He verges somewhat toward a piiilosophj- of Freethought, although he is not consistent from beginning to end ; and has not the advantages of modern science. However, truth was not the supreme purpose with Pope, but art. He was no reformer. He simply wanted to make the best of what was, and put it into smooth and beautiful poetic forms. He desired no change, but simply a selection of the choice material. So far as he went, however, Pope was healthful. He liked this world. His imagination was clear and bright. There were no fogs and phantoms about him. He was thoroughly common sense, level-headed, and, al- though he did not go very high or very d^ep, he was quite brilliant in the sphere to which he was adapted, and adorned his age. But while he satisfied, he did not in- spire. There was in his elegant verse no promise of a boundless future ; no fire to kindle the heart. Bat English poetry ebbed still lower in the melan- ch(ily Cowper. Pope was healthful ; Cowper was diseased. He was half insane with the dreadful religion of Calvin. He luul no true conception of life. It was a shadow and a horror, haunted by an intinite ghost. He scarcely dared to smile. He was like a lost soul. Yet he pretty fairly represented the English mind of that time ; its conserva- tism, its weakness, its narrowness, its fear, its mediocrity, its respectability, its squeamishness, its imbecility, its goody-goodyism, its namby-pambyism, its finikiness, its jejuneness, in one word, its piety. Cowper was sincere and wrote some good poetry, and Avill be remembered by his "John Gilpin," the hugesfc joke of which that time seemed to be capable. But along with the pious sentimentality of Cowper's time, there was much hypocrisy, formality,, eccle- siasticism, and what miglit be called the "dead rot" of intellectual finality. It was, poetically speaking, on-e of the most barren periods of literature. It seemed to live 332 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. upou the past, with no hope of the future, Cowper's " Task " was about the the best that it coiild do. " The Sofa," " The Time-piece," " The Garden," appeared the extent of its experience. Contrast this dull, quiescent age with the Vedas and Homeric epoch, " a world of rich and vigorous life," says Huxley, " full of joyous fighting men * That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine,' and who were ready to brave the very gods themselves when their blood was up. A few centuries," continues Huxley, " pass away, and under the influence of civiliza- tion the descendants of these men are ' sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' frank pessimists, or, at most, make-believe optimists. The courage of the warlike stock may be as hardly tried as before, perhaps more hardly, but the enemy is self. The hero has become a monk. The man of action is replaced by the quietest, whose highest aspiration is to be the passive instrument of the divine Reason. By the Tiber, as by the Ganges, ethical man admits that the cosmos is too strong for him, and destroy- ing every bond that ties him to it, by ascetic discipline he seeks salvation in absolute renunciation." The latter statement is essentially a correct description of evangelical England in the time of Cowper. It was really an age of despair, though it professed to have the "divine salvation." It drove Cowper to insanity. Others could escape the same fate only by not so thoroughly be- lieving in Calvin's God. And so it was a time of insin- cerity, of fashion, and conformity, of outward orthodoxy and inward pessimism, and while they sang the song of redemption, they saw before them the flames of hell. It could not seem possible even to the most piercing vision that this age was the forerunner of the mightiest poetic era in the world's history after that of Homer and Shakspere ; an era equally original with these, equally SHELLEY. 333 vast and splendid in genius, equally opening into new and shining regions of human progress. The era of Goethe and Shelley is the third grand poetic era of man's life, in some respects the noblest and sublimest of all. As Homer could not have written Shakspere's drama, neither Homer nor Shakspere could have written the poetry of Goethe and Shelley. They could not have written "Faust." They could not have written " Prometheus Unbound." It was not a question of genius, but of man's attitude to the universe. This is the grandeur of Goethe and Shelley, that they place man in a new relation with the world. They have moved humanity onward and upward to a new place of action, into sublimer and more far-reaching mo- tives. What an age this was! What avast upheaval from the very depths of the human heart ! What an amplitude of poetic genius was manifested ! What keenness of in- tellectual power ! What range of thought and splendor of imagination ! It lacked the free heroic action of Homer. It was not so objective. It was subjective and egoistic. It did not have the abounding wit and humor of Shak- spere, nor his dramatic quality, but never in one age was there such a combination of philosophical insight, with such marvelous rhythmic expression. There is no more music in Homer or Shakspere than in the great poets of this era, and what a number of great poets there were, and this variety of genius is unparalleled in human his- tory. It is a constellation. We know not who was with Homer, and Shakspere far surpassed his contemporaries ; but in this cluster are several supreme poets, and it is difficult to decide who is the greatest, Burns, Wordsworth, Keats, Byron, Shelley, Schiller, Goethe. They are not alike. They do not imitate one another. They come from nature itself, giants indeed, lofty mountain peaks, so daz- zling that one cannot decide at a glance which soars the highest. I call it the era of Goethe and Shelley, because 334 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. a careful study reveals these as the transcendent minds of this illustrious epoch. I do not say that they wrote greater poetry as poetry, but their poetry had a greater meaning in it. It was poetry and something else, which something else did not mar their music, but infused it with the glory of man's greatest progress. It was poetry with a purpose. It was poetry, art, invention, philosophy, education, inspiration, wisdom, science, civilization. It was man and nature both. It was universal, yet deter- mined ; that is, it was genius devoted to high ends. It was genius suffering limitation for the sake of a noble goal. Homer and Shakspere had no goal. They simply poured themselves out like rivers running to the sea, or like the ocean breaking on many shores. But in Shelley and Goethe there was something beyond expression, an art above all art, a desire more than poetic desire ; there was an intense and radiant ideal above the golden melody ; there was " The light that never was on sea or shore. The consecration and the poet's dream.'' It is said that this very absence of purpose in Shakspere is what makes him so universal and supreme. Undoubt- edly this is so, and had Homer or Shakspere been reform- ers of the world they coukl not have endowed it with such wealth of poetry. It is to tlieir advantage, and to ours, that they simply made music without regard to anything beyond its passion and its power. It is a limitation to poetic genius to write with a purpose, and the fact that Shelley and Goetlie so limited did produce such supreme poetic results is to their eternal honor, and it declares the vastness of their genius. Take it all in all, who will say which is the greater exhibition of man's universal powers — Shakspere without a purpose, or Goethe with a pur- pose ? The one is the ocean with no fixed forms or lines in its rushing glory ; while the other is a vast chain of ROBERT BURNS. 335 mountains with fixed lines and forms. And yet what changing beauty and grandeur we behold! Let us not decide between the two — the sea or the mountains — or criticise one by the law of the other, but accept both in their own effulgence. Goethe, fortunate Goethe, he o'erarches tliis mighty era; he begins it, he ends it, so far as the production of great original poetry is concerned. A shining ago lias succeeded, but it is a prolongation, not a new creation. To understand this era we must seek to understand all the geniuses who contributed to and expressed its greatness, for we must admit here, as elsewhere, that the age itself was creative ; that it helped to make these poets, and in the light of these later days we can see what this age car- ried, for in it was the French Revolution, the American Republic, and the dawn of modern science ; and, there- fore, outside of its poetic streams tremendous forces were flowing on. A magnificent age it was, even if these poets had never sung. But with their songs what a glory we inherit ! Robert Burns.— 1759-1796. When it comes to love and sj'mpathy, Robert Burns — Bobbie Burns, let us say — has the m(3st universal accep- tance. He certainly has won the affections of the world. He was like a lark singing in the clear, bright sky. He has the freshness of the morning. What a breath and presence of nature is in his poems ! What a beautiful, tender, rollicking world flashes be- fore us as we repeat his words! What music is in them, homely though some of them may be, but their very homeliness is their title to our affections, for Burns knew how to use them to make these sounds express the loveliness, the pathos, the charm, of this world, from which "old Scotia's grandeur springs." Burns was a true son of the soil. He lived his nature openly, honestly. It was impossible iov liim to Ix^ oithodox. He revolted against 336 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. tlie religion of liis time. With what scorn and wit and sarcasm he overwhelmed it ! He recoiled with horror from the high Calvinistic notion of dut}^ which incul- cated that the greatest sinner was the greatest favorite of heaven ; that the lost sheep alone Avill be saved, and that the ninety and nine out of tlie hundred will be left in the wilderness to perish without mercy. The anniversary of Burns is now celebrated around the world. All nations of literary enlightenment join in doing him honor, and well worthy is he of the laurel crown, for no one has done more than he to ennoble life, to comfort and console humanity. He is a genius of the highest order, truly creative and truly sympathetic with all sorts and conditions of men, touching nature at every point, and receiving from nature the opule^nce of her spirit. He has tlie power of Shak- spere — pathos, wit, humor, and sublimity are mingled with wonderful and raj^id transitions. He completely masters the heart. He sings for all ages, for all the world. William Wordsworth.— 1770-1850. Wordsworth has probably written more poor stuff than any poet of his capacity, while he has written some of the noblest poetry in the EnglisJi language, and has been ranked b}' some writers as second only to Milton and Shakspere. He cannot be enrolled as aFreethought poet; neither is he orthodox. His finest poetry is imbued with Pantheism, and in this quality he is a great advance on Milton and Cowper. God is to him not a remote deity, or a personality, but an eternal presence in nature, as ex- pressed in the following : " In all things, in all natures, in the stars Of azure heaven, the unenduring clouds, In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks, The moving waters and the invisible air." JEAN PAUL GEE (p. 6i7). KEATS. 