DARWIN: THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT
I
Independently of his actual scientific work and discoveries, Darwin
is in so many respects one of the finest types of the scientific
spirit, that it seems natural to conclude a study of him with a
summary of the most important elements of that spirit, its admirable
and broadly valuable qualities and its limitations, as illustrated in
Darwin himself and in others as compared with him.
[Illustration: CHARLES DARWIN
About 1854]
The basis and fundamental motive of the scientific spirit is simply
and naturally curiosity, the endless and often merely wayward desire
to know and to find out facts, of all sorts. When the mind begins
to shake itself clear of the immediate, engrossing pressure of mere
subsistence, its first impulse is to learn something about the
surrounding universe and about itself. And this impulse is not solely
for utility, for the immense practical advantage which such knowledge
evidently brings with it. There is the instinct of occupation and
distraction, the effort to escape ennui and idleness and to fill
one’s thoughts with outward diversity that they may not be dragged
and weighed down by one’s own particular cares and troubles. There is
the instinct of emulation, the desire to excel others in knowledge,
if one cannot in wealth, or in success of practical achievement.
These are the motives of the collector, and in a sense the scientist
is a collector of facts, as others collect coins, or stamps, or
china, or old furniture. The impelling motives of curiosity and
excellence are much the same. There are people who gather and assort
clippings from the newspapers, for the mere collecting instinct
of it, gather them on all sorts of subjects, with the scientist’s
obscure impulse to accumulate knowledge even if they do not use it.
We are too apt to associate science exclusively with the study of
nature, and in this way the thought of the scientific spirit is
altogether too much restricted. Its real field is as vast as that
of human interests, and scientific methods and scientific purposes
apply as much to philology, to history, to religion, to the general
movements of human society, as to the curious consideration of
animals and plants and stones and chemical elements.
But if mere curiosity is to become truly scientific, it must be
broadened and deepened into research. That is, the simple collection
of facts must be systematized by a definite object and method.
The mere garnering of one fact and another here and there, though
it often has its great and singular charm, is apt to degenerate
into aimlessness and futility. It must be guided and solidified by
the sense of working toward some particular conclusion which will
give all the facts coherence and significance. In other words,
the relation of the facts must be studied, as well as the facts
themselves, they must be coördinated and subordinated, till their
real depth of meaning is revealed. How nicely does Darwin indicate
the proportionate connection between theory and observation in the
following passage: ‘_Let theory guide your observations_, but till
your reputation is well established, be sparing in publishing theory.
It makes persons doubt your observations.’[127]
Two of the supreme elements of research are completeness and
correctness. It is true that final completeness can rarely be
obtained in this world, but the important thing is to aim at it,
to leave no stone unturned, no nook unsearched, to gather every
possible fact from every possible source, before one allows oneself
to deduce positive conclusions, or conclusions that even approach
positiveness. And besides the completeness, one should test one’s
position from every aspect, to insure its being, so far as possible,
correct. No one but the trained scientific thinker appreciates
thoroughly the vast possibility of error, or is sufficiently aware
how apt error is to intrude its subtle and treacherous working into
the most careful investigations and the most logically buttressed
theories. In one of his immensely suggestive casual phrases Darwin
remarks, ‘The history of error is quite unimportant.’[128] This may
be true enough as regards the abstract progress of science, but
assuredly the history of error is of the highest interest to the
curious student of the human mind.
But neither curiosity nor even the ardor of research will go very
far, unless backed up by a habit of enormous and persistent industry.
It is not the showy spurts that count, the bursts of application for
a few weeks or months. It is the long, assiduous unbroken labor, such
as thousands of scientists are giving in hundreds of laboratories,
without prospect of distinction, without hope of immediate reward,
simply from pure love of the work itself. And this toil is expended
not only on the practical inventions, which are expected to produce
comparatively quick and often astonishing commercial results, but
on pure science, abstract investigation of speculative problems,
which even if solved, will not change the practical conditions of
life in the slightest degree. Although Darwin sometimes questioned
the wisdom of spending so many years on his petty barnacles, he knew
that the work was immensely valuable to him in the pure discipline
of labor. At any rate it taught him a profound and sincere respect
for those who were doing such work steadily, cheerfully, unendingly,
without looking to anything else whatever: ‘He would never allow a
depreciatory remark to pass unchallenged on the poorest class of
scientific workers, provided that their work was honest, and good of
its kind.’[129]
There are times when labor is attractive, when you feel like it and
like nothing else, and are ready to plunge into it with a furious
zeal. There are other times when you are dispirited and discouraged,
when the labor seems worthless and the effort impossible, or when
you have a sheer desire to drop it altogether and go play. Sir
Walter Scott, one of the great workers of the world, tells us that
if any one set him a task to do, even agreeable in itself, the
result immediately was an unbounded desire to do something else. The
real spirit of industry shows in sticking through these periods of
discouragement and distraction, and the worker who accomplishes is he
who does not heed them. It is one of the striking things about Darwin
that he kept up work all his life in this spirit, in spite of all
limitations and obstacles, and as a pure amateur in the best sense
of the word. It is true that he himself points out what a benefit
it was to him not to be professionally tied to any duties: ‘If I
had any regular duties, like you and Hooker, I should do nothing
in science.’[130] But it is also true that few men with plenty of
money, with plenty of temptation to amusement of every sort, would
have stuck to their chosen work with the ardor and also the long,
persistent system, which Darwin kept up to the end.
For patience is as necessary to the true scientist as industry. When
you think you are getting new facts, discoveries that will startle
the world and perhaps affect the practical living of millions, there
is a natural impulse to proclaim them, there is haste, eagerness,
the desire for reward, for recognition, for material success. Or,
there is the fear of anticipation, that some one else may be working
on the same lines, and get in before you, and all your glory will be
taken away. These considerations must be banished altogether. The
slow, deliberate processes of nature must be accepted and awaited.
If it takes years to develop the experiments that will, or that even
may, lead to the desired results, then you must accept the years,
unhurrying, unworrying, with the assurance that the work will be done
in the end and that it makes no difference to the world or to the
future, whether it is done by you or by another.
And with the patience goes caution, the determination not to state
results until you have confirmed them, not to overstate or give
them forms that are misleading. In practical life, the necessity of
acting at once often makes caution a dangerous luxury, and those
who hesitate and debate too long are apt to arrive too late or not
at all. A certain amount of chance and hazard must be taken and
accepted. But the beauty of these larger intellectual realms of
scientific thought is that you can wait calmly till all doubt and
error are eliminated. The lesson of moderation is hard to learn.
The best and the most careful never feel that they have learned it
thoroughly: ‘The subject has begun to interest me to an extraordinary
degree,’ says Darwin; ‘but I must try not to fall into my common
error of being too speculative. But a drunkard might as well say he
would drink a little and not too much.’[131] And elsewhere, after
years had weighted his work with the teachings of experience, he sums
up what seems to him one of the supreme needs of science, if not the
supreme need: ‘Forgive me for suggesting one caution; as Demosthenes
said, “Action, action, action,” was the soul of eloquence, so is
caution almost the soul of science.’[132]
Also, when you are testing so widely and carefully, and making sure
of your foothold before every step you take, you come to realize the
vast possibilities of different points of view. The one thing that
the true scientist dreads is fixity, positiveness. Nature is forever
mobile and flexible, and those who would follow nature and study her
and interpret her must welcome and imitate her flexibility. They must
be at all times ready to recognize the different aspects and phases
of the same fact or group of facts, and willing to accept different
conclusions with the changing and shifting light in which the facts
are viewed. As Professor Whitehead puts it, admirably: ‘Science is
even more changeable than theology. No man of science could subscribe
without qualification to Galileo’s beliefs, or to Newton’s beliefs,
or to all his own scientific beliefs of ten years ago.’[133] As I
read in an excellent article in a field of scientific research
very different from Darwin’s, that of philology and the emendation
of classical texts: ‘In emending these passages we should adopt
Pasteur’s method of investigation—exhaust every combination which it
is possible for the mind of man to conceive.’[134]
This impartiality, this breadth of view, this readiness to consider,
if not to accept, all conjectures and all theories, is comparatively
easy, when one is indifferent. If the motive of one’s investigation
is mere curiosity, and one has no doctrine to establish, no thesis to
defend, open-mindedness is facile and natural. But the scientific man
instinctively forms theories, and when once a theory is formed, there
comes the human impulse to maintain it, and to consider only those
arguments and even those facts that will bear one out. As we have
seen, it is here almost more than anywhere that Darwin’s example is
of abiding value. No man could be more attached to a theory than he
was to his. Yet he was determined, so far as human nature is capable
of it, to keep his mind open and not to let his preconceptions color
his observation or his reasoning. Huxley’s statement of the matter
is indisputably correct when he speaks of Darwin’s ‘sagacity, his
untiring search after the knowledge of fact, his readiness always
to give up a preconceived opinion to that which was demonstrably
true.’[135] And Darwin, in another of his simple, striking phrases,
condenses all that open-mindedness means, and the difficulty of it
and the rarity (italics mine): ‘If you argue about the non-acceptance
of Natural Selection, it seems to me a very striking fact that the
Newtonian theory of gravitation, which seems to every one now so
certain and plain, was rejected by a man so extraordinarily able as
Leibnitz. _The truth will not penetrate a preoccupied mind._’[136]
Finally, among these more impersonal elements of the scientific
spirit, a high place should be accorded to the quality of being
ready to admit one’s ignorance. In this age of universal ignorance,
most people who think are more or less aware of their deficiency,
but as we are naturally more appreciative of our own lack than of
that of others, the first impulse is a desperate effort to conceal
it. Perhaps of all states of mind one of the most hostile to the
scientific spirit and most incompatible with it, is pedantry, and
one of the most essential elements of pedantry is precisely this
disposition to conceal one’s ignorance, to make the most determined
attempt to hide from others the fact that we are as helpless and as
groping and as uncertain as they are. This is apt to be the vice
of the teaching profession, though so many teachers are gloriously
exempt from it. The pedagogue is inclined to think, I believe quite
wrongly, that if he once lets his scholars see that there is anything
he does not know, they will lose confidence in him forever, whereas
nothing establishes their confidence so much as to appreciate his
willingness to enter into their difficulties and to admit that the
difficulties are human and his own.
At any rate, the true man of science begins by admitting the
vastness of the regions that he has not entered and can never enter,
the illimitable fields of knowledge that he has not the time or
the training to explore. And no man was ever more notable in this
admission than Darwin. There is the general recognition of the
limits of human knowledge and human capacity for knowledge: ‘The
more one thinks, the more one feels the hopeless immensity of man’s
ignorance.’[137] There is the recognition of the hardening of the
mental arteries, so to speak, by which our flexibility is so greatly
impaired and against which we cannot guard enough: ‘nearly all men
past a moderate age, either in actual years or in mind, are, I am
fully convinced, incapable of looking at facts under a new point
of view.’[138] Further, there is not only the sense of general
intellectual impotence, but the admission that, even in one’s own
special line, there is much that one must necessarily miss, much
that must, if not invalidate one’s conclusions, at least render them
dubious and incline one to the extremest modesty in asserting them.
No doubt the peculiar nature of Darwin’s work, which obliged him to
touch upon all sorts of very different scientific fields, accentuated
this modesty of attitude, but no one can question that it was inborn:
‘There are so many valid and weighty arguments against my notions,
that you, or any one, if you wish, on the other side, will easily
persuade yourself that I am wholly in error, and no doubt I am in
part in error, perhaps wholly so, though I cannot see the blindness
of my ways.’[139] When one goes after the truth in that spirit, one
is much more likely to find it, and at any rate to teach the world
valuable lessons, whether one finds it or not.
II
Now to consider the more personal qualities of the scientific spirit,
that is those that affect human relations. Naturally it is not
pretended that all scientific men have these personal qualities, any
more than the qualities already indicated. Men of science are human
like the rest of us, and eminently liable to the weaknesses that
the rest of us have. Sometimes even they seem more liable, perhaps
because the impersonality of their occupation makes the personal
weaknesses stand out. But such weaknesses are obviously not a result
of the scientific spirit, but obtain in spite of it, and its higher
tendency should be to diminish or restrain them.
It is interesting, in this personal and human connection, to see how
the scientific qualities develop into virtues to some extent akin
to the Christian ideal. For example, the recognition and admission
of ignorance, on which we have been insisting, must carry with it,
should carry with it, the eminently Christian virtue of humility.
When you are oppressively aware how little you know, how far your
information is from being adequate and your conclusions from being
final, it is impossible to maintain a spirit of arrogance or
self-assertion. You turn to others for their agreement and support,
in the tone of Goethe’s remark that he felt immensely strengthened
in a conclusion if he found that even one other human being agreed
with him. Or, as Darwin puts it: ‘Though I, of course, believe in
the truth of my own doctrine, I suspect that no belief is vivid
until shared by others.’[140] The truly scientific worker should be
ready to defer to the opinion of his fellow-workers and instantly
to surrender his own when convinced that theirs is based upon wider
observation or more valid arguments.
Closely connected with humility is tolerance, and this virtue also
flows from the admission of ignorance almost as a necessity. If you
appreciate your limitations and that your knowledge is as incomplete
as your deductions are hazardous, you will be at all times ready to
recognize that others may be right and you may be wrong, and you
will have a gentle forbearance toward even what appear to be their
errors. ‘True science necessarily carries tolerance with it,’ says
Voltaire.[141]
To be sure, the mention of Voltaire in connection with tolerance
rather makes one smile, for if he fought for tolerance as for other
things, he fought hard and bitterly, and he was always fighting for
something. And in general it may well be urged that the history of
scientific thought shows anything but tolerance and gentleness.
Indeed it sometimes seems as if scientists were a peculiarly waspish
and petulant generation, apt to fly out, and to fly at, with what to
the ordinary mind hardly appears sufficient excuse. Darwin himself
appreciates this unfortunate tendency, and frequently deplores it:
‘How strange, funny, and disgraceful that nearly all ... our great
men are in quarrels in couplets.’[142]
But here again, it is human nature, in its inborn weakness and
self-satisfaction, that does the quarreling, and the scientific
spirit, taken in itself, certainly tends to quiet and lenify. In one
of his very latest letters Darwin wrote: ‘You have shown how a man
may differ from another in the most decided manner, and yet express
his difference with the most perfect courtesy. Not a few English and
German naturalists might learn a useful lesson from your example; for
the coarse language often used by scientific men towards each other
does no good and only degrades science.’[143] But it is difficult
for humanity to learn, and when it is learned to remember, the
profound truth expressed in the saying of Edmond Scherer in regard to
tolerance: ‘The fundamental dogma of intolerance is that there are
dogmas, that of tolerance is that there are only opinions.’
And tolerance, the mere recognition that others may be right and we
wrong, even as to our most cherished theories, when it is enlightened
by clearness of intelligence and warmed by sympathy, easily passes,
as we have seen with Darwin in an earlier chapter, into that most
delightful of all virtues, or more properly that root of all virtues,
the power and the instinct of putting ourselves in others’ places,
of entering into their lives. It is not quite enough to respect
others’ opinions, or even to defer to them. One should go further,
and endeavor to understand how they arrive at them, and to do this,
one should be ever alive to the vast community of human nature,
and the infinite threads and strands that bind together our hearts
and the hearts of even those who appear most different from us. It
is this power of comprehension, this effort at comprehension, of
others’ point of view, which leads to the wonderful gentleness of
tone that makes a great part of Darwin’s charm: ‘You are mistaken in
thinking that I ever said you were wrong on any point. All that I
meant was that on certain points, and these very doubtful points, I
was inclined to differ from you.’[144] It is evident that in arguing,
in discussing, Darwin always sought to understand his adversary’s
position, and in order to do this, to put himself entirely in his
adversary’s place.
The nature of science in itself tends to foster and encourage
this disposition to enter into the lives of others, because by its
abstract character and its larger aims and interests it inclines to
reduce as much as possible the elements of self, and of self-interest
and self-assertion. Indeed, here again it is curious to see how,
when the pursuit of scientific truth rises to its highest intensity
and white heat of ardor, it brings about a sort of self-abnegation,
which approaches and suggests the mystical self-abandonment of
Christian ecstasy. He shall leave all and follow me, says religion.
And we have seen something of the same spirit in Darwin’s apparently
colder declaration that the man of science should have neither wife
nor child, but a heart of stone, and a brain altogether free for the
vast, abstract researches which make the whole of his life.
There is indeed something almost religious in the passion with which
the true scientist casts aside all personal considerations, often
all considerations of comfort and ease and indolent enjoyment, in
the absorbing effort to attain the pure truth which he is seeking.
With what intensity of delight does one fling an old delusion behind
him. As Darwin puts it: ‘To kill an error is as good a service as,
and sometimes even better than, the establishing of a new truth or
fact.’[145] With what rapture does one become aware of the progress
of scientific thought: ‘How grand is the onward rush of science; it
is enough to console us for the many errors which we have committed,
and for our efforts being overlaid and forgotten in the mass of new
facts and new views which are daily turning up.’[146]
It is needless to say that thousands of others besides Darwin are
infected with this rapture, and to quite the same or an even greater
degree. In the dawn of scientific thought we have Lucretius, than
whom none was ever more ardent, exulting in his passionate effort to
dart the beams of intellectual day through the swirling, smothering
mist of error and delusion. Or again, in our own time we have such
excitement as is described by Pasteur, so nearly the correlative of
Darwin in many ways, when he feels himself to be on the brink of
discovery: ‘I was so happy that I was overcome by a nervous trembling
that made it impossible for me to bring my vision again to the
polarizing apparatus.’[147]
So the pursuit of pure truth, and the giving one’s life to the
achievement of it, elevates, and clarifies, and chastens, almost
like the pursuit of virtue, and the two tend even to merge in one
another, as in Goethe’s noble saying: ‘The real love of truth shows
itself in this, that one knows how to find and cherish the good
everywhere.’ Or to conclude with another of Darwin’s sentences, all
the more impressive for its simplicity and restraint: ‘For myself I
would however, take higher ground, for I believe there exists, and I
feel within me, an instinct for truth, or knowledge, or discovery, of
something the same nature as the instinct of virtue and our having
such an instinct is reason enough for scientific researches without
any practical results ever ensuing from them.’[148]
III
It seems to be of interest to consider one or two types of the
scientific spirit in lines quite different from Darwin’s. There
is Sainte-Beuve, to whom I have referred in earlier chapters. The
great French critic was almost exactly contemporary with Darwin,
being born in 1803 and dying in 1870. I do not discover that he
ever mentions Darwin’s books, though he must have known something
of them. In any case, he typifies admirably many of the scientific
methods and qualities, the vast curiosity, the research, the labor,
the patience, the passion for seeing all sides and allowing for all
points of view. Only, he was concerned, not with plants and animals,
not with the material, evolutionary world, but with the subtle phases
and motives and passions and developments of the human spirit. He
studied human life and character with endless curiosity and the
results of his study are embodied in the forty volumes of portraits
and in the seven solid volumes of the History of the Monastery of
Port Royal, one of the most profound and searching investigations of
religious psychology that has ever been made. Sainte-Beuve himself
liked to compare his work with the researches of the more specific
scientists. I have quoted earlier his brief statement: ‘I analyze, I
herborize, I am a naturalist of souls.’[149] And elsewhere he puts it
more elaborately, ‘It is absolutely as in botany for plants and in
zoology for the species of animals. There is a moral natural history,
with a method (as yet hardly developed), of the natural families of
souls.’[150] And he loved to analyze souls of all sorts, good and
bad, strong and weak, happy and unhappy, to analyze them and compare
them and classify them, and bring out in them the profound common
elements of human nature, under the endless play and diversity of the
superficial differences.
It is peculiarly interesting to watch in Sainte-Beuve, as in Darwin,
the working and the complication of the scientific spirit with
the more personal elements. Sainte-Beuve made much more definite
assertion than Darwin did, of sacrificing and effacing the personal
life for scientific purposes. The Frenchman boasted that he mingled
with all sorts of groups and associated himself with all sorts of
causes and experiences, not from devotion to the things themselves,
but from pure curiosity and from the passion for analyzing the
working of these causes in human minds. He carried this so far that
he was often accused of disloyalty to his friends and of espousing
causes and then deserting them, and he himself handles the defense of
the subjective attitude in such a way as to give some justification
for the charge. His life, his thought, his work, were perfectly
impersonal, he said, and in consequence he was epigrammatically
branded with betraying all truths for the sake of truth.
On the other hand, it is very evident that some personal elements
lingered about him much more than he thought or admitted. His early
ambition, his undying ambition, was to be a poet. As a poet he
failed, at least made no popular or conspicuous success. He saw
the ardent contemporaries and close associates of his youth, Hugo,
Lamartine, Balzac, Sand, Musset, making great popular reputations,
while he was compelled to drag along in comparative shadow; and for
all his boasted impersonality, this to a certain extent embittered
him. The vast comprehension, the high intellectual impartiality,
which distinguish him when he is dealing with the past, fail and
shrink in a measure when he discusses contemporary work, and you
cannot but feel that he is unconsciously hampered and tormented by a
jealousy from which Darwin was wholly and nobly free.
But what marks Sainte-Beuve’s work most of all, as I have elsewhere
emphasized, and what distinguishes him from Darwin and many other
notable scientists, is the extraordinary concreteness of it. He had
of course a vast background of general intellectual training and
experience and of conversance with general thought and principles.
But with this background always instinctively present, he devoted
himself directly to the study of individuals. Only rarely does he
deal in the discussion of theories of any sort, and then his handling
is apt to be so complex and difficult that you feel him to be out of
his element. What fascinates and absorbs him is the endless, close,
minute, sympathetic study of individual men and women, and just
because he is not hampered by theories, has no ends to attain nor
points to prove, the study is endlessly varied, flexible, mobile,
adaptable, and profoundly, inexhaustibly human. The incessant,
fruitful application of scientific method has never been better
exemplified than in Sainte-Beuve’s work.
Or, to take another of the broader types of the scientific spirit,
perhaps one of the noblest and most luminous that has ever existed,
Goethe. Goethe was a half century older than Sainte-Beuve and
Darwin, but he lived well down into their period and the clarity of
nineteenth century scientific thinking could find no better example
than he. His actual scientific work is far from contemptible, and
he to some extent anticipated Darwin as to the possibilities of
metamorphosis in the natural world. His speculations on the theory of
light, in contradiction to those of Newton, show at least the active
and energetic intelligence.