337 Walter Scott.— 1771-1832. It may seem preposterous to place Walter Scott any- where in a history of Freethought, for there is not a par- ticle of Promethean light in Scott. He is altogether wrapped up in the past, and finds only in that the inspira- tion of the muse. But he is such a delicious story-teller, the best in literature next to Homer, and he gives such truthful and noble pictures of the life' before that we must speak of him as a grefi,t liberating influence. It must be remembered that Freethought is not a tearing away from the past, but a selection of the best material of the past. It is a vivid comprehension of the past ; seeing it as it really is; understanding its motives, its ideas, its tenden- cies. Certainly no one has given a more faithful picture of the past than Scott. He has the historic imagination of a Shakspere himself. He rebuilds the past. He breathes into it life, passion, intellect, motive. It is no longer a dead past, a mass of unrelated facts, but a cosmos again, a livincr world. Men and women are there ; nature is there ; the flowers, the streams, the sky, the plain, the wood, the moat, the castle, the knight, the king, the peas- ant, the clown, are before us ; and thus, knowing the past. how much better we can know the future ; and Scott, the story-teller, Tory though he be, is one of the noblest in- fluences of Freethought culture, for as Darwin and Lyell read the rocky pages of earth, so he reads for us the living humanity, and from his glowing pen we catch the impulses of immortal hope. Keats.— 1796-1821. Keats is supremely original. Not from any preceding poet or literature did he catch the fire from heaven with which he made so beautiful this world. We might almost say that Keats was the most original of the poets of this era. How is it possible that one lowly born, as he was. 338 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF PRBBTHOUGHT. should become so great, should have such mastery of language, such loftiness of ideas ; that he should so speak " With the large utterance of the early gods ?" In pure poetry, in musical expression, in thoughts that flow like liquid gold, in his perfect pictures of nature, Keats is unsurpassed even by Homer or Shakspere. Of course he has not their epic and dramatic quality, their grandeur of construction, their vast experience. He lacks energy, discipline, matured power, sustained imagination. He is simply a child dying at the age of twenty-four, but what he produced is astonishing. We can scarcely realize that a boy, nurtured in poverty, with a life of struggle, feeble in health, scorned by critics, should write so ma- jestically, so vividly, and be equal to the greatest of bards, that his poetry should mark an epoch in literature, and that he should become a creative influence. He is truly Promethean, for he seems himself to have come in contact with the gods and fetched their brightest flames. Byron.— 1788-1821. The popular opinion Avould, undoubtedly, place Byfon at the head of these great poets. He was, indeed, a revo- lutionary force. In energy he surpasses all his contem- poraries. Ho is like the " live thunder " of which he him- self sings. His pages, some of them, are like a storm in the mountains, " Where Jura answers through her misty shroud Back to the joyous Alps that call to her aloud." Byron was an iconoclast, a Titan, overthrowing many of the sacred things of the past ; but he was not a system- atic Freethinker. He had no deep, pervading philosophy. Byron was sometimes radical, and sometimes conserva- tive. But he voiced the tumultuous age in which he lived. He was a regenerating force. At times he was reckless, SHELLEY. 339 and then his verses had the brilliancy and potency of nature itself. We see this in Don Juan, the greatest, the most varied, the most powerful, and the most melodious and truly poetic of all his productions. It is like the flow of a river, the ripple of a fountain, and vast swell of ocean. It has passion, thoujTjlit, imaj^ination. Its lanp;u;ige is masterful. His words, at times, are like the open sesame of the Arab. They reveal the hidden pomps of earth and sky. It is needless to repeat the tragedy of Byron's life. It was the course of a comet, strange, bewildering, fascinat- ing, lofty, shining ; a great soul tortured with hopes and aspirations unattainable. No man lived a life more full and opulent than Byron, no one a life more sad and pa- thetic. He enjoyed all that one might enjoy, and suffered all that one might suffer. Strangely alike were Byron and Burns — the one a prince, the other a peasant, but equally royal, equally high, equally glorious in capacity, equally the heirs of pain and glory — burning tliemselves out while in meridian splendor, and now held forever in the sweetest remembrance of mankind. Shelley.— 1792-1822. I regard Shelley as the greatest poet of this great era of English poetry, because we find in him its fullest mean- ing, its sublimest significance. Certainly from the Free- thought standpoint he was the greatest genius. He Avas a declared Atheist, an opponent of all the gods, of faith and custom. He suffered for his opinions ; he was a martyr. Born to wealth, he disdained it. He was in thorough S3^m- pathy with the French Revolution. He sounded the paean of Democracy. He believed in the reign of the people. He was a noble and beautiful dreamer. He sang not merely for the joy of singing, but to make the world hap- pier, to give it better hopes, broader thoughts, richer imaf»inations. In the first flush of voutli what glorious 340 FOUR HUXDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. poetry he poured forth, radiaut with the fires of liberty ! How many a heart has thrilled with his impetuous melody, tlie llrst genuiue lulidel jjoetrj- iu ;A\ Eiiqlish literature — iconoclastic, daring, radical, volcanic, like a tempest, like the sea, sparkling in its unchained course ! Shelley conquered i^oetry for Freethought, and through his genius Freethought is now linked with the noblest music and hope of man. But Shelley is more than the greatest poet of Freethought. He is one of the greatest poets of the universal world, one of the original and sub- lime geniuses of mankind, a new and prodigious force iu histor}^ an elemental power. He is at the head of a new epoch ; he is a discoverer, an inventor. From him llow new streams of impulse, melod}^ and power. There is an indefinable something in the supreme poets, not music or thought or dramatic power, but an atmos- phere, original with themselves and which makes a new world as we enter their charmed domains. We do not find this in lesser poets. They simply reflect the world about them, but these greater poets not only reflect but transform. They do more than hold the mirror up to nature. They seem to breathe into it a new spirit, to clothe it with a more luminous atmosphere, so that out- lines and forms are changed ; the mountains and clouds, and seas and shores have a different tint, and present a new aspect of gloiy and delight. It is as when we travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast. We trace no great differences in hill, or plain, or river, or forest, but we are in a new atmosphere, and the horizon is different, and the sky and the clouds, and the day and night, and the stars and the morning. So when we come into Shelley's poetry there is the same wondrous change. Shelley has given a new atmosphere of poetic splendor to the world, like golden California to the traveler's eyes after he passes the shining mountain's boundary. The following, written at twent}', shows Slielley's com- SHELLEY. 341 mand of weighty English prose ; his philosophical insight at that early age, aud the noble principles of liberty by which he was governed. It was to Lord Ellenborough, in behalf of a printer named D. J. Eaton, imprisoned for publishing Paine's "Age of Reason:" '■ Moral qualities are such as only a human being can possess. To attribute them to the spirit of the universe, or to suppose that he is capable of altering them, is to degrade God into man, and to annex to this incomprehen- sible being qualities incompatible with any possible defi- nition of his nature. " It ma}- be objected. Ought not the creator to possess the perfections of the creature ? No. To attribute to God the moral qualities of man, is to suppose him suscep- tible of passions, which, arising out of corporeal organiza- tion, it is plain that a pure spirit cannot possess. But ■even suppose, with the vulgar, that God is a venerable old man, seated on a throne of clouds, his breast the theater •of A'arious passions, analogous to those of humanit}", his will changeable and uncertain as that of an earthly king^ still goodness and justice are qualities seldom denied him, and it will be admitted that he disapproves of any action incompatible with those qualities. Persecution for opin- ion is unjust. With what consistency, then, can the wor- shipers of a Deity, whose benevolence they boast, embitter the existence of their fellow being, because his ideas of that Deity are different from those which they entertain ? x\las ! there is no consistency in those persecutors who worship a benevolent Deity ; those who worship a demon would alone act consonantly to their princij^les by im- prisoning and torturing in his name." Like all great minds Shelley confronted the tremen- dous problem of evil. He did not solve it fully, as per- haps it never will be, except by science. Evil exists, and the universe is a tragedy. The question for man is, how to make the best of it ? Shelley was not of a light opti- 342 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FRBETHOUGHT. mistic temper. He recognized the darker aspects of the world. Like Goethe, " he knew and felt that an awful conflict was going on between two mighty powers, the one fair and beneficent, and the other hideous and malign. But he convinced himself, or perhaps it would be better to say, the conviction grew in his mind, that this struggle was not necessarily eternal ; that in spirits which, in spite of failure and suffering, have always an inward longing for light and freedom, the good power ultimately triumphs, and crushes evil forever under its feet." Victor Hugo says that the poetry of the race is for its consolation. Truly that is the divine gift of poesy. Shelley thus dowers mankind. In the garb of imagi- nation there shines a living truth. "We enter dreamland and fairyland, but we find food for this common world of labor and suffering. Is not this true ? " Hark ! the rushing snow ; The sun-awakened avalanche ; whose mass Thrice sifted by the storm, had gathered there Flake after flake, in heaven-defying minds, As tliougld by thought is piled, till some great truth Is loosened, and the nations echo round. Shaken to their roots, as do the mountains now." Lessing.