But Goethe’s value to the scientific spirit rests on far broader
grounds than any mere detail of scientific research or experiment.
No one cultivated or practiced more than he the attitude of vast,
unprejudiced curiosity, of eager search and relish for pure truth,
independent of all considerations of party, or consequence, or
practical bearing. It is this spiritual latitude which Matthew
Arnold means when he calls Goethe the greatest poet of his own time
and the greatest critic of all times. The free, broad, ample, mobile
working of the human intelligence has never found a more lucid
exponent than Goethe, and everywhere through his writings there are
passages which will help the lover of truth, while the distilled
essence of his mental attitude is to be found in the collection of
‘Maximen und Reflexionen,’ which gives the kernel of wisdom without
the somewhat otiose Teutonic wrapping of amplification in which
Goethe was often inclined to envelop it.
It is in the highest degree curious, remembering the weaknesses
of Sainte-Beuve to which I have already alluded, to read all his
numerous comments on Goethe, but particularly the following: ‘Goethe
understood everything in the universe—everything except perhaps two
things, the Christian and the hero. There was a weakness here which
belonged to the realm of heart. It seems likely that he considered
Leonidas and Pascal, the latter especially, as _monstrosities_ in
the order of nature.’[151] And Sainte-Beuve prided himself upon
understanding the Christian and the hero both, and it is probable
that he did.
The interesting point in Goethe, and also in less degree in
Sainte-Beuve, as compared with Darwin, is that the full development
of the scientific spirit in both of them did not exercise the same
sort of spiritual blight with which Darwin thought that it affected
him. No human being ever lived who was more susceptible to beauty
than Goethe was, and his passion for pure truth did not prevent his
retaining the highest sense of artistic ecstasy through his whole
long life. With him and with Sainte-Beuve both, it could hardly be
said that thinking came before emotion, for both of them adored the
incomparable beauty of form and the rapture that came with it up to
the very end.
On the other hand, neither Goethe nor Sainte-Beuve is for a moment
to be compared with Darwin in that ineffable sweetness and simple
charm which endeared him to all who came into contact with him and
which breathe everywhere through his letters and even his more formal
scientific works.
One striking feature in Sainte-Beuve is that he recognized fully
the absorbing, engrossing nature of the scientific spirit, yet
appreciated that the pursuit of knowledge does not necessarily bring
happiness. No one has expressed the barren desolation of mortal
life with more acrid bitterness than he. Shakespeare tells us that
ripeness is all. Sainte-Beuve doubts whether it exists. ‘Ripen?’ he
cries. ‘Ripen? We never ripen. We harden in some spots. We rot in
others. We ripen never.’[152] Years bring with them—for him—an utter
indifference to everything and everybody: ‘I have arrived in life at
a complete indifference: provided I do something in the morning, and
go somewhere at night, life has nothing more for me.’[153] And again,
life is nothing but the pricking of one illusion after another, till
one becomes bitterly convinced that no illusion is worth the pains
of being pricked. As he sums it up in a vivid figure: ‘Why I no
longer care for nature, for the country? Why I no longer care to walk
in the little footpath? I know well that the footpath is the same,
but _there is no longer anything on the other side of the hedge_.
In old times there was rarely anything, but always there might be
something.’[91]
It is true that Sainte-Beuve’s melancholy and disgust are closely
connected, as he himself admits, with the gross sexual disorders of
his celibate career, and he speaks of ‘the incurable disgust with
everything which is peculiar to those who have abused the sources
of life.’[92] In his later years he seems to have had no principle
of sexual restraint whatever, and to have indulged as freely in
indiscriminate commercial amours as did Pepys or Aaron Burr, though
he was as much without Burr’s gay oblivion as without Pepys’s
touches of remorse. He proclaims as a cynical creed his method of
seeking wisdom: ‘Like Solomon and like Epicurus, I have made my way
to philosophy through pleasure. It is a better road than traveling
thitherward by logic after Hegel’s or Spinoza’s fashion.’[93] And the
sum of the philosophy was akin to Solomon’s. ‘Sainte-Beuve said to
me,’ records Goncourt, ‘One should make the tour of everything and
believe in nothing. There is nothing real but woman.’[94] Solomon
would hardly have made the exception. The curious thing is that, with
all this abandoned personal license, Sainte-Beuve, in his critical
judgments, preserved the most delicate sensibility as to moral
excellence in sexual lines, as in all others.
When we turn to Goethe, we find perhaps little more regard for sexual
morals than with Sainte-Beuve, but at any rate a temperament far
better poised, and to all appearances charged and glorified with
luminous serenity. Yet with Goethe also the scientific spirit, even
though enriched with the artist’s delight and the artist’s creative
power, could not bring happiness in its train. The sorrows and
sufferings of Werther might perhaps be accredited to the extravagance
of youth. But in extreme old age we hear Goethe proclaiming the
emptiness and misery of life in terms almost as bitter and complete
as those of Sainte-Beuve or of Anatole France. ‘I will say nothing,’
he said to Eckermann, ‘against the course of my existence. But at
bottom it has been nothing but pain and burden, and I can affirm that
during the whole of my 75 years I have not had four weeks of genuine
well-being. It is but the perpetual rolling of a rock that must be
raised up again forever.’[95]
So far as we know, Darwin had no sexual cause of spiritual
disturbance, and his scientific pursuits obviously brought him
interest and delight. But we have seen how much even Darwin
complained that absorption in science stunted and atrophied the
higher sides of the spiritual nature. Work was largely a means
of forgetting life, and when work failed, Down cemetery became
singularly attractive. The pursuit of truth for itself, exciting
and engrossing as it may be, would seem to have something abnormal
and unwholesome about it and Pascal’s consolation for the reedlike
insignificance of man in the thought that he is a ‘thinking reed’
sounds a little chill and comfortless, even with Scherer’s
amplification about the glory of ‘the dream that knows itself to be
a dream, of thought that thinks itself.’ The final emptiness and
futility which at times appear to attach to the profoundest search
for truth have never been more grandly stated than in the words with
which Sainte-Beuve brings his vast history of Port Royal to a close:
‘I have been and I am only an investigator, a sincere observer,
attentive and scrupulous.... I have been after my fashion a man of
truth, so far as I have been able to attain it. But how little is
the best we can attain! How bounded is our vision and how quickly it
reaches its limit! It is like a pale torch lighted for a moment in
the midst of an enormous night. And he who most had it at heart to
know his subject, who had the keenest desire to grasp it, and the
greatest pride in treating it, most feels himself impotent and below
his task, on the day when, seeing it almost completed and the result
obtained, the intoxication of power fails him, the final exhaustion
and the inevitable disgust overwhelm him, and he perceives that
he too is but an illusion the most fleeting on the breast of the
Illusion which is infinite.’[96]
IV
And of course it is not contended that scientific men in general are
unhappy, which would be absurd. On the contrary, it is probable that,
with the infinite variety and solace of their pursuits, they are apt
to be an unusually contented and cheerful class of men. There is the
poignant saying of Voltaire, who was full of the scientific spirit as
of most others: ‘Study consoles for everything.’[97] And Montesquieu
expresses it more generally: ‘I have never had a sorrow which a half
hour of reading would not dissipate,’ and again, with more specific
elaboration: ‘The love of study is almost the sole passion that is
eternal in us; all the others fail as this miserable machine which
sustains them falls more and more into decay.’[98]
Yet for the mass of mankind assuredly the scientific spirit and the
pure pursuit of truth are not enough, and the abstract thought of
them leaves a void which only persistent, concentrated action can
fill up. We are living, moving, acting creatures, and for most of
us knowing, thinking, except as a means to living, is inadequate,
infertile, and essentially provocative of discontent. As Sterne’s
Yorick expresses it, in his homely, pointed fashion: ‘I think the
procreation of children as beneficial to the world as the finding
out the longitude.’[99] ‘I’ll do and I’ll do and I’ll do,’ cries the
witch in ‘Macbeth.’ It is the natural, universal, prevailing cry of
humanity, doing, doing, doing, till the end—and then, what? It skills
not to inquire.
And there is the further point, that not only too much abstract
knowing does not help for doing: it is apt to hinder. Especially, the
scientific virtue of the recognition of ignorance is far from being
a benefit in practical life. The best of doing, the best of action
is undoubtedly instinctive, flows by quick, unapprehended, processes
out of the vast subconscious accumulated storehouse of our being. The
supreme illustration of this is the achievement of the athlete. Watch
the complicated action of the highly skilled baseball-player. A dozen
intricate related movements are accomplished with sure, unfailing
speed, any one of which would be utterly dislocated and thrown out of
adjustment by the slightest attempt to analyze it on the part of the
player, who is usually disinclined to such analysis precisely in the
proportion of his practical skill.
And the same thing obtains to much the same extent in what might
appear to be more intellectual lines of practical action. The
soldier, the man of business, the statesman, all require no doubt
immense and competent detailed knowledge in their particular
professions. But here also too great analysis, a too curious probing
of motives and processes and alternatives and possibilities hurts
rather than helps. The pure thinker is too often apt to cry out
with Goethe’s horror: ‘There is nothing more frightful than active
ignorance.’[100] Yet nine tenths of the work of the world is done,
sometimes efficiently, sometimes haltingly, but done, by active
ignorance, and could not be done otherwise. The thinker, the profound
analyst, debates, hesitates, falters, and too often accomplishes
nothing.
It may be that, not only in the realm of muscular effort, but in all
practical action, the best results are obtained by comparatively
instinctive methods. Yet it is evident that deliberate conscious
reasoning is an important instrument in the work of the man of
affairs. Also, reason, the enchainment of thoughts through elaborate
logical processes, is the chief agent of the scientific spirit. In an
earlier chapter we have analyzed the dangers and betrayals of reason.
But the greatest betrayal of all is when reason turns upon itself
and devotes its brilliant, magnificent powers to self-dissection,
instead of to accomplishment in the practical world. The extreme
illustrations are in such minds as Sénancour, Maine de Biran, Amiel,
men naturally equipped for the performance of great things, but in
whom the force of genius is paralyzed by the perpetual introspective
consideration of the means and methods by which genius operates. As
Amiel expresses it: ‘I also feel at times the mad rage for life, the
desperate impulse to seize happiness, but much more often a complete
prostration and a silent despair. And whence comes this? From doubt
of my own reason, of myself, of men, of life, from doubt which
enervates the will and destroys the powers, which makes one forget
God, forget prayer, forget duty, from unquiet and corrosive doubt,
which renders existence impossible, and makes a ghastly mock of
hope.’[101]
Perhaps reason offers the most curious of all the antinomies or
self-contradictions which arise when one seeks to develop the
physical, mental, and moral nature of man, on an evolutionary
basis, from the fundamental instinct of self-preservation. A lesser
but striking form of this self-contradiction is, for example, the
habit of thrift, which is naturally explained as a tendency of
self-protection, yet in its sordid extremes may work to destroy
life rather than prolong it. Or, again, there are the strange
contradictions involved in the social instinct. As one sees it in
the insects, or in the gregarious grouping of the lower animals, the
self-preservational basis is obvious enough, and with a few wrenches
of excusable ingenuity one may put all human affections and devotions
on the same foundation. Yet in the end one arrives at the astonishing
paradox that the instinct of self-preservation has developed devotion
to others so that a man may be willing to lay down his life for his
friend, or even for those who are not his friends. But the extreme of
all these contradictions, if one accepts the evolutionary development
of reason, is that that marvelous instrument should be produced for
the preservation of the individual and yet that the final working
of it should be to show how utterly insignificant, pitiable, and
unworthy of preservation this very individual is.