— 1729-1781. Contemporai'v, preceding, and succeeding the mighty outburst of poetry in England, is the wonderful creative era of German literature, and it is amazing to contemplate England and Germany uniting in such an outflow of genius, while in France rolled and thundered the Revolution ; so that this is indeed the greatest age of man in the variety, magnificence, awfulness, and terror of the forces brought into play. Never was there such an interaction of thought and deed. Dreams became realities, and real- ities disappeared like a dream. Thrones vanished, and BRUNO WILLE (p. 849). LESSIXG. 343 thrones were built. Never were such battles fouglit, and such victories won. Think of a man like Napoleon and a poet Jike Goethe meeting in the midst of tiiis mighty draraa^l What a combination ! "Wliat a correlation of genin.--! What spaces of human evolution and revolution were represented by these stupendous intellectual potent- ates ! What a meaning they give to Europe and the world ! The modern intellectual vigor of Germany awakens with Lessing, the greatest man in Germany since Luther, and, perhaps, the greatest man that Germany has ever pro- duced, if in man we take not simply genius, but manli- ness, character, strength, discipline, heroism. I think Lessing was a greater regenerator of German}' tlian Luther himself, for while Luther regenerated in relig- ion, Lessing regenerated in literature and art. He is at the head of a reformation far more profound and sweeping than that of Luther. Lessing was the greatest critic of modern Europe, perhaps the greatest critic of all time, the greatest in this, that he was absoluteh^ sincere. He made no pretenses. Lowell calls him an intellectual athlete. This describes him. He was superbly healthful. He had no idiosyncrasies. He was an all-around man. His life was a constant struggle, a life of penury and dis- appointment, of deepest suffering, and yet his grandeur of spirit prevailed. No disease attacked him. Long as he lived he was like a giant oak, and he wrestled with the storm triumphantly. His branches might be torn, bat his heart was sound to the core. How he hated humbug, and how he pelted it with his fierce sarcasms! But he was more than a destructive critic. He was a great construc- tive genius. He knew how to build. He was an artist and a poet. He wrote some of the finest dramas in the Ger- man language, superior in construction, if not equal in genius, to those of Schiller and Goethe. His " Nathan the Wise " will long be remembered for its breadth of 311 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. thought, genial spirit, nobility of purpose, and devotion to humanity. It is a lesson in toleration and justice. There is a splendid cheer and inspiration about Les- sing's whole character. He is a man for to-day, as well as for the yesterday in which he lived. He is one of the permanent forces of literature. Yet he is more than a force. He was what we might call a whole-souled fellow — brave, magnanimous, generous, sincere, impulsive, exult- ant, and magnetic. He was not the victim of circum- stances. He conquered circumstances. He was never under the weather. He was the same in all sorts of weather, and met the storm and sunshine with equanimity. He cried out, " What care I to live in plenty, // / only live." There spoke a royal spirit. Again he said, " He who is only in good health, and is willing to work, has nothing to fear in this world." He himself lived up to this ; and again he said, ''If I write at all it is not i^ossible for me to write otherwise than just as I think and feel." And what splendid courage is in this : " Does one write there- fore for the sake of being always in the right? I think I have been as serviceable to truth when I miss her, and my failure is the occasion of another's discovery, as if I had discovered her myself." And truly he declares, " I found out that books indeed would make me learned, but never make me a man." These expressions reveal the giant Lessing, a grand figure, like Herman himself, a warrior ready for combat. He spoke the truth. His intellectual vision was piercing. He recognized no finality. He said : " The perfect truth is not for man, only the search after truth." Schiller.— 1759-1805. Schiller was born after Goethe, but reached his merid- ian glory and passed away before Goethe had reached the sunset of his ample day. In some respects it seems as if Schiller were greater than Goethe, so lofty and exuberant SCHILLER. 345 are his dramatic and lyrical powers. Schiller is a born singer, and he sings not for a da}-, but for all time. He is one of the immortals. He and Goethe are like two moun- tains side by side, and as they lift up their glorious bights it is difficult to decide which surpasses in dazzling alti- tude. There is a heroic grandeur about Schiller, which, perhaps, Goethe does not possess. Schiller seems to shoot up abruptly from the plain, and his greatness is witnessed at a glance. Goethe is surrounded by vast table lands. Not suddenly does he touch the blue sky, and thus his liight is lost in vastness and variety. How- ever, the one cannot obscure the other. Both shine in their own glory. Schiller was thoroughly representative of the age in which he lived, of the " storm and stress " of that prolific and revolutionary period. His first great production, " The Robbers,*' has the fire of eternal youth. It is an exhibition of prodigious power. It will never lose its in- terest to the student of history, for it was born of its times, like a volcanic force. It was the red-h(^t lava of men's minds, and if we feel not its heat to-day we still behold its swift and luminous course, and read in its now motionless splendors the heart-throbs of that mighty gen- eration. Schiller was entirely in and of humanity. He was not outside of it, a calm spectator, as Goethe might be m some of his moods. He was in thp rushing flood, and in his rapid and fervent song resounds and shines the hurrying world itself. But Schiller is not simply Ivrical, and expressive of strong and simple emotions ; he is won- derfully dramatic. He has a vast and comprehensive in- sight into human motives and character. Not one per- sonality pervades his dramas as in Byron, who resembles him to a very great extent in the energy and vividness of his genius, but many living characters like those of Shak- spere pass over his majestic stage. He revels in the pro- duction of superb and heroic men, like Wallenstein, than 346 FOUR ITUNDREP YKARS OF PREETHOUGHT. whom in all literature there is not a character more opu- lent in Lucifer-like virtues and illustrious crimes. How the great hero is pictured in his noble weaknesses and sovereign strength, and not alone does he fill tlie mighty drama. He is surrounded by characters equally true to nature, loveh-, malignant, polite, wise, foolish, brave, and cowardly. It is a great and multifarious scene that we witness, where glory and baseness mingle, where lies flourish and the awful punishment rolls on, wljere love is imperishable though death shatters the frail form. It is crowded with beautiful descriptions, pathos, philosophy, wisdom and enthusiasm. Tliat Thirty Year's War — what a page in human history ! What a story of suffering and heroism! — a drawn battle between Romanisui and Protestantism after the most enormous struggles and deso- lating victories and defeats, while the people were crushed between opposing factions and Liberty was wounded almost to the death. Goethe.— 1749-1832. Goethe is unquestionably the greatest poet since Shak- spere, great in original gifts, great in wonderful experi- ence, great in length of days, liviug his life cc^ujpletely from morn till golden evening; more than all others the poet of the future, more than all others the poet of science and motlern tliought, originator himself of that thought, and prophet of man's noblest discoveries. Goethe was of the earth, firmly planted in its pregnant soil. His, too, was the " vision and the faculty divine " that penetrates to farthest space and unfolds new realms of truth. No spirit more subtle and delicate than he ; no mind more broad and comprehensive. He could sing the sweetest songs ; he could grasp the loftiest thought. All passions were his, all wisdom, all imagination. Goethe was a growth, more than any other poet. He gathered in new powers through all his golden days. Shakspere, Shelley, GOETHE. 347 Burns, and Schiller had to depend on orii^inal gifts, but Goethe had the advantage of constant learning, discipline, and assimilation. He was continuously gathering in from every vantage point, and his old age surpassed the splen- dor of his youth. Goetlie was self-determined. In him there was art as well as nature, but art which was nature in her supremest moments, in her selectest influence. Goethe understood himself. He was clear-sighted both to that which was within and that which was without. He lost none of his spontaneity by his culture. He was not cold or formal or exclusive. He was not rigid and statuesque, but flowing and picturesque. His thought never lost its music. Goethe was a student, an observer, a man of science. He was a patient inquirer. He was always willing to learn. He equipped himself for business and states- manship. Yet he never lost the simplicity and true- heartedness of life. He was not crusted over with cus- tom. He was cosmopolitan. He rejoiced in the past as well as in the future. The past to him was still living and glorious. It was not his master, but a most beautiful influence. He visited Rome and reveled in the mighty life of the past which it represented. He disdained nothing, for he saw the relations of evervthinp To him humanit}^ and nature were a unity. The life of a peasant was as great to him as the life of a king. To him the every-day was poetic, not simply the occasional. In " Faust " he battles with the problem of life. It might have been better if he had left it unsettled at the end of the first part. The second part has not the fresh- ness and reality of the first part. It is more like a sym- phony than a drama. It is full of music. But its lines are vague and far away, like the landscape of a vision. It seems as if the shadow or " astral body" were singing to us, not the real man. Goethe has not settled the prob- lem. But how beautifully he has painted life ! Its love- 348 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. liness, its grandeur, its passion, its terror are open to us. He has given us a supreme drama of man, and of the uni- verse itself. He points onward. He gives hope, through ourselves, through the processes of nature, and not by miracle. He has no faith in the gods, or the super- natural. It is not the glory of God, but the triumph of man, for which he sought. All the interest of his drama is around man, and God is not an entity, but a process in and through man himself. Goethe was a Pantheist, more like Bruno than Spinoza. He believed that the good would sometime triumph ; that it was absolute, and not merely finite, as Spinoza declared, but absolute not as a personality, but as a tendency in nature and in man ; but a tendency in man that must be victorious through man's own agency, his own will. Goethe cannot be understood simply through his poetry, like Shakspere. It makes but little difference whether we understand the life of Shakspere or not ; but the poetry of Goethe is the very fruit and bloom of his personal being. He lives what he writes. We must interpret Goethe by his loves and passions, his impetuous youth, his dis- ciplined manhood. Wliatever Goethe was as a man found expression in his books. Ami we must, more than all, un- derstand the scientific labors and results of Goethe's career. He was preeminently scientific, and the scientific spirit prevails in and moulds his literary activity. Shel- ley was the poet of Freethought emotion, Goethe of Free- thought knowledge. Modern science finds but little voice in Shelley. In Shelley are hopes, aspirations, dreams, the onward, bright feeling of humanity escaping from ancient bondage. But in Goethe we have the mighty modern doctrine of evolution, the conception of the universe as a ceaseless activity ; a universe of endless transformations in and of itself without any supernatural impulse. To Goethe the universe was sufficient of itself for all that it produced, be it a flower, or sun, or brain of man. CAPT. OTTO THOMSON (p. 622). CHAPTEE XY. Geology. Orthodoxy was worsted ou the plains of heaven. The stars fought against it. All space was lighted up with heretical torches. The tangled mazes of the Pleiades bore the banners of Freethought millions of miles from the clutch of the priest. The belt of Orion girded a here- siarch that could not be burned at the stake, and over the ashes of Bruno flamed his deathless brilliance. The Southern Cross was more radiant than the cross of the church. Not a planet or sun, or comet, or constellation, could Rome chain to its car. Orthodoxy submitted to the inevitable, and Freethought pursued its shining way through limitless space. But the church was still enthroned on earth. If it oould retain that it still might bid defiance to the stars. But when the earth seemed to be slipping from its grasp, and the garden of Eden and the flood and Mount Sinai to disappear in the vast sweep of ages, then came a long and bitter contest, and even to-day the battle is not yet ended. It has been a most humiliating defeat so far for the church. The church scented the danger, and when man began to study the crust of the earth, its rocks, its fossils, there was a universal cry of condemnation from the church. All the theologians took arms, but in this ease the Protestant church proved to be more pugnacious than Rome. Rome had learned its lesson in the battle of astronomy. It had 350 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. something of the wisdom of experience, and did not care again to endanger its reputation for infallibity. But the Protestant theologian must defend his Bible. The church, according to Rome, being a constant revelation from God, might accommodate itself to human advancement, but the Bible, a fixed thing, a revelation, ended eighteen centuries ago, and of course this could not be renovated. No amount of new knowledge could make it different from what it was. Its reputation for veracity must be maintained. The church was somewhat mobile, and might admit fresh channels of thought ; but the Bible was crystallized. It had ceased to flow. It was an infallible book, and the very letter of it must be preserved. If one single mistake were proved against the Bible, the whole foundation of the Protestant church was gone, for it was founded upon the absolute truthfulness of the book.. Home, therefore, occupied a somewhat neutral position. She left the brunt of the battle to the Protestants, and so conducted herself that the victory of science would not destro}^ her prestige. Indeed, it was a Catholic of com- manding position, Cardinal Wiseman, who was the first of the theologic army to admit that geology might be true, and that the church of God had better make the best of it. It took a long time for the Protestant clergy to acquire equal wisdom. The battle began in the sixteenth century. Fracastoro and Palissy broached the true theory. Afterwards De Clave, Bitaud, and De Villon upheld it. The latter were opposed by the theologic faculty of Paris. Their books Avere burned, and they were banished. In the eighteenth centur}^ the learned and brilliant Buffon endeavored to state fundamental geological truths. He was dragged from his high position, and forced ignominiously to print his recantation. Still Scilla, Linnaeus, Whitehurst, and Dauberton pushed their researches with incontrovertible GEOLOGY. 35X results. But the warfare continued even more furiously. Listen to the wail of the poet Cowper : " Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register by which w6 learn That he who made it, and revealed its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age." Poor Cowper ! His "God " was certainly mistaken, and is now a fossil himself, a matter of curiosity, like Cowper's own poetry. The civilized world was filled with the roar of the the- ologian. He declared that geology was "not a subject of lawful inquiry," it was a "dark art," "dangerous and dis- reputable," "a forbidden province," "an infernal artillery," " an awful evasion of the testimony of revelation," and "Infidelity." The fossils were a great trouble to the church cham- pions. They could not get rid of them with all their noise. They were facts, and a fact does sometimes con- front a theologian. But they said the fossils were pro- duced by the deluge, although it was already proved that the deluge was not universal. It was declared that the remains of a mammoth were the bones of giants men- tioned in scripture ; also that a lizard, discovered in Ger- many, was the fossil of a man. " It is comical and in- structive," says President White. We laugh to-day at these miserable sophistries. Yet they were upheld by the representatives of the Protestant church. But with the destruction of these sophistries forever vanishes the di- vine inspiration of the Bible. Geology has marked the word " lie " all over the pages of that book. On three great points the Bible is simply and absolutely false, and there is no doubt about it, and Geology even more than Astronomy has demolished the pretensions of the church. The rocks and fossils have spiked the guns of theology. 352 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. The three points on which the Bible in its record is diametrically opposed to science are, the age of man, the age of the earth, and the order of evolution. The Age of Man. The Bible, beyond question to any fair-minded in- quirer, declares that man lias existed on this planet less than six thousand years. Professor William Denton, to wliom Freethought is so amply indebted for scientific and historical researches, says : " When we have learned tliat the lieaven and earth were made in six days, we have a key to the time of the 'beginning.' On the last of these six days, A(him was created ; and in t)]e fifth and sixth chaiiters of Genesis we can learn how many rears it is from the creation of Adam to the deluge. Adam was one hundred and thirty years old when Setli was born ; Seth was one hundred and five when Enos was born; and thus we are furnished with the date of the birtVi of eight succeeding indiviiluals to Noah, who was six hundred years old when tlie deluge came. Thus we have the following total : Adam, 130; Seth, 105; Enos, 90 ; Cainan, 70 ; Mahalaleel. 65 ; Jared, 162 ; Enoch, 65; Methuselah, 187; Lamech, 182; Noah, 600; total, 1,656 years. The time from the creation of Adam to the deluge, then, is one thousand six hundred and fifty-six years ; and from that time the Bible furnishes us with dates, by which we learn that the deluge took place about four thousand two hundred years ago. Then the creation of man took place, according to the Bible statement, less than six thousand years ago." It is demonstrated by geology that man has existed on this planet for at least one hundred thousand years. Leaving out of question the age of the earth anterior to Adam, it is conceded that Adam was created on the seventh THE AGE OF MAN. 353 day, and so the Bible chronology of Adam, as given by Professor Denton, cannot be disputed. What is the testimony of history? Baldwin says: "It is now as certain as anything in ancient history that Egypt existed as a civilized country not less than Hve thousand years earlier than the birth of Christ." For confirmation of this, one can visit the Art Museum of New York and study the mummies. Lenourmiui in his " Manual of the Ancient History of the East," places the first dynasty of Egyptian kings at 5004 B.C. He is a Christian scholar, but acknowledges that the same system of writing existed then, as was in use thousands of years afterward. Sir Charles Lyell gives a period of one hundred thou- sand years from the present, for the time when the primi- tive men of France lived, whose remains have been found in the valley of the Somme. Austed in his "Earth's History," says, "It would ap- pear that the lowest human remains must be of a date carrying us back a quarter of a million of years." Broca says : " Man has left traces of his existence, marks of his industry, and remains of his body in geolog- ical strata, the antiquity of which is beyond computation." He adds, "A person may easily convince himself that six thousand years constitute but a short moment in the life of humanity." Lesley says : " You may, with little trouble, see for yourselves by glancing through the magazines of scientific literature that our race has been upon this earth for hun- dreds of thousands of years." Prof. Asa Gray says : " Existing species of plants and animals have been in existence for many thousands of years ; and as to their associate man, all agree that the length of his occupation is not at all measured by the genera- tions of the biblical chronology.'' There is no question of the immeasurable antiquit}^ of 354 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. man. His own history declares it. Geology declares it. The strata of the earth declare it. Monuments and fossils testify to it. The evidence is cumulative and en- tirely against the Bible story. If man is more than six thousand years old, every cardinal doctrine of Christianity is swept away, the Fall, Total Depravity, the Atonement. If Eden is a myth, then Christianity is founded on a myth. If the old Adam disappears, the new Adam (Christ) must vanish also. No fall, no redemption. That is the logic. The antiquity of man dissolves the whole system of the Christian religion. It is " the baseless fabric of a vision." So it seems that Cowper's melancholy "God" was mis- taken as to the age of man, about two hundred, or five hundred, thousand years, but as a thousand years are as one day to this deity, the difference, perhaps, is not im- portant to the " divine mind." The Age of the Earth. But how about the age of the earth? According to the Bible it is only six days older than Adam. The six days of Genesis mean six days of twenty-four hours each, that is, common days. The evidence on this point is conclusive. It speaks of the evening and the morning of the first day, etc. If the day represents crea- tion, then the night must represent non-creation, and if the day is a million years or more, then the night is a million years or more, and for a million years God did nothing. But geology denies the existence of any such blanks. The twentieth chapter of Exodus is conclusive as to the length of day. The aiithor of the Pentateuch defines his own term, and the definition must be accepted. It is on the supposition that the days of creation were similar to our own that the famous commandment of the Sabbath is based, and this is the motive assigned for it by the Hebi'ew legislature : " Thou slialt work six days and do all thy work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the VIKTOR E. LENiSBTRAA'D (p. 619). THE AGE OF THE EARTH. 