Another weakness of the scientific spirit, and the curse of its
passion for truth, is the difficulty, not to say the impossibility
of ever attaining it. In the detail of scientific research this is,
perhaps, not an evil, and difficulty is merely a splendid spur and
stimulus to ever renewed effort and achievement. But when it comes
to profounder and more fundamental matters, the difficulty is more
serious, and if it may be justly said that one wearies of everything
except to understand, one wearies of the failure to understand more
than of anything else. After all, there are but two things that it
is really important to know: oneself and God. And it is precisely
in regard to these that the impossibility of final knowledge most
overwhelms us. In the rugged language of old Ben Jonson: ‘I know no
disease of the soul but ignorance; not of the arts and sciences, but
of itself.’[102] And a Greek, two thousand years before Ben Jonson,
gave vivid utterance to the same sufficiently obvious idea: ‘Many
things are obscure to man, but the most obscure of all is his own
soul.’[103]
It is precisely in this impossibility of attaining truth in the
ultimate things that the Fundamentalists find their justification for
the attempt to control the search for it. ‘You tell us,’ they say,
‘that everything must yield to the search for truth. You undermine
secure, established morals and traditions in the name of truth. Then
truth slips away from you and in the end you can offer us nothing but
a shadow and a dream. Accepted convention is at least a solid basis
for living. You have nothing solid to offer us, for any purpose,
anywhere.’ And the argument would have some validity, if the
inborn movements of great nature could ever be stopped by laws or
legislatures or Fundamentalists.
But, after all, the value of ignorance, or at least of the knowledge
of ignorance, which goes with the scientific spirit, lies in the
charming qualities that I have indicated earlier in this chapter,
tolerance, patience, humility, gentleness. Only, to produce these
qualities, the recognition of ignorance must not be aggressive,
combative. Fifty years ago such recognition was erected into a
dogmatic religion called Agnosticism, the triumphant, militant
assertion that no man knew anything about the fundamental verities
and no man could, and this dogmatism was even more exasperating than
other dogmatisms, because it purported to be based on an attitude
essentially undogmatic. The true, the fruitful, the profitable
recognition of ignorance is not dogmatic or assertive at all. It
is purely personal, begins and stops with _my_ ignorance only, and
lets _your_ ignorance altogether alone. This is peculiarly true and
important in the age of ignorance in which we live, the age which has
piled up general knowledge with such vast celerity of accumulation
that no individual can pretend to grasp more than a very small
portion of it. And all we can any of us say is, I do not know. You
may know, he may know, especially as he thinks he does, which goes so
vastly far, but I, I, I, alas, do not.
Agnosticism is too violent a word for this purely personal and
infinitely humble ignorance. Scepticism even is too proud a word,
too philosophical a word. Yet scepticism, if used with caution, may
perhaps serve, for want of a better. But there is one thing about
scepticism too often forgotten. Universal doubt surely carries with
it the privilege of universal hope. The professed sceptic is too apt
to be critical and cynical, to use his doubt simply to upset the
certainties of other people, and to rest always in the darker side of
possibility. But if anything may be true, surely the beautiful may be
true, the good, the joyous, the lovable, as well as the gloomy and
despondent.
And if the privilege of scepticism is hope, the essence of it is
questioning and questing. There is a doubt which, in its despair of
ultimate truth, is content to trifle, to beguile the misery of life
with jest and play and momentary diversion. Or there is the doubt
in deeper matters which, as with Darwin, turns to eager, assiduous
investigation of the mere, fascinating detail of the external world.
But there is also a doubt which lives in passionate, perpetual
earnestness and the unfailing, unyielding, indomitable effort to
find out God, being assured that without Him the universe, with all
its splendor and all its endless evolving glory, is nothing, merely
nothing. Such doubt will express itself in words like those of the
modern poet:
‘Day and night I wander widely through the wilderness of thought,
Catching dainty things of fancy most reluctant to be caught. Shining
tangles leading nowhere I persistently unravel, Tread strange paths
of meditation very intricate to travel.
Gleaming bits of quaint desire tempt my steps beyond the decent.
I confound old solid glory with publicity too recent. But my one
unchanged obsession, whereso’er my feet have trod, Is a keen,
enormous, haunting, never-sated thirst for God.’
THE END
BOOKS BY DARWIN, WITH THE ABBREVIATIONS USED IN REFERRING TO THEM IN
THE NOTES
The American revised edition is referred to, unless otherwise
specified
_A Monograph on the sub-class Cirripedia.—The Balanidæ—The
Verrucidæ._ _Cirripedia._
_The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex._ _Descent._
_The Different Forms of Flowers on Plants of the Same Species._
_Different Forms of Flowers._
_The Effects of Cross and Self Fertilization in the Vegetable
Kingdom._ _Cross and Self Fertilization._
Krause, Ernst, _Erasmus Darwin_ (translated from the German by W. S.
Dallas, with a preliminary notice by Charles Darwin). _Krause._
_The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals._ _Expression._
_The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms._
_Worms._
_Geological Observations._ _Geological Observations._
_Insectivorous Plants._ _Insectivorous Plants._
_Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the
Countries Visited during the Voyage of H.M.S. Beagle Round the
World._ _Beagle Journal._
_More Letters of Charles Darwin_, two volumes. _More Letters._
_The Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants._ _Climbing Plants._
_The Origin of Species._ _Origin._
_The Power of Movement in Plants._ _Movement in Plants._
_The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication_, two
volumes. _Animals and Plants._
_The Various Contrivances by which Orchids are Fertilized by
Insects._ _Orchids._
BOOKS BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL MOST FREQUENTLY REFERRED TO IN THE
NOTES, WITH THE ABBREVIATIONS USED
Aristotle, _Historia Animalium_, translated by D’Arcy Wentworth
Thompson. _Historia Animalium._
Castle, W. E., _Genetics and Eugenics_. _Genetics and Eugenics._
Conklin, Edwin Grant, _The Direction of Human Evolution_. _Evolution._
Darwin, Emma, _A Century of Family Letters_, two volumes. _Family
Letters._
Darwin, _The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin_, two volumes. _Life._
De Vries, Hugo, _Species and Varieties, Their Origin by Mutation_.
_Species and Varieties._
Goncourts, Edmond et Jules, _Journal des Goncourts_, nine volumes.
_Goncourts, Journal._
Gray, Asa, _Letters of_, edited by Jane Loring Gray, two volumes.
Gray _Letters._
Grant Duff, Sir Mountstuart E., _Notes from a Diary_, fourteen
volumes, 1851-1901. Grant Duff.
Huxley, Thomas H., _Darwiniana_ (the second volume of Collected
Essays). _Darwiniana._
Huxley, Thomas H., _Life and Letters of_, by his son Leonard, two
volumes. Huxley, _Life._
Lull Richard, Harry Burr Ferris, George Howard Parker, James Rowland
Angell, Albert Galloway Keller, Edwin Grant Conklin, _The Evolution
of Man_. Lull.
Morgan, Thomas Hunt, _Evolution and Adaptation_. _Evolution and
Adaptation._
Osborn, Henry Fairfield, _The Earth Speaks to Bryan_. _The Earth
Speaks._
Osborn, _From the Greeks to Darwin_. _Greeks to Darwin._
Osborn, Henry Fairfield, _Impressions of Great Naturalists_. _Great
Naturalists._
Parker, George Howard, _What Evolution Is_. _What Evolution Is._
Pearson, Karl, _The Grammar of Science_. _Grammar of Science._
Thoreau, Henry, _Journal_, fourteen volumes. _Journal._
_Vallery-Radot, Pasteur._ _Vallery-Radot, Pasteur._
Wallace, Alfred Russell, _My Life_, two volumes. Wallace, _Life_.
Whitehead, Alfred North, _Science and_ _the Modern World_. _Science
and the Modern World._
NOTES
CHAPTER I: THE OBSERVER
[1] _Journal des Goncourts_, May 1, 1857, vol. I, p. 182.
[2] Ben Jonson, _The Poetaster_, act II, scene 1.
[3] _Sentimental Journey_, ‘In the Street.’
[4] _Portraits Littéraires_, vol. III, p. 546.
[5] _Expression_, p. 80.
[6] Thoreau, _Journal_, vol. VII, p. 46.
[7] Gray, to Darwin, May 18, 1862, Gray, _Letters_, vol. II, p. 481.
[8] _Great Naturalists_, p. 51.
[9] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 72.
[10] _Life_, vol. I, p. 83.
[11] To Farrar, November 26, 1868, _Life_, vol. II, p. 453.
[12] To Hooker, 1867, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 6.
[13] To Lyell, June 1, 1867, _Life_, vol. II, p. 248.
[14] To Wilson, April 29, 1878, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 421.
[15] To Galton, November, 1879, _Life_, vol. II, p. 414.
[16] To Lyell, March 17, 1863, _Life_, vol. II, p. 201.
[17] To Galton, November 8, 1872, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 108.
[18] _Expression_, p. 184.
[19] To Dr. Ogle, March 12, 1871, _Life_, vol. II, p. 321.
[20] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 4.
[21] To Jenyns, October 17, 1846, _Life_, vol. I, p. 396.
[22] _Beagle Journal_, p. 282.
[23] To Gray, June 3, 1874, _Life_, vol. II, p. 457.
[24] To Hooker, December 11, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 148.
[25] To Scott, July 2, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 323.
[26] To Horner, January, 1847, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 224.
[27] _Expression_, p. 12.
[28] _Life_, vol. II, p. 238.
[29] _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 105.
[30] _Life_, vol. I, p. 40.
[31] _Different Forms of Flowers_, p. 189.
[32] To Wiesner, October 4, 1881, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 432.
[33] _Life_, vol. I, p. 124.
[34] _Ibid._
[35] _Life_, vol. I, p. 125.
[36] _Life_, vol. II, p. 453.
[37] _Cirripedia_, p. 155.
[38] To Lyell, September 12, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 133.
[39] _Darwiniana_, p. 275.
[40] To Hooker, February 4, 1861, _Life_, vol. II, p. 153.
[41] To Lyell, March 9, 1850, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 229.
[42] _Life_, vol. I, p. 125.
[43] _Life_, vol. I, p. 105.
[44] _Life_, vol. I, p. 80.
[45] _Life_, vol. I, p. 121.
[46] _Purgatorio_, canto III.
[47] To Miss S. Darwin, August 4, 1836, _Life_, vol. I, p. 237.
[48] To Hooker, 1847, _Life_, vol. I, p. 317.
[49] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 3.
[50] To Miss C. Darwin, November 8, 1834, _Life_, vol. I, p. 230.