355 Lord thy God. Thou shalt do no work on that day. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth and the sea and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day.'' Whatever the word "day" means in Genesis it must mean in Exodus. The terms are identical. If you change the meaning in Genesis you must change it in Exodus, and the command would then read : " Thou shalt work six periods of a million years each, but on the seventh period of a million years thou shalt do no work." A pretty long week's work and a pretty long Sabbath day — not even a Puritan could stand that ! Professor Moses Stuart, of Andover Semiuary, one of the best Hebrew scholars of America, and who wrote a grammar of that language, settles the question thus : "The inquiries you make concerning the word yom in Gen. i., I will briefly answer. It does not signify an in- definite period of time, but always some definite one, when emploj^ed, as it is in Gen. i., in the singular number. It sometimes means a specific da}' of the week ; sometimes to-day, that is, this day; sometimes a specific day, or season of calamity, joy, particular duty, action, suffering, etc. It is only the plural, yamin, which is employed for time in an indefinite way, as ' in many days to come,' 'days of my life,' etc. But, even here, the plural in most cases is a limited one — limited by some adjective, numeral, etc. ; and yamin signifies, therefore, a limited portion of time ; often it stands for a year. . . . When the sacred writer in Gen i. says, the first day, the second day, etc., there can be no possible doubt — none, I mean, for a philolo- gist, let a geologist think as he may — that a definite day of the week is meant, which definite day is designated by the numbers first, second, third, etc. What puts this beyond all question in philology is that the writer says specifically, The evening and the morning were the first day, the second day, etc. Now, is an evening and a morning a 356 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. period of some thousands of years? Is it iu any sense, wlien so employed, an indefinite period ? The answer is so plain and certain that I need not repeat it. . . . If Moses has given us an erroneous account of the creation, so be it. Let it come out ; and let us have the truth. But do not let us turn aside his language to get rid of difl&culties that we may have in our speculations." How old is the earth ? Lyell talks of " myriads of ages." Professor Warren Upbam says: "Among all the means afforded by geology for direct estimates of the earth's duration, doubtless the most re- liable is through comparing the present measured rate of denudation of continental areas with the aggregate of the greatest determined thickness of the strata referable to the successive time divisions. The factors of this method of estimate, however, are in considerable part uncertain, or dependent on the varying opinions of different geolo- gists. According to Sir Archibald Geikie, in his presi- dential address a year ago before the British Association, the time thus required for the formation of all the strati- fied rocks of the earth's crust may range from a minimum of seventy-three million up to a maximum of six hundred and eighty million years. Professor Samuel Haughton obtains in this way, ' for the whole duration of geological time a minimum of two hundred million years.' " On the other hand, smaller results are reached through the same method by Dana, who conjectures that the earth's age may be about forty-eight million years since the for- mation of the oldest fossiliferous rocks ; and by Alfred Kussell Wallace, who concludes that this time has prob- ably been only about twenty-eight million years. With these, rather than with the foregoing, we may also place Mr. T. Mellard Reade's recent estimate of ninety-five million years, similarly derived. Again, Mr. C. D. Wal- cott, in his vice-presidential address before Section E of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, THE ORDER OF EVOLUTION. 357 in its meeting in August, 1893, gave his opinion, from a study of the sedimentary rocks of the western Cordilleran area of the United States, that the duration of time since tlie Archaean era has been probably some forty-five million years." These geological ages, as Kingsley says, are simply " appalling." We cannot conceive of them. They are to us practically an eternity. But these vast unimaginable periods sweep away the Bible creation utterly. How in- sisnificant it seems when we come to the truth itself. Again must Cowper's God hide his diminished head. He was mistaken this time to the extent of two hundred, or three hundred, millions of years. The Order of Evolution. But another even more tremendous indictment is made by geology against the truthfulness of the Bible, and that is, as to the or^er of development through all these mill- ions of years. God might be forgetful of time, but he certainly cannot forget the order of his own action. What is the Bible order ? First read the test. On the fifth da3^ God is repre- sented as sa3'ing : " Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creatures that have life, and fowl that may fly in the open firmament of heaven." On the sixth day God said : "Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creepiog thing, and beast of the earth, after his kind." And, ap- parently toward evening of that day, God said, "Let us make man." Popularly speaking, without reference to other dis- tinctions, all the animal life of the universe can be divided into three great classes, namely, the water popula- tion, the air population, and the land population. The question in geological history arises as to the order of production or development of these great classes. The 358 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. Bible order is as follows : First, the water population, "Let the waters," etc.; second, the air pupulatiou, "Fowl that may fly," etc.; third, the laud population, 'Cattle, creeping things," etc. This is the true and only possible interpretation of the Bible. Gladstone himself, the most able defender of the faith to-day, on this very order itself, bases an argument for the divine inspiration of the Bible. Professor Huxley states, in liis answer to Gladstone, that the order is as follows : First, the water population ; second, the land population ; and third, the air popula- tion. There is no question among men of science as to this order ; and it is clearly irreconcilable with the order of the Bible. What an unanswerable indictment geology thus brings against the Bible. As we travel through the rocky and fiery corridors of ancient time, into what a " formless void " sinks the garden of Eden ! How stupendous and amazing is the reality ! What pictures pass before the glowing mind ! What a theater of action expands ! In this worksliop, this laboratory of nature, what enormous and subtle forces interact, crushing and ming- ling, separating and fusing in the uncounted chambers of the past; chambers of ice, deep-sea chambers, forest chambers, and arches, and slow columns of mountains ! As we are overwhelmed with the grandeurs of space, with starry pathways in every direction, even so are we over- whelmed with the grandeurs of time. No Bible and no God can now bar the endless proce- dure. A little stretch indeed is the recorded history of man, compared with those immensities of years whicli roll backward with such majestic scenes. What is the revela- tion of Mount Sinai, with its thunders, compared to the revelations of geology, with its thunder, its fires, its • " heavens and earth " uncreated, no " beginning," an ever- lasting panorama ; ever death and ever birth ; decay and THE ORUKR OF EVOLUTION. 35^) bloom, yet notbiug lost; not one atom but keeps on its unwearied course. How marvelous are these pages of nature's bible, wliicli can never be impeached. Each pic- ture is traced by nature's own pencil, and flushed with lier abundant life and color. For two hundred millions of years the sun poured its beams upon this swirling planet ere it made a place for man ; ere it bounded the seas, stretched the plains, arclietl the sunny skies, bloomed in flowers, and glowed in fruit. And this was five hundred thousand years before man ever dreamed of God and Eden. He had not time to make gods then It was a struggle for existence. Man must put forth every effort to save himself. If he had wasted as much time in wor- ship as his descendants, our far-off ancestor wouhl cer- tainl}' have gone to the wall. It is fortunate that he trusted in no divine providence ; that he did not get down on his knees to pray. The tiger and the lion would have got the better of him in that position. Man was not. at first, a religious animal. He could not afford to be. It would have cost him his life. He must husl)aiid his re- sources. He must constantly walk upright. He must differentiate his i'oi-e-])aws from hind-paws ; that was liis only " plan of salvation." He must cultivate his fingers. If he laid his " deadly doing down," he would certainly be down himself. Man was in the midst of a tremendous battle ; and he had to do his best, and could not waste any time in useless religious services. The man of geology is not at all like the man of the Bible. He was not even male and female to betrin with, and woman was first, and not man. What a history it is — the real history of man. Man born with all the other animals, akin with all the other animals, struggling with them, tighting with them, killing them and being killed, but gradually gaining superior strength, wisdom, and skill, building a home, forming centers of life ; and out of the very weakness of his infancy attaining a more vigorous 360 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OP FREETHOUGHT. Mud splendid manhood. That is the man for the poetry and philosophy of to-day ; not the shriveled artificiality of theological myth, who followed the lead of woman, and then, like a coward, shirked the responsibility. Geology IS revealing the vast anterior life of man, and the im- measurable stream of time, on whose bosom he arose, like the sea-anemone itself, child of his surroundings. Geology has thus added a wondrous meaning and possibility to human existence. Man is on the onward path, with the gained capital of half a million 3'ears, the stored-up labor and experience of unimaginable centuries. He is not a poor, fallen child, a depraved being, a mass of corruption, destined to an eternal hell ; he is a wise, valiant, disci- plined, heroic being, the glory of the universe. He has grown strong in suffering ; he has learned by adversity, he has profited by a million mistakes. The roots of his life to-day, which stretch into unsounded depths of time, give him the sustenance and the power by which, as from a noble hight, to-day he looks into a future of bright and ceaseless progress. DR. EDWARD SCHWELLA (p. 633). CHAPTER Xyi. Evolution. A FAK more dangerous enemy than astronomy or geology was now about to overwhelm the old ideas and tra- ditions, namely, Evolution. Including in itself all that had been won by these, and other sciences, it was still more radical and universal in its onslaught. Astronomy and geology did give some chance for a "God of Design," althougli somewhat remote in time and place. But in the origin of species there was still remaining a stronghold for the faithful ; and it was fondly hoped that between man and the lower animals there was an impassable gulf, and here the deity was a necessary invention. It is as- tonishing what a change has been made by evolution in this respect. All the old arguments have been swept away, and among them the argument from design, the su- preme argument of theology and the only argument which has had any real influence with the human mind. But for the evidences of "design" there would never have been any abiding belief in God. As a practical argument it was exceedingly strong to one who desired to believe. It was not a demonstration, and could be easily answered by logic. But it appealed strongly to the senses, and Avas valid even with Freethinkers like Voltaire and Paine. Evolution has taken away the foundation of this argument. Evolution accounts for all the design Ave now behold. There is no need of any God to explain it. Hereafter God 362 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. does not appeal to the senses or to thought. He is purely an affair of the imagination, and has become so attenuated and so irresponsive to man's real needs that it is impos- sible for him to be retained even by a devout mind when evolution has fully accomplished its logical course. Evolution has changed the front of the universe, as Mr. Savage says. It has changed everything — all our ideas of history, of man's past, his nature, his possibili- ties, and his future. We are in a different universe from what our fathers were. Never has such a change been made in human thought. Its effect as yet is but scarcely seen. Not a generation has passed since it M'as accepted as a part of human science ; not only as part, but really as the spirit and law of all science hereafter. Every science is now evolutionary science. The unity of sciences is in evolution. Evolution has had to battle against the preju- dices of ages, and the faith of ages, and not easily do these yield even to overwhelming proof. Even tlie theo- logian to-day is compelled to accept Evolution, but he seeks in all possible ways to bend it to his ancient creed. It is no longer a question with any thinker as to the ac- ceptance of Evolution, but as to how to accept it, and what shall be saved, if anything, from the wrecks of the past. Of course the church will try to save itself, the- ology will try to save itself, not any longer as against evolution, but by submitting to the inevitable and saving itself, if possible, through the weakness and credulity of mankind which evolution does not destroy, even while it gives greater wisdom and liberty. The battle will prob- ably go on for ages yet ; but a great triumph has been achieved, a new outlook has been gained, a tremendous power brought into play. All the sacrifices and martyr- doms and struggles of the past have resulted in the brightest and noblest attainments and prospects of the human race. Evolution needs a deep and careful study to under- WHAT IS K VOLUTION? 363 stand what it is in relation to all the other triumphs hitherto won by science and philosophy. We need to understand, tirst, What is Evolution ; sec- ondly, The methods of Evolution ; thirdly, its proofs, and finally its results, logical and practical. In this way only can we realize this immense triumph of Freethought. What is Evolution? The most general meaning of evolution may be de- fined as follows from the Encyclopedia Britannica : " Evolution includes all theories respecting the origin and order of the world, which regard the higher or more complex forms of existence, as following and depending on the lower and simpler forms, which represent the course of the world as a gradual transition from the indetermi- nate to the determinate, from the uniform to the varied, and which assume the cause of this progress to be imma- nent in the world itself that is thus transformed, x4.ll theories of evolution, properly so-called, regard the phys- ical world as a gradual progress from the simple to the complex ; look upon the development of organic life as conditioned by that of the inorganic world, and view the course of mental life, both of the individual and the race, as correlated with a material process." Professor Le Conte thus defines evolution : "Evolution is continuous, progressive change, according to certain laws, by means of resident forces.''' The gist of this definition is in the words italicized. It must be understood that evolution, in its larger sense, includes dissolution, that is, all changes, whether for life or death ; whether for progress, or non-progress. " Many imagine," says Professor Le Conte, " that progress is the one law of evolution ; in fact, that evolution and progress are convertible terms. They imagine that in evolution the movement must be upward and onward in all parts ; that degeneration (dissolution) is the opposite of ev(dution. This is far from the truth." 364 POUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. The words " progress " and " degeneration" are relative words applied to evolution from the human standpoint ; but universal!}^ speaking tliere is no "progress" or "de- generation " in evolution. It is simply evolution. Tliere is no purpose in evolution, and dissolution is realh' evolu- tion, that is, a change evolved by natural or inherent causes, or resident forces. The egg is the type of evolution, not a definition, but an illustration, the best, perhaps, which any one process in nature can give. Says Le Conte : " Every one is familiar with the main facts connected with the development of an egg. We all know that it be- gins as a microscopic germ-cell, then grows into an egg, then organizes into a chick, and finally grows into a cock ; and that the whole process follows some general, well- recognized law. Now this process is evolution. It is more, it is the type of all evolution. It is from that we get our idea of evolution, and without which there would be no such word. Whenever and wherever we find a process of change, more or less resembling this, and fol- lowing laws similar to those determining the development of an egg, we call it evolution. " Evolution, as a process, is not confined to one thing, the egg, nor as a doctrine is it confined to one department of science — biology. The process pervades the whole Tiniverse, and tlie doctrine concerns alike every department of science, yea, every department of human thought." Haeckel's definition is as follows : " The general doctrine of develo])ment, the progenesis theory of evolution, hypotliesis (in the widest sense) as a comprehensive, philosophical view of the universe, as- sumes that a vast, uniform, uninterrupted, and eternal process of development obtains throughout all nature, and that all natural phenomena, without exception, from the motions of the lieavenly bodies, and the fall of a rolling WHAT IS EVOLUTION? 365 stone, to the growth of plants and the consciousness of men, obey one and the same great law of causation ; that all may be ultimately referred to the mechanics of atoms, the mechanical or mechanistic, homogeneous or monistic, view of the universe; in one word, Monism." Robert C. Adams gives a definition which, expressed without scientific terms, is easily understood : "Evolution is the theory that all the varied details of the universe are the result of a gradual development from simpler conditions through the working of laws of nature, which now surround us. Worlds, minerals, plants, ani- mals, man, language, morals, laws, literature, arts, and sciences, as they exist to-day, are the outcome of the un- ceasing succession of cause and effect that have taken place, through the preceding ages, in accordance with natural law." I have given these various definitions of evolution, in order that one can grasp fully its philosophy, before we oome to a consideration of its facts, its methods, to the science of evolution. We cannot understand the methods of evolution until we comprehend its universal meaning. Evolution, as a philosophy, an idea, is nothing new. It was lield by the old Greek and Hindoo philosophers. Anaximander, Heraclitus, Empedocles, Thales, Democri- tus, Aristotle, and Lucretius taught the unity and evolu- tion of life, as opposed to the dualism of Plato. The •early Ionic physicists explained the world " as generated ■out of a ]n-iuiordial matter which is at the same time the universal support of things. This substance is endowed with a generative or transmutative force, b}- virtue of which it passes into a succession of forms. They thus resemble modern evolutionists, since they regard the world, with its infinite variety of forms, as issuing from a simple mode of matter." In the ancient philosophies of India, " Brahma is con- ceived as the eternal, self-existent being, which on its 366 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FRBETHOUGHT. material side unfolds itself to the world by gradually con- densing itself to the natural objects through the grada- tions of ether, tire, water, earth, and other elements." " Strife is father and king of all," is a saying ascribed to Heraclitus. As Huxley suggests, this might make a fitting motto to Darwin's " Origin of Species." It thus appears that evolution is as old as philosophy. It is a natural explanation to the thinking mind. It is the savage who originates the theological explanation — that a will, an intelligence like himself, is at the source of things. Philosophy naturally takes to evolution, and the greatest minds in all ages have accepted it. There are only three theories possible to the human mind regarding the history of nature ; first, that the world has always been about as it is to-day ; second, the cre- ation theory ; third, the evolution theory. It is simply against all evidence to accept the first, although it has been accepted in past times by some phi- losophers. Tlie theologian rejects it and so does the man of science. Only two theories are then possible to the human mind — creation and evolution. These theories are directly an- tagonistic. They are mutually exclusive. Where creation is there cannot be evolution, and where evolution is there cannot be creation. If one reject creation, then he must accept evolution ; and if he reject evolution, then he must accept creation, or simply have no thought at all about the matter. One can understand evolution better by an endeavor to understand its opposite, the creation theory. The original creation theory is that something originates out of nothing. Tliis is absolutely inconceivable. The words, " something out of nothing," convey no idea to the human mind. Even the theologian is staggered by the unthinkableness of the assertion. The something that exists to-day must cer- tainly have been made of something that existed before^ T. C. LELAND (p. 760) WHAT IS EVOLUTION? 367 even if that something was God himself, in which case the universe itself must be eternal in substance with God, iind therefore there is no need of creation. Hence the theory has been modified so as to admit of the everlasting existence of matter, but matter without at- tributes or qualities. But the existence of matter, with- out attributes or qualities, is also inconceivable. We can only know matter through its qualities. The Bible, of course, declares that the earth was " formless and void," but one cannot think, picture, or imagine what that means. "A material thing," says Huxle}', referring to this passage^ "existing in space, must have a superficies, and if it has a superficies it has a form. The wildest streaks of mares- tail clouds in the sky, or the most irregular heavenly neb- ulae, have surely just as much form as a geometrical tetra- hedron ; and as for 'void,' how can that be void which is full of matter? As a scientific statement, these words fail to convey an}' intelligible conception to my mind." So that theory of creation cannot be held as reason- able. The modern and only really reasonable theory of crea- tion is this : that nature in itself is an inert mass ; of itself it could never move. The creation is, therefore, in the motion which is given to motionless matter, or the life which is given to lifeless matter. Now this " act of crea- tion " is conceivable. You can think of a vast inert mass. You can think of that mass set in motion by some outside power. It does not follow, however, that because a thing is conceivable, or thinkable, or reasonable, it is there- fore true. If we try to find out a truth through a pure act of reason, we commit the old fatal error of Plato and his followers, and there is no end to the creeds which might be fashioned, for then one might believe as "he is a mind to," wliieh, of course, he cannot scientifically. Science savs, Believe according to facts, 368 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. It is not reason only, but reason and exj)erience, that give us truth, and there is no other way. This last theory of creation was held by Thomas Paine, and upon the existence of motion he founded his argu- ment for the existence of God. Paine reasoned that mat- ter was motionless, and there must be a deity to make it move. He had high authority for his assumption that matter is necessarily motionless. Descartes held to the same view, and it was the general philosophic view at that time. Against this notion of Descartes and Paine, the great Deist, John Toland, strenuously contended, and perhaps to him, whose ashes now lie unmarked in Putney church- yard, must be given the honor of first clearly announcing the modern philosophical doctrine of matter and force, so luminously expressed by Buchner, and which is the foun- dation of the scientific doctrine of the conservation of force. Says Tyndall : "He (Toland) affirmed motion to be an inherent attribute of matter, that no ])ortion of matter was at rest, and that even the most quiescent solids were animated by a motion of their nltimate particles." How much deeper was the insight of John Toland into nature than tliat of Descartes or Paine. Let us give to this sturdy Deist the true merit of his genius, j^iercing be- yond his own generation. "Definitions," says Holyoake, "grow as the horizon of experience expands. They are not inventions, but de- scriptions of the state of a question. No man sees all through a discovery at once." "That definitions," says Tyndall, " should change as knowledge advances, is in ac- cordance with sound sense and scientific practice." Paine did not define matter correctly. His theological argument collapses the moment we understand the true nature of matter, which is eternally in the process of evolution. Matter is not " dead; " it is not *' lifeless ;" it is not "motionless." Matter is constantly WHAT IS EVOLUTION? 369 alive and moving. Deatli is merely our name for a change in nature, but there is no cessation of movement. Death is simply a new movement, not inertia. Not a particle of matter is ever absolutely at rest. The curtain is never rung down on nature. Her drama is unceasing, however we ma}' view it. Given matter, there is motion ; and given motion, there is matter. This brings us to the fundamental affirmation of evolu- tion, the eternity of matter and motion, that matter cannot be increased or diminished, and motion cannot be in- creased or diminished. In nature, both matter and force (motion) are unbegiuning and unending. Without this postulate, scientific knowledge is impossible. Grant that matter or motion can be made or destroyed by the least possible amount, and the foundations of certainty are gone. The conservation of forces is the noblest demon- stration of modern science and absolutely necessary to its life. Nothing is made, nothing is lost, anywhere in the uni- verse. There is no need, therefore, of creation, or of God. The only wslj to save the conception of God hereafter is to identify him with this eternal matter and force, as Goethe has done, and others ; but this is a thing of choice and not of logic. Evolution does not need a god. It needs simply eternal matter and motion. In matter, as Tyndall says, "is the promise and potency of all life" — matter in which motion never ceases to be, since it never began to be. Wherever we are in any age, in any cycle, in any eon, in any chamber of illimitable space, the universe is alwa3's on the move. Fundamentally, as Goethe says, the universe is action. It is dynamic. Evolution, therefore, first of all, brings us into the presence of a universe in which no particle of matter is at rest. Its crystals are but mirrors of motion. Its dia- monds heave and flash like a sea, if we have senses fine enough to perceive. Its iron, its adamant are streams of 370 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. movement. It is eternal action, ever translated into eternal fact. The universe of to-day, therefore, is the universe of yesterday and of the illimitable past. It is the universe of to-morrow and of the illimitable future. It is ever old, ever new — never the same, yet unchangeable in its sub- stance. There is no addition, no diminution — infinite va- riety, yet infinite oneness — no break anywhere. AH the forms of to-day, however wonderful and brilliant, existed potentially in all the forms of yesterday ; and all the million and billion forms of to-morrow, however different, low or high, vast or minute, exist potentially in the forms of to-day. If at one time there was only fire mist, yet in that fire mist was the cosmos of to-day ; and if this cosmos ceases, it gives its glory and wealth to that which succeeds. There is no grave for the universe, even as there was no birth. Every tombstone will melt and flow into the eternal activity. There is no epitaph for nature. What she is, she ever was and ever will be. Her chambers of darkness are not prison-houses. In them gathers life, and it surges and rolls oa to illuminated fields. Nature car- ries her supplies with her. Her treasuries are never drained ; her lines of communication are never broken. She has no straggling forces. Wherever she marches, her arm}' is compact and beautiful. Nature is a " living whole," as Humboldt says. Who can measure the grandeur of these words, or unfold their infinite meaning? Tliis conception lies at the foundation of an}' philosophy of evolution ; not simply the oneness of nature, but that oneness alive at every point. There is nothing back of evolution ; there is nothing after evolution. Evolution is all in all. It is nature work- ing with her own capital, depending on her own resources. Nature makes her own investments and takes all the profits. She has no silent partner. She is her own syn- dicate. She is entirely home rule. There is no foreign THE METHODS OF EVOLUTION. 37I interference. Nature never imports. Her looms weave the productions of her own soil. Nature pays no tariff for au}-- thing that is in her wide domains. Nature pays her own way, makes her own living, and is never bankrupt. Her assets are always equal to her liabilities. Her accounts always balance. Her receipts equal her expenditures. This is what evolution is — not a partial, but a universal explanation of nature. Nature is all in all, eternal matter and eternal force, whose endless transformations are the result of her own inherent activity. The Methods of Evolution. After a general and philosophical definition of evolu- tion is tlie elucidation of the methods of evolution, or the real facts of evolution as a matter of history which can be discovered only by science itself. We might a priori affirm evolution as a philosophy of the universe, but we could not declare its process. We can only know how nature works by watching her. I can only give a bird's-ej'e view of the process of evo- lution. It would take volumes to unfold all the details brought to light by modern science. But it is necessary to the history of evolution that we should have a general view of its methods, or laws, or order of facts. I use the word law as a description of the ways of na- ture, not as something imposed upon nature. Nature has her methods and these methods I call laws. In the study of nature and the multiplicity of her forms, the first law which strikes the observer is the law of persistency. All forms of life with which we become acquainted tend to continue to be, to reproduce and per- petuate themselves. All past and present experiences of man demonstrate the existence and universality of this law. Species or forms of life now in existence liave been in existence with scarcely any change for many thousands 372 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUQHT. of years. This applies to all animal and plant life. This law of persistency is recognized without question. Then comes the law of variation, and this seems to be almost as universal as the law of persistency. Forms of life tend to vary, to be different. Every form of life seems to have this tendency, more or less. It is not necessarily inherent, but is probably the result of a change of environ- ment. Both the form of life and its environment must be taken into consideration. It might be inherent in the form to change, or it might be entirely the result of a change in outward conditions. At any rate, the variation occurs and constantly occurs. We see it ourselves every day in the plants and animals by which we are surrounded. But now, furthermore, it is to be observed as the method of nature that when the variation occurs it also takes the law of persistency equally with the original form. It tends to continue to be, to multiply and also to produce variations, and these also tend to persist. The law, therefore, of persistency, of variation, and of persistency in the variation is well established by uni- versal experience. It needs no further illustration. "What, then, must be the result ? No matter how mi- nute the first appearance of life, it must eventually in- crease to an enormous extent. There must at length be millions upon millions of forms, and these forms increas- ing in geometrical ratio. "A cod," says Denton, " will produce at a birth from four to nine millions ; a full- grown elm will perfect in a single season a hundred million seeds ; a pair of rabbits in a hundred and fifty years, if unrestrained, would stock the entire land surface of the globe." " Three flies," says Huxley, " will destroy a dead horse as quickly as a lion." There are 100,000,- 000,000,000 flies in the world each day. Darwin reckons that two elephants in seven hundred and fifty years will increase to nineteen millions. Fifty million birds and birds' eggs die every year, and of this destruction no J. R. MONROE (p. 177)- THE METHODS OF EVOLUTION. 