[51] _Beagle Journal_, p. 78.
[52] _Life_, vol. I, p. 109.
[53] _Expression_, p. 194.
[54] To Romanes, May 29, 1876, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 364.
[55] To Fox, May, 1832, _Life_, vol. I, p. 206.
[56] To Henslow, May 18, 1832, _Life_, vol. I, p. 208.
[57] To Henslow, August 15, 1832, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 9.
[58] _Journal_, August 29, 1858, vol. XI, p. 137.
[59] _Journal_, December 4, 1856, vol. IX, p. 158.
[60] _Life_, vol. I, p. 368.
[61] _Worms_, p. 97.
[62] _Origin_, p. 105.
[63] In _Popular Science Monthly_, April, 1909, vol. LXXIV, p. 198.
CHAPTER II: THE THINKER
[64] To Bates, November 22, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 176.
[65] To Fawcett, September 18, 1861, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 195.
[66] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 93.
[67] _Life_, vol. I, p. 40.
[68] Answer to questionnaire, _Life_, vol. II, p. 355.
[69] _Life of Huxley_, vol. I, p. 521.
[70] To Wallace, August 28, 1872, _Life_, vol. II, p. 346.
[71] To Balfour, September 4, 1880, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 424.
[72] _Beagle Journal_, p. 378.
[73] To Wallace, December 22, 1857, _Life_, vol. I, p. 465.
[74] _Journal_, March 23, 1853, vol. V, p. 45.
[75] Gray to Canby, July 14, 1874, Gray, _Letters_, vol. II, p. 649.
[76] Gray to Darwin, July 21, 1863, Gray, _Letters_, vol. II, p. 509.
[77] _Life_, vol. I, p. 79.
[78] To Fox, March 24, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 506.
[79] _Life_, vol. I, p. 83.
[80] To Hooker, February, 1846, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 56.
[81] To Wallace, February 26, 1867, _Life_, vol. II, p. 276.
[82] _Grammar of Science_, p. 38.
[83] To Huxley, December 2, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 147.
[84] To Hooker, November 15, 1855, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 84.
[85] To Gray, November 29, 1859, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 126.
[86] _Beagle Journal_, p. 443.
[87] _Life_, vol. I, p. 83.
[88] Thiselton Dyer, in _Life_, vol. II, p. 431.
[89] To Gray, 1857, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 252.
[90] To Hooker, January 11, 1844, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 39.
[91] To Wallace, May 1, 1857, _Life_, vol. I, p. 454.
[92] To Carpenter, November 19, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 19.
[93] To Huxley, May 27, 1865, _Life_, vol. II, p. 228.
[94] Aristotle, _Historia Animalium_, Book I, chapter VI.
[95] _Life_, vol. I, p. 126.
[96] To Hooker, April 14, 1855, _Life_, vol. I, p. 415.
[97] To Hooker, March 26, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 474.
[98] _Genetics and Eugenics_, p. 181.
[99] De Vries, _Species and Varieties_, p. 769.
[100] _Different Forms of Flowers_, p. 156.
[101] To Gray, April 3, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 90.
[102] _Zur Naturwissenschaft, Einzelne Betrachtungen und Aphorismen_,
section III.
[103] _Life_, vol. I, p. 121.
[104] To Wiesner, October 25, 1881, _Life_, vol. II, p. 510.
[105] _Life_, vol. I, p. 122.
[106] _Orchids_, p. 208.
[107] To Huxley, November 27, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 75.
[108] _Insectivorous Plants_, p. 154.
[109] To Gray, June 8, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 153.
[110] Huxley to Romanes, May 9, 1882, _Life of Huxley_, vol. II, p.
42.
[111] Huxley to Foster, February 14, 1888, _Life of Huxley_, vol. II,
p. 203.
[112] Huxley to Hooker, March 9, 1888, _Life of Huxley_, vol. II, p.
204.
[113] _Darwiniana_, p. 287.
[114] Alexander Agassiz to Gibbs, December 15, 1897, in G. R.
Agassiz, _Letters and Recollections of Alexander Agassiz_, p. 333.
[115] J. J. Stevenson, in _Popular Science Monthly_, April, 1909,
vol. LXXIV, p. 353.
[116] October 2, 1879, _Life_, vol. II, p. 360.
[117] May 5, 1881, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 198.
[118] _Descent_, p. 606.
[119] September 23, 1868, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 85.
[120] August 19, 1868, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 84.
[121] To Wallace, April 30, 1868, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 77.
[122] To Huxley, June 12, 1867, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 281.
[123] _Animals and Plants_, vol. II, p. 396.
[124] _Animals and Plants_, vol. II, p. 399.
[125] _Life_, vol. I, p. 75.
[126] August Weisman, _The Evolution Theory_ (translation Thomson),
vol. I, p. 242.
[127] _Darwiniana_, p. 20.
[128] To Hooker, January 20, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 499.
[129] _Life_, vol. I, p. 77.
[130] Vallery-Radot, _Pasteur_, p. 139.
[131] _Life_, vol. I, p. 71.
[132] To Lyell, September 20, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 521.
[133] _Life_, vol. I, p. 130.
[134] _Life_, vol. I, p. 117.
[135] July 2, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 116.
[136] To Lyell, August 1, 1845, _Life_, vol. I, p. 308.
[137] To Hooker, September 25, 1853, _Life_, vol. I, p. 400.
[138] _Origin_, p. 404.
[139] To Hooker, October, 1856, _Life_, vol. I, p. 443.
[140] To Henslow, _Life_, vol. I, p. 245.
[141] To Huxley, July 3, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 117.
[142] _Life_, vol. I, p. 72.
[143] To Lyell, October 1, 1861, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 191.
[144] _Zur Naturwissenschaft, Einzelne Betrachtungen und Aphorismen_,
section III.
[145] To Hooker, December 10, 1866, _Life_, vol. II, p. 239.
[146] To Hooker, May 2, 1857, _Life_, vol. I, p. 454.
[147] _Darwiniana_, p. 246.
[148] To De Candolle, January 14, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. I, p.
234.
[149] To Hooker, April 1, 1864, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 330.
[150] To Hooker, April, 1857, _Life_, vol. I, p. 450.
[151] To Hooker, March 7, 1855, _Life_, vol. I, p. 405.
[152] To Hooker, July 30, 1856, _Life_, vol. I, p. 439.
[153] To Huxley, January 10, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 231.
CHAPTER III: THE DISCOVERER
[154] _Historia Animalium_, book VIII, chapter XXVIII.
[155] _Historia Animalium_, book VIII, chapter XXIX.
[156] _Beagle Journal_, p. 216.
[157] To Hooker, January 11, 1844, _Life_, vol. I, p. 384.
[158] To Hooker, November, 1844, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 43.
[159] To Lyell, October, 11, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 10.
[160] _Greeks to Darwin_, p. 156.
[161] _Greeks to Darwin_, p. 233.
[162] To Lyell, March 12, 1863, _Life_, vol. II, p. 199.
[163] Marcus Herzog, introduction to Samuel Butler’s _Unconscious
Memory_, p. XII.
[164] To Lyell, March 17, 1863, _Life_, vol. II, p. 201.
[165] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 37.
[166] _MS. Journals_, in _Life_, vol. I, p. 363.
[167] To Horace Darwin, December 15, 1871, _Family Letters_, vol. II,
p. 207.
[168] P. 426.
[169] June 18, 1858, _Life_, vol. I, p. 473.
[170] To Lyell, June 25, 1858, _Life_, vol. I, p. 474.
[171] Hooker to Francis Darwin, _Life_, vol. I, p. 482.
[172] In _Popular Science Monthly_, April, 1909, vol. LXXIV, p. 396.
[173] To Wallace, April 20, 1870, _Life_, vol. II, p. 301.
[174] _Darwiniana_, p. 286.
[175] _Animals and Plants_, vol. I, p. 225.
[176] _Descent_, p. 563.
[177] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 2.
[178] _Life_, vol. I, p. 54.
[179] To Hooker, November 5, 1854, _Life_, vol. I, p. 404.
[180] To Hooker, July 13, 1858, _Life_, vol. I, p. 484.
[181] _Life_, vol. I, p. 46.
[182] To Fox, March 24, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 506.
[183] _Life_, vol. I, p. 55.
[184] _Life_, p. 71.
[185] In _Life_, vol. II, p. 115.
[186] To Lyell, April 10, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 94.
[187] To Huxley, December 18, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 230.
[188] _Great Naturalists_, p. 70.
[189] Agassiz to Murray, December 2, 1887, G. R. Agassiz, _Letters
and Recollections of Alexander Agassiz_, p. 228.
[190] To Falconer, January 5, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 228.
[191] To Huxley, April 11, 1864, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 246.
[192] To Henslow, October 26, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 174.
[193] To Wallace, July 12, 1871, _Life_, II, p. 326.
[194] To Häckel, May 21, 1867, _Life_, vol. II, p. 251.
[195] Huxley to Darwin, November 14, 1880, _Life of Huxley_, vol. II,
p. 15.
[196] To Hooker, December 25, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 46.
[197] Speech, November, 1877, _Life of Huxley_, vol. I, p. 514.
[198] P. 262.
[199] To Hooker, December 14, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 38.
[200] To Gray, April 3, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 91.
[201] To Henslow, May 8, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 149.
[202] _Origin_, p. 133.
[203] _Origin_, p. 143.
[204] _Origin_, p. 228.
[205] _Origin_, p. 233.
[206] _Orchids_, p. 257.
[207] To Huxley, May 11, 1880, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 387.
[208] _Darwiniana_, p. 184.
[209] To Lyell, September 20, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 521.
[210] To Hooker, June 17, 1856, _Life_, vol. I, p. 432.
[211] To Falconer, October 1, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 206.
[212] _Origin_, p. 162.
[213] To Hooker, July 5, 1856, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 93.
[214] To Miller, June 5, 1859, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 122.
[215] To Hooker, June 30, 1862, _Life_, II, p. 445.
[216] To Wallace, July 12, 1871, _Life_, vol. II, p. 325.
[217] To Hooker, June 15, 1881, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 433.
[218] To Falconer, October 1, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 209.
[219] To Lyell, September 26, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 167.
[220] To Hooker, January 16, 1869, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 379.
[221] _Evolution and Adaptation_, p. 231.
[222] _Greeks to Darwin_, p. 229.
[223] November 7, 1875, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 360.
[224] _Descent_, p. 61.
[225] In _Life_, vol. II, p. 187, from _Life of Kingsley_, vol. II,
p. 171.
[226] To Hooker, April or May, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 512.
[227] To Gray, October, 1865, _Life_, vol. I, p. 489.
[228] _Life_, vol. I, p. 82.
[229] _Greeks to Darwin_, p. 5.
[230] _Science and the Modern World_, p. 158.
[231] _What Evolution is_, p. 17.
[232] _Evolution_, p. 16.
[233] _The Earth Speaks_, p. 19.
[234] Quoted in _Boston Transcript_ review of translation of Weber’s
_History of Philosophy_, February 6, 1926.
CHAPTER IV: THE LOSER
[235] To Hooker, October 13, 1858, _Life_, vol. I, p. 495.
[236] To Hooker, June 17, 1868, _Life_, vol. II, p. 273.