373 traces are seen. Five hundred thousand animal species are now known. These facts among many illustrate the inconceivable energy of nature, her opulence of life ; she is eternally producing. What must be the result in the long run, begin where we will? It is the struggle for ex- istence. There is not room and there is not sustenance for all. The larger number must perish. Only a mi- nority can remain. The universe becomes a battle-ground. As lugersoll says, " every drop of water is a field of carnage." Nature is " red in tooth and claw," says the poet; and even Huxley cries. "Thousands of times a minute, were our ears sharp enough, we should liear sighs and groans of pain like those heard by Dante at the gates of hell." It is useless to hide the facts. We are in a world of enormous misery, where each must struggle for existence, where the chances are a thousand to one against life and happiness fo-r the individual. Millions die and millions are forgotten in a day. Thus far the process, or method, of evolution cannot be denied; persistency, variation, enormous multiplication of life, the struggle for existence. Whatever may be the source of the original germ in the remote eons, this is the actual result at last ; a warfare inconceivable in its extent, fierceness, slaughter, and destruction. By what process, out of this apparently interminable confusion, arises the present cosmos, still laden with pain, and yet beautiful and wonderful in its superb structure ? The answer is natural selection ; and yet this answer was not made until a little over thirty years ago. This method of evolution was made known by Darwin, and demonstrated by an array of facts, inductions indisput- able. To Darwin belongs the honor of giving to evolution its decisive victor}'. Not that he originated the idea of evolution, but that he announced its supreme method, and we might say that he is the most original and triumphant 374 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. investigator in the whole field of science. Not Aristotle, nor Copernicus, nor Newton, has so revolutionized the thoughts of men ; and strange it is that so plain, so simple, so adequate an explanation was not made hundreds of years ago. However, we must not fail to give credit to those who opened the way. The modern theory of descent was not originated by Darwin, but by Lamarck, and to him belongs the honor. Goethe also anticipated Darwin in this direc- tion, as also Herbert Spencer. What is the theory of descent? It is the affirmation of the unity of organic nature ; that all animals now living, and similarly all plants, are connected, forming one great family, and that they are connected naturally with those of all past ages, and derived from them, and from one or a few original germs. This, popularly, is supposed to be the theory which Darwin stated for the first time in his epoch-making book. But the genetic continuity of all life on this planet, both animal and vegetable, had been admirably stated by Spencer seven years before Darwin's book was published ; while the general doctrine of evolution had been taught for over two thousand years. It Avas not the theory of descent which Darwin discovered and announced, but the method by which the descent of all life, from a few orig- inal germs, was accomplished ; and it was this method which had been overlooked by all investigators before, even by Spencer. This method was stated in the title of his great book, "The Origin of Sj^ecies by Means of Natural Selection^ We might say that before Darwin evolution was simply a brilliant guess — a philosophy that made luminous human history ; but it was not a science. Darwin made it a science, not by stating the ivhat, but by show- ing the lioio of the continuity aiid relationship of life on this planet "by means of Natural Selection.'' Natural selec- tion is what has opened more than all else into the won- derful working of nature, and solved what had hitherto THE METHODS OF EVOLUTION. 375 been regarded as insoluble. It was one thing as a phi- losopher to declare the theory of descent and voluminously illustrate it, and make it appear a reasonable theory, a valid explanation of the universe and the processes of its life. This is what Spencer did. It is another and a greater thing to demonstrate the theory of descent and show how it was done by an induction from facts which cannot be questioned, and this is what Darwin has accom- plished. He has made evolution a science. With Spencer it was a philosophy more deductive than inductive. We might say that both Spencer and Darwin were necessary to the grandest development and understanding of the doctrine of evolution. Both have been of incalculable service ; only it is well to understand their relation to each other, and to know what each accomplished. Spen- cer swept the whole universe, and correlated all facts, all history, all life. Darwin took one department, but in that department he accomplished the supremest triumph that is possible to human genius. He demonstrated where Spencer inferred. There are three great theories of evolution frequently confounded in the popular mind, but which should be kept separate in order to understand modern progress. First, the general or universal theory, that is. Monism ; that which affords a rational interpretation of the whole universe by bringing all phenomena into a uniform process of evolution. Second, the theory of transmutation or descent, which is an essential and indispensable element in the general evolution theory, and which explains, to a certain extent, the origin of organic species. This is the theory of Lamarck. It will be noted that these two theories existed before Darwin, and, therefore, it is improper to label either one of them Darwinism, as is frequently done. The third theory is the theory of selection, mainly natural selection, and this is Darwin's theory. 376 FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. The theory of natural selection was founded upon the fact of artificial selection. Artificial selection is well known. Man has practiced it for centuries. Now, what man does consciously, nature does uncon- sciously, only it will be seen with an immensely greater number of appliances and energy of life, and with im- mensely greater results. Nature is at work all the time, in every part of the universe, with an infinite array of forces. Nature, as we have seen, is living throughout, is never at rest, and, therefore, the effect of nature's selection must be infinitely varied, vast, and magnificent. It is more potent than any possible miracle of any possible god. God is simply ruled out. There is no need of him. Darwin, first of all, studied artificial selection, and then he studied nature, as nature had never been studied be- fore, and nature revealed to him her most pregnant secret. In the whole history of the world no one man has con- tributed so much to human knowledge as Darwin ; no one man has so changed the outlook of the human race, so changed its morality, its religion, its hope, its intellectual and practical motive, as Darwin. Like Siiakspere in poetry is Darwin in science. Darwin uses the term " Natural Selection." Spencer uses the term, "Survival of the Fittest." Both terms are liable to misunderstanding. Selection implies intelligence, but Darwin does not affirm any intelligence in the operations of nature. The selection of nature is without will or intelligence. It is natural selection and not artificial selection. The word " fittest " implies that what we think to be fit- test, which is fittest from our moral or intellectual stand- point, survives, m liich is by no means the case universally. That what we tliink most unfit survives, simply because it has the best surroundings. In other words, the fittest is simplv the strongest, not simply in quality or quantity. but by favorable circumstances. This universe no more exists to satisfy the moral or intellectual ideal of man THE METHODS OF EVOLUTION. 377 than it does to satisfy the moral or intellectual ideal of an aut, a bee, a lion, or a hippopotamus. The glory of man is no more considered in the sweep of universal nature than the glory of the grass or of an ox. Man has simply to look out for himself; he must take his chances and win. Fortunately he has won, but exactly in the same way that others have won. The conditions were favor- able, and, therefore, he was " selected ; " but having gained a vantage ground, then his will comes into play, and through his will he makes advancement; but that will must not depend on God or nature. It must annihilate God and use nature. Man has the power of reaction. Goethe states it : " All members develop themselves according to eternal laws, And the rarest form mysteriously preserves the primitive type. Form, therefore, determines the animal's way of life. And in turn the way of life powerfully reacts upon all form. Thus the orderly growth of form is seen to hold Whilst yielding to change from eternally acting causes." Natural selection does not account for the whole pro- cess of organic evolution ; although it accounts for the largest number of facts, but some facts seem to be outside of it. Darwin says : " I am convinced that natural selec- tion has been the main, but not the exclusive, means of modification." Besides natural selection, Darwin brings forward the theory of sexual selection, which Wallace opposes. The theory of sexual selection is to account for the ornamentation which apparently exists in nature, among the birds especially, and which, of course, cannot be produced by natural selection, for natural selection includes only the useful, not the ornamental. I think Darwin is right, and 378 FOUR HUNDRED TEARS OF FREETHOUGHT. that ornameutatiou, simply as such, does exist in nature, and is the result of sexual selection. Of course, as Wal- lace argues, beauty and grace might exist as the incident of use ; for instance, brilliant colors in certain places con- duce to concealment and safety. Therefore, brilliant col- ors exist. Speed conduces to grace of form, as in the horse. So grace exists. This, no doubt, accounts for much of the beauty and grace which are seen in nature. The extreme beauty of flowers, sea-anemones, corals, and so forth, cannot of course be explained by sexual selec- tion. But there is such a thing as ornamentation in nat- ure, as, for instance, the peacock's tail, and natural selection will not account for it. We thus discover the method of evolution. It is first of all from the simple to the complex — from the monera to man ; and this by the laws of persistence, variation, struggle for existence, natural selection, artificial selec- tion, sexual selection, and the use and disuse of organs. It will be seen, however, that natural selection is the heart of modern evolution, and while natural selection is not coextensive with evolution in its universal philosophic sense, it is the illumination and all-conclusive proof of evolution and its supreme method, althou