[237] _Life_, vol. I, p. 81.
[238] _Life_, vol. I, p. 81.
[239] _Life_, vol. I, p. 30.
[240] To Lyell, January 22, 1865, _Life_, vol. II, p. 216.
[241] To Morley, March 24, 1871, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 326.
[242] Lull, p. 129.
[243] To Hooker, December 21, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 21.
[244] To Hooker, September 27, 1865, _Life_, vol. II, p. 225.
[245] To Henslow, May 18, 1832, _Life_, vol. I, p. 220.
[246] _Life_, vol. II, p. 356.
[247] To Herbert, June 2, 1833, _Life_, vol. I, p. 210.
[248] _Reminiscences of Charles Darwin_, in _Harper’s Magazine_,
December, 1909, vol. CXX, p. 15.
[249] To Müller, August 28, 1870, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 92.
[250] _Beagle Journal_, p. 499.
[251] _Life_, vol. II, p. 377.
[252] _Descent of Man_, p. 70.
[253] _Life_, vol. II, p. 309.
[254] To Wallace, July 12, 1881, in Wallace, _Life_, vol. II, p. 15.
[255] To Wallace, July 12, 1881, in Wallace, _Life_, vol. II, p. 14.
[256] To Lyell, January 22, 1865, _Life_, vol. II, p. 217.
[257] _Krause_, p. 70.
[258] Emma Wedgwood to Madame Sismondi, November 15, 1838, _Family
Letters_, vol. II, p. 7.
[259] To Gurney, July 8, 1876, _Life_, vol. II, p. 364.
[260] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 171.
[261] _Life_, vol. I, p. 103.
[262] _Ibid._
[263] _Beagle Journal_, p. 112.
[264] _Life_, vol. I, p. 43.
[265] _Life_, vol. I, p. 42.
[266] To Susan Darwin, April 23, 1835, _Life_, vol. I, p. 233.
[267] _Life_, vol. I, p. 146.
[268] _Life_, vol. I, p. 42.
[269] _Life_, vol. I, p. 81.
[270] _Life_, vol. II, p. 178.
[271] To Mrs. Haliburton, November 22, 1880, _Life_, vol. II, p. 508.
[272] To Henslow, July 24, 1834, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 14.
[273] To Hooker, March 17, 1867, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 2.
[274] To Rivers, December 28, 1866, _Life_, vol. II, p. 241.
[275] _Darwiniana_, p. 286.
[276] _Life_, vol. I, p. 102.
[277] _Life_, vol. I, p. 81.
[278] _Ibid._
[279] _Life_, vol. I, p. 57.
[280] _Life_, vol I, p. 81.
[281] E. B. Titchener, in _Popular Science Monthly_, January, 1909,
vol. LXXIV, p. 47.
[282] _Causeries du Lundi_, vol. IV, p. 45.
[283] To Newton, May 3, 1780, _The Correspondence of William Cowper_
(edition Wright), vol. I, p. 185.
[284] _Poems_ (Globe edition), p. 191.
[285] _Childe Harold_, canto III, stanza 72.
[286] Sénancour, _Obermann_, p. 40.
[287] _Life_, vol. I, p. 95.
[288] To Mrs. Darwin, April, 1858, _Life_, vol. I, p. 471.
[289] _Beagle Journal_, p. 322.
[290] To Henslow, August 15, 1832, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 10.
[291] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 175.
[292] Mrs. Darwin to Darwin, 1859, _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 175.
[293] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 201.
[294] _Beagle Journal_, p. 263.
[295] _Life_, vol. II, p. 308.
[296] _Ibid._
[297] _Descent of Man_, p. 612.
[298] _Life_, vol. II, p. 238.
[299] _Life_, vol. II, p. 237.
[300] William Darwin, in _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 169.
[301] _Expression_, p. 219.
[302] _Beagle Journal_, p. 411.
[303] _Life_, vol. I, p. 29.
[304] _Life_, vol. I, p. 282.
[305] To Lyell, September 3, 1874, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 237.
[306] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 253.
[307] To Ridley, November 28, 1878, _Life_, vol. II, p. 412.
[308] To Gray, July, 1860, _Life_, vol. I, p. 284.
CHAPTER V: THE LOVER
[309] Norton to Ruskin, September 9, 1868, _Letters of Charles Eliot
Norton_, vol. I, p. 309.
[310] _Great Naturalists_, p. 57.
[311] _Reminiscences of Charles Darwin_, in _Harper’s Magazine_,
December, 1909, vol. CXX, p. 13.
[312] To Francis Darwin, November 11, 1887, _The Life and Letters of
Leslie Stephen_, by Frederic William Maitland, p. 393.
[313] To Norton, _Life of Stephen_ as above, p. 300.
[314] To Falconer, November 8, 1864, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 257.
[315] Norton, Diary, April 12, 1873, in _Letters of Charles Eliot
Norton_, vol. I, p. 477.
[316] Kingsley to Lubbock, in _Life of Sir John Lubbock, Lord
Avebury_, by Horace G. Hutchinson, vol. I, p. 92.
[317] Grant Duff, _Diary, 1873-1881_, December 15, 1880, vol. II, p.
283.
[318] July, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 159.
[319] September 5, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 205.
[320] To Hooker, April 23, 1861, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 185.
[321] To Fox, March 13, 1837, _Life_, vol. I, p. 249.
[322] _Life_, vol. I, p. 42.
[323] _Life_, vol. I, p. 28.
[324] _Life_, vol. I, p. 49.
[325] _Life_, vol. I, p. 89.
[326] _Life_, vol. I, p. 30.
[327] _Life_, vol. I, p. 96.
[328] Answer to questionnaire, _Life_, vol. II, p. 415.
[329] To Mrs. Darwin, March, 1842, _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 69.
[330] To Fox, March 24, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 506.
[331] January 28, 1876, _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 221.
[332] To Hooker, September 1, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 518.
[333] _Life_, vol. I, p. 85.
[334] To Falconer, November 14, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 211.
[335] To Hooker, May 29, 1854, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 79.
[336] _Life_, vol. I, p. 243.
[337] _Life_, vol. I, p. 197.
[338] To Hooker, November, 1863, _Life_, vol. II, p. 186.
[339] To Henslow, May 6, 1849, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 66.
[340] _Life_, vol. I, p. 96.
[341] _Diary, 1892-1895_, August 6, 1892, vol. I, p. 80.
[342] Emma Wedgwood to Madame Sismondi, November 15, 1838, _Family
Letters_, vol. II, p. 7.
[343] To Hooker, April 10, 1846, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 416.
[344] To Murray, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 532.
[345] _Life_, vol. I, p. 99.
[346] _Life_, vol. I, p. 98.
[347] _Life_, vol. I, p. 99.
[348] _Reminiscences_, in _Harper’s Magazine_, December, 1909, vol.
CXX, p. 17.
[349] Grant Duff, _Diary, 1896-1901_, vol. I, p. 307.
[350] _Life_, vol. I, p. 118.
[351] _Life_, vol. I, p. 115.
[352] _Life_, vol. I, p. 28.
[353] November, 1855, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 87.
[354] To Hooker, September 27, 1865, _Life_, vol. II, p. 223.
[355] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 118.
[356] January 20, 1839, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 29.
[357] _Ibid._
[358] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 48.
[359] September 5, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 204.
[360] _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 30.
[361] _Ibid._
[362] _Life_, vol. I, p. 135.
[363] To Madame Sismondi, February, 1840, _Family Letters_, vol. II,
p. 51.
[364] _Life_, vol. I, p. 109.
[365] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 253.
[366] To Gray, July 23, 1862, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 202.
[367] _Diary of Thomas Moore_, August 29, 1822, vol. III, p. 367.
[368] _Life_, vol. I, p. 112.
[369] _Life_, p. 111.
[370] _Life_, vol. I, p. 115.
[371] _Life_, vol. I, p. 10.
[372] _Life_, vol. I, p. 76.
[373] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 44.
[374] December 18, 1861, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 281.
[375] To Wallace, February 27, 1868, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 289.
[376] _Life_, vol. I, p. 115.
[377] Krause, p. 29.
[378] _Life_, vol. I, p. 31.
[379] _Life_, vol. I, p. 119.
[380] _Life of Sir John Lubbock, Lord Avebury_, by Horace G.
Hutchinson, vol. I, p. 40.
[381] To Hooker, July 28, 1859, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 126.
[382] To Hooker, April 14, 1855, _Life_, vol. I, p. 415.
[383] To Hooker, November 5, 1853, _Life_, vol. I, p. 356.
[384] September 11, 1859, _Life_, vol. I, p. 520.
[385] To Hooker, May 25, 1870, _Life_, vol. II, p. 306.
[386] To Müller, June 21, 1881, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 369.
[387] Huxley to Mivart, November 12, 1885, _Life of Huxley_, vol. II,
p. 122.
[388] To Hooker, July 2, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 116.
CHAPTER VI: THE DESTROYER
[389] To Hooker, December 5, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 337.
[390] _Life_, vol. I, p. 279.
[391] _Descent_, p. 145.
[392] In _Life_, vol. II, p. 245.
[393] To Hooker, July 13, 1856, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 94.
[394] In _Nature_, 1882, vol. XXVI, p. 5, quoted in _Encyclopædia
Brittanica_ (edition 1884), _Supplement_, article _Darwinism_.
[395] _Origin_, p. 429.
[396] To Gray, September 17, 1861, _Life_, vol. II, p. 170.
[397] To Hooker, March 29, 1863, _Life_, vol. II, p. 202.
[398] _Descent of Man_, p. 121.
[399] _Descent of Man_, p. 612.
[400] _Origin_, p. 164.
[401] _Descent of Man_, p. 100.
[402] _Life_, vol. II, p. 347.
[403] To Hooker, February 9, 1865, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 260.
[404] To Lyell, August 21, 1861, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 194.
[405] To Gray, May 22, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 105.
[406] _Descent of Man_, p. 612.
[407] _Animals and Plants_, vol. II, p. 428.
[408] _Family Letters_, vol. II, p. 196.
[409] To Scherzer, December 26, 1879, _Life_, vol. II, p. 413.
[410] August Weisman, _The Evolution Theory_ (Translation Thomson),
vol. II, p. 364.
[411] Address on Darwin Centenary, in _Contemporary Review_, July,
1909, vol. XCVI, p. 21.
[412] Herbert Spencer, _An Autobiography_, vol. II, p. 548.
[413] _The Earth Speaks_, p. 63.
[414] In _Boston Herald_, June 3, 1926.
[415] Lull, p. 146.
[416] _Saturday Review of Literature_, editorial, May 29, 1926.
[417] Reverend Charles G. Finney, _Memoirs, Written by Himself_, p.
171.
[418] Jules Lemaître, _Impressions de Théâtre_, vol. IV, p. 114.
[419] _Life_, vol. II, p. 239.
[420] Answers to Questions, in _Boston Herald_, January 4, 1926.
[421] To Hooker, January 19, 1865, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 260.
[422] _Evolution_, p. 247.
[423] Conklin, _Evolution_, p. 240.
[424] _La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein_, act IV, scene 3.
[425] _Palinodia._
[426] _La Ginestra._
[427] Ernest Renan, _Drames Philosophiques_, p. 174.
[428] Ernest Renan, _Drames Philosophiques_, p. 178.
[429] _Anatole France Himself_, by J. J. Brousson (translation
Pollock), p. 71.
[430] _The Mysterious Stranger_, p. 150.
[431] _Sopra un Basso Relievo Antico Sepolcrale._
CHAPTER VII: THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT
[432] To Scott, June 6, 1863, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 323.
[433] To Huxley, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 125.
[434] Hooker on Darwin, _Life_, vol. I, p. 315.
[435] To Huxley, July 20, 1860, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 158.
[436] To Günther, May 15, 1870, _Life_, vol. II, p. 303.
[437] To Dohrn, January 4, 1870, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 444.
[438] _Science and the Modern World_, p. 255.
[439] Article by J. E. Harry, on the _Helena_ of Euripides, in
_Journal of American Philology_, October, 1925, vol. XLVI, p. 332.
[440] Speech at Royal Society Anniversary Dinner, 1894, Huxley,
_Life_, vol. II, p. 413.
[441] To Hooker, July 28, 1868, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 305.
[442] To Farrar, August 28, 1881, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 394.
[443] To Hooker, March 3, 1860, _Life_, vol. II, p. 85.
[444] To Lubbock, November 12, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 14.
[445] To Carpenter, November 19, 1859, _Life_, vol. II, p. 19.
[446] To Madame d’Epinay, July 6, 1766, _Correspondance de Voltaire_
(edition 1881), vol. XII, p. 329.
[447] To Hooker, 1856, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 90.
[448] To Wiesner, October 25, 1881, _Life_, vol. II, p. 508.
[449] To Bentham, November 25, 1869, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 379.
[450] To Wilson, March 5, 1879, _More Letters_, vol. II, p. 422.
[451] Darwin to Wallace, August 8, 1872, _Life_, vol. II, p. 348.
[452] Vallery-Radot, _Pasteur_, p. 22.
[453] To Henslow, April 1, 1848, _More Letters_, vol. I, p. 61.
[454] _Portraits Littéraires_, vol. III, p. 546.
[455] _Port-Royal_, vol. I, p. 55.
[456] _Causeries du Lundi_, vol. II, p. 268.
[457] _Portraits Contemporains_ (1882), vol. V, p. 461.
[458] _Portraits Littéraires_, vol. III, p. 543.
[459] _Portraits Contemporains_ (1882), vol. V, p. 465.
[460] _Portraits Contemporains_ (1882), vol. V, p. 464.
[461] _Portraits Littéraires_, vol. III, p. 543.
[462] _Journal des Goncourts_, vol. II, p. 134.
[463] _Conversations with Eckermann_, quoted in William James,
_Varieties of Religious Experience_, p. 137.
[464] _Port-Royal_, vol. VI, p. 245.
[465] To Helvetius, January 5, 1740, _Correspondance_ (edition 1881),
vol. III, p. 356.
[466] Quoted by Sainte-Beuve, _Causeries du Lundi_, vol. VII, p. 47.
[467] _Tristram Shandy_, Book VII, chapter XXXIII.
[468] _Maximen und Reflexionen_, chapter III.
[469] _Journal de Henri Frédéric Amiel_, vol. I, p. 129.
[470] _Discoveries_, in Jonson’s Works (edition Cunningham), vol.
III, p. 401.
[471] _Homeric Epigrams_ (edition Baumeister), V.
INDEX
Abstemiousness, D.’s, 182.
Accuracy, D. and, in observation, 21; in statement, 22, 23;
mathematical, and instruments, 24; his hobby, 59.
Achievement, motives, 96-99; D.’s attitude, 99-101.
Adams, Henry, effect of evolution on, 242.
Æsthetics, observation in, 11; D.’s attitude, 137; effect of
scientific spirit, 272, 275.
Agassiz, Alexander, on D.’s coral-reef theory, 65; on D. and candor,
105.
Agassiz, Louis, and evolution, 103.
Agnosticism, as dogma, 283, 284.
Agriculture, revolution, 11.
Ambition, as trait, D. on it, 96.
Amiel, H. F., self-dissection, 280.
Animals, D.’s love, 135, 188.
Appearance, D.’s, 168.
Appreciation, D.’s trait, 79, 80; element in scientific spirit, 263.
Architecture, D.’s attitude, 139.
Ardor, element in scientific spirit, 264.
Argument, D.’s attitude, 74.
Aristotle, on experiment, 56; and evolution, 84.
Arnold, Matthew, on Goethe, 271.
Art, D.’s attitude, 138-40; evolution and realism, 225.
Barnacles, D.’s study, 26.
Bates, H. W., and nature, 12.
_Beagle_, D.’s voyage, 4.
Bell, Thomas, and D., 173.
Bergson, Henri, and evolution, 235.
Bryce, Lord, on D. and Gladstone, 133; on D.’s appearance, 168.
Buckle, H. T., D. on, 143.
Buffon, Comte de, and evolution, 84, 119.
Burbank, Luther, and experiment, 57; and future life, 228.
Butler, Samuel, D.’s controversy, 108; and religion and evolution,
237.
Byron, Lord, and nature, 152.
Candor, D.’s trait, 77-79, 105.
Castle, W. E., on experiment, 57.
Caution, element in scientific spirit, 245. _See also_ Deduction.
Chambers, Robert, and evolution, 84.
Children. _See_ Family.
Civil War, D.’s interest, 134.
Collecting, D. and, 43.
Comparison, D.’s trait, 31.
Conklin, E. G., on natural selection, 125; on evolution and religion,
239.
Conscience, activity of D.’s, 160.
Controversy, over evolution, 6; D.’s attitude, 76, 77, 107.
Conversation, D.’s, 170.
Coolidge, Calvin, on politics and religion, 222.
Copernicus, and orthodoxy, 209.
Coral reefs, D.’s theory, 64-66.
Correspondence, character of D.’s, 78, 145.
Cowper, William, and nature, 149, 150.
Creation, desire, 98.
Criticism, D.’s attitude, 104-17.
Cruelty, D.’s hatred, 135.
Curiosity, element of scientific spirit, 248, 249; Sainte-Beuve and
Goethe and, 268, 270.
Darwin, Charles R., influence, 3; character, 3; birth, 3; ancestry,
3; education, 4, 45; interest in outdoor life and sport, 4, 174-76;
_Beagle_ voyage, 4, 14; marriage, home and children, family life,
4, 196-201; invalidism, patience, 5, 36, 177-83, 193-95; tomb,
6; scientific observation, on it, 6, 14-16; and self-analysis,
16; study of expression, 17-19, 198; promotion of observation by
others, 19, 23; accuracy, 21-24, 59; and detail, 25; industry and
patience, 27-30, 252; system, 30, 31, 183; element of comparison,
31; difficulties and discomforts of outdoor observation, 32-34;
sympathy, and observation, 34-36; effect of physical limitations, 36,
37; and collecting, 43; and observation and deduction, 44-46, 250;
on Spencer, 47, 78; and deduction and induction, 46-48; mental power
and activity, 48; control over theorizing, 51, 54, 55, 115, 124; on
excessive theorizing, 52, 53, 254; and experiment, 56-62; exposition,
style, caution, 62-64, 143-45, 212; on coral reefs, 64-66; on sexual
selection, 66, 67; on pangenesis, 68; and metaphysics, 69; doubt and
self-criticism, 70, 71; and objections and difficulties, 71, 72,
113-15; and revision, 73, 118; and argument, 74-76; and controversy,
76, 107; and mistakes, 77; candor, 77-79, 105; as correspondent, 78,
145; appreciation and tolerance, 79, 80, 262, 263; and ignorance
and deceptive reasoning, 80-82; and motives of achievement, 99-101;
Butler controversy, 108; humility, 110, 258, 260; success of books,
122; fame, 126; atrophy of other interests, 128-30, 272, 275;
and history, 130, 131; and politics, 131-34; and Civil War, 134;
and slavery, 134; and animals, hatred of cruelty, 135, 188; and
vivisection, 136; and social questions, 136, 137; and æsthetics,
137-40; and music, 140-42; and fiction, 145; and poetry, 146-48; and
natural beauty, 148, 153-56; and religion and conscience, 156-63;
personal appearance, 168; hospitality, 169; conversation, 170-72;
fun, 172; and society, 173, 178; humanity, 176; abstemiousness and
indulgence, 182; regimen, 183; finances, 184-86; generosity, 186;
manner and temperament, 188; and his father, 190; as fiancé, 190-92;
as husband, wife’s care, 192-94; friendship and services, 201-07;
impartiality, 256; on scientific ardor, 264; on love of truth, 266.
_See also_ Evolution.
Darwin, Emma (Wedgwood), 4; and theater, 139; and D.’s religious
attitude, 157; D. as fiancé, 190-92, and as husband, 192; as wife,
and D.’s invalidism, 193-96; and D.’s theories, 218.
Darwin, Erasmus, 4; and evolution, 84, 85; controversy over
biography, 108.
Deduction, observation and, 44-46; and induction, 46-48; D.’s
attitude, 46, 47; D.’s power, 48-50, 69; his control over it, 51,
54, 55, 115, 124; D. on excessive, 52, 53; types of thinkers, 53-55;
experiment and, 55; D. and experiment, 56-62; D. and exposition,
62-64; illustrations of his theorizing, 64-69; D. and doubt, 70,
71; D. and objections, 71, 72; his trait of revision, 73; D. and
arguments, 74-77; D. and mistakes, 77; D. and deception in reason,
80-82, 115. _See also_ Observation; Scientific spirit.
Democracy, evolution and, 223.
Details, D. and, 25.
De Vries, Hugo, imitation theory, 124.
Discipline, D. and his children, 197.
Doubt, value, 70; in D.’s logical processes, 70, 71; aspects of
agnosticism, 203-05. _See also_ Religion.
Drink, D. and, 182.
Earthworms, D.’s study, 21, 42, 151.
Education, D.’s, 4; training in deduction, 45.
Eliot, C. W., effect of evolution on, 246.
Emerson, R. W., on evolution, 42, 234; and nature, 151.
Empedocles, and evolution, 84.
Ethics, D. and morality, 160; and evolution, 213-15, 219, 222, 231.
Evolution, idea and D.’s explanation of process, 4; controversy, 6;
acceptance of principle, 6, 121, 125; effect on study of natural
history, 40-43; as term, 83; before Darwin, 83-85, 101, 233; theory
of inheritance of acquired characters, D. and, 85, 87; D. and
predecessors, 85-88; beginning of D.’s interest, 88; his development
of theory of natural selection, 89-91; his statement of theory, 91;
his realization of influence of theory, 92, 209-13; his years of
study and experiment, 92, 93; Wallace and presentation of theory,
93, 94; D. and Wallace, 94, 95; _Origin of Species_, its effect, 96;
D.’s attitude toward, as achievement, 99-101, 122-24; attacks by
scientists, 102; religious attacks, 103; D. and attacks, 104-08; D.
and other workers, 109; D. and difficulties, 111-17; D.’s revisions,
118; modification of theory, 119-21, 124; promulgators, 121; effect
on theology, 209; D.’s caution in statement, 212; D. and ethical
standards under theory, 213; D. and effect on belief, 215, 216;
D. and belief in God, 216-18; and atheism, 218-20; as typifying
scientific influence on life, 221; influence on politics, 222-25; and
realism, 225; and hell and heaven, 227; and popular belief in God and
worship, 229, 230; and substitute for sin, 231-33; philosophical,
233-35; clerical harmonizing with religion, 236; Fundamentalists
and, 237, 282; scientific harmonizing, 237-39; and individualism in
religious belief, 239, 240; future adjustment with religion, 240;
destructive spiritual effect, 241-47; self-contradictions in reason,
280.
Experiment, D.’s devotion, 5, 56; position, 55; equipment, 57; D.’s
thoroughness, 58; impersonality, 58; accuracy, repetition, 59;
recording, errors and successes, 61.
Exposition, D.’s power, 62-64; illustrations, 64-69.
Expression, D.’s study, 17-19.
Eye, and evolutionary theory, 112.
Fabre, J. H., and nature, 12.
Fame, as motive of achievement, 96-101.
Family, D. and father’s memory, 190; D. as fiancé, 190-92; husband
and wife, 192-96; children, training, 196-201; their assistance, 200.
Farrer, Sir Thomas, on D.’s detailed observation, 26.
Fichte, J. H. von, and evolution, 233.
Fiction, D.’s attitude, 145.
Financial condition, D.’s, 184; his attitude and care, 185; his
generosity, 186.
Finney, C. G., on revival, 230.
Fiske, John, and evolution, 122, 241.
France, Anatole, effect of evolution on, 242.
Friendship, D.’s trait, 201, 202; his influence over friends, 202;
his dependence, 203; his services to friends, 204-07.
Fun, D.’s trait, 172.
Fundamentalism, attacks on evolution, 103, 282; ethical attitude,
232; theological attitude, 237.
Gautier, Théophile, on observation, 7; as poet, 11.
Generosity, D.’s trait, 186.
George, Henry D. and _Progress and Poverty_, 137.
Gladstone, W. E., and D., 133.
God, D.’s attitude, 164-67; influence of evolution on belief, 216-18,
229; thirst for, 285.
Goethe, J. W. von, on repetitions, 59; on doubt, 70; on mistakes,
77; and evolution, 85; and poetry, 148; on love of truth, 265; and
scientific spirit, 270, 271; pessimism, 274; on active ignorance, 279.
Gould, George M., on D.’s invalidism, 180.
Grant Duff, Sir M. E., on D., 182.
Gray, Asa, on D.’s observation, 14; on D. as thinker, 49; relations
with D., 110; and evolution, 121, 238.
Häckel, Ernst, and D., 110; and evolution, 122; atheism, 219.
Hartmann, K. R. E. von, and evolution, 233.
Hegel, G. W. F., type, 53; and evolution, 233.
Hell, obsolete, 227.
History, D. and, 130, 131.
Homer, on self-ignorance, 282.
Hooker, Sir Joseph, on Darwin-Wallace paper, 94; and D., 101, 110.
Hospitality, D.’s, 169.
Humanity, and study of natural history, 40-43, 136; Sainte-Beuve’s
study, 267, 268.
Humility, D.’s trait, 110; and scientific spirit, 257-61.
Huxley, T. H., on D. and detailed observation, 26; on D.’s industry,
27; and induction, 46; on D.’s mental processes, 62; on D.’s candor,
79; on effect of _Origin of Species_, 96; and Bishop of Oxford’s
attack, 103; restraint of D., 108; on D. and adverse suggestions,
115; and promulgation of D.’s theory, 121; on D.’s style, 144;
relations with D., 203-05; on influence of D.’s appreciation, 206;
and religion, 219; on D.’s impartiality, 256.
Ibsen, Henrik, effect of evolution on, 241.
Ignorance, realization and scientific spirit, 257, 283.
Imagination. _See_ Deduction.
Immortality, D.’s attitude, 163; effect of evolution, 215.
Impartiality, element in scientific spirit, 255; Sainte-Beuve and,
268.
Induction, and deduction, 46-48. _See also_ Deduction.
Industry, D.’s, 27; element in scientific spirit, 251.
Inheritance of acquired characters, Lamarck’s theory, 85, 90; D.’s
attitude toward, 87, 119, 120.
Instruments, D.’s faith, 25.
Instinct in practical life, 278, 279.
Interests, absorption and atrophy, 128-30, 272.
Invalidism, D.’s, 5, 36, 177; his attitude toward it, 178, 179, 194;
cause, 179-81; Mrs. D.’s care, 193-96.
James, William, and evolution, 234.
Jeffries, Richard, and nature, 12.
Jonson, Ben, on observation, 7; on self-ignorance, 282.
Kingsley, Charles, on evolutionary theory, 121; on D.’s conversation,
171.
Knowledge, and observation, 38-40; and wisdom, 44.
Krause, Ernst, biography of Erasmus Darwin, 108.
Lamarck, Jean de, evolutionary theory, 85, 90, 119, 120; D.’s
attitude, 86.
Land question, D. and, 136.
Leibnitz, Baron von, and gravity, 257.
Leopardi, Giacomo, pessimism, 238, 245.
Literature, D.’s attitude, 143, 145-48; D.’s style, 143-45; effect
of evolution, 225-27.
Linnæan Society, Darwin-Wallace paper, 94.
Lodge, Sir Oliver, and science and spiritualism, 238.
Love, D.’s valuation, 206. _See also_ Family; Friendship.
Lubbock, Sir John, on debt to D., 202.
Lucretius, type, 54; scientific ardor, 265.
Lyell, Sir Charles, on controversy, 76; and evolution, 84; and D.,
101, 110; on D. and ‘remorse,’ 211.
McDougall, William, on inheritance of acquired characters, 85.
Maine de Biran, self-dissection, 280.
Manner, D.’s, 188.
Marriage of cousins, D. and, 136.
Mendel, Gregor, experiments, 124.
Milton, John, D.’s appreciation, 146.
Missing links in evolutionary theory, 113.
Missionaries, D.’s attitude, 159.
Mistakes, D.’s attitude, 77.
Mivart, St. G. J., and evolution and religion, 238.
Montesquieu, on study, 277.
Moody, D. L., absorption of interest, 129; and prayer, 162; and God,
167; and hell and heaven, 227, 228.
Moore, Thomas, on children, 196.
Morality. _See_ Ethics.
Morgan, Lloyd, and evolution, 235.
Music, D.’s attitude, 140-42.
Native, utilitarian and æsthetic observation, 10-13; D. and
appreciation, 148, 153-56; elements of enjoyment, 149-53.
Natural selection, D.’s term and theory, 5, 90; modification of
theory, 119-21, 124. _See also_ Evolution.
Neuter insects, and evolutionary theory, 113.
Nietzsche, F. W., effect of evolution on, 241.
Norton, C. E., on D., 168, 170.
Objections, in D.’s logical processes, 71.
Observation, D.’s scientific trait, 6, 14, 19-21; as general trait,
6-8; by women, 8; exclusive, 8; of humanity, 9, 267, 268; of nature,
change in character, 10; ulterior, 11; æsthetic, 11; delight, 12,
38, 148-54; Thoreau, 13; D.’s comments, 15; D.’s general trait,
16; his study of expression, 17-19; D. and accuracy, 21; accuracy
in statement, 22-24; D. and information from others, 19, 23;
mathematical, and instruments, 24; detailed, 25; D.’s industry and
patience, 27-29; need of patience, 29; system, 30, 31; comparison,
31; difficulties and discomforts, 32-34; and sympathy, 34-36; effect
of D.’s physical limitations, 36, 37; knowledge as aid, 38-40; effect
of evolution on, 40-43. _See also_ Deduction; Scientific spirit.
_Origin of Species_, publication, effect, 5, 96; exposition, 63;
revisions, 73, 118; success, 122.
Osborn, H. F., on D.’s observation, 14; on D. and Lamarck, 87; on D.
and criticism, 105; on D.’s change in attitude, 120; on D.’s fame,
124; on D.’s appearance, 168; on ethical effect of evolution, 222.
Owen, Sir Richard, and evolution, 103, 107, 111.
Oxford, Bishop of, attack on evolution, 103.
Pangenesis, D.’s theory, 68.
Parker, G. H., on evolution, 125.
Pascal, Blaise, on man, 275.
Pasteur, Louis, and objections, 72; scientific ardor, 265.
Patience, D.’s, 28; element in scientific spirit, 29, 253.
Pearson, Karl, on D. and imagination, 51.
Pedantry, and scientific spirit, 257.
Perry, R. B., on evolution, 125.
Pessimism, and evolution, 233; Sainte-Beuve’s, 272, 276; Goethe’s,
274.
Philosophy, D. and self-analysis, 16; D. and metaphysics, 69;
evolutionary, 233.
Poetry, D.’s attitude, 146-48; Sainte-Beuve and, 268.
Politics, D. and, 131-33; influence of evolution, 222.
Pragmatism, and evolution, 234.
Prayer, D.’s attitude, 161-63.
Primogeniture, D.’s attitude, 136.
Pugnacity, and scientific spirit, 261.
Realism, as fruit of evolution, 225.
Reason, and instinct, 277-79; as agent of scientific spirit, 279;
evolutionary contradictions, 280, 282; and attainment of truth, 281.
_See also_ Deduction; Scientific spirit.
Religion, D.’s attitude, 156-67; pre-Darwinian theology, 208; and
Copernicus’s speculations, 209; theological effect of evolution,
209; D.’s attitude toward effect, 209-13; ethical standards under
evolution, 213-15, 219; evolution and belief in future life, 215,
216; and belief in God, 216-18, 229; and democracy, 223; evolution
and hell and heaven, 227, 228; fundamentalism, 232, 237, 282;
clerical harmonizing with evolution, 236; scientific harmonizing,
237-39; egocentric _versus_ ethnocentric, 239, 240; persistence, 240;
thirst for God, 285.
Renan, J. E., effect of evolution on, 241.
Research, element in scientific spirit, 250.
Revision, D.’s trait, 73, 118; element in scientific spirit, 255-57.
Royer-Collard, Paul, on facts, 44.
Ruskin, John, on vision of artists, 11.
St.-Hilaire, Auguste, and evolution, 85.
Sainte-Beuve, C. A., observation of humanity, 9, 267, 268; type, 54;
on absorption of interest, 128; and poetry, 148, 268; and scientific
spirit, 266-70; concreteness, 269; on Goethe, 271; pessimism and
sexual immorality, 272-74, 76.
Schelling, F. W. J. von, and evolution, 233.
Scherer, Edmond, on tolerance, 262; on man, 275.
Schopenhauer, Arthur, and evolution, 233.
Scientific spirit, motives of achievements, 96-101, 248, 249;
research, 250; industry, 251-53; patience, 253; caution, 254;
flexibility and impartiality, 255; lack of pedantry, 257-59; and
human nature, 259, 262; humility, 260; tolerance, 261; and pugnacity,
261; appreciation, 263; ardor, 264; illustrations: Sainte-Beuve,
266-70; Goethe, 270, 271; and spiritual blight, 272-76; inadequacy,
277; and instinctive action, 278, 279; reason as agent, 279; and
self-dissection, 279; and self-contradictions, 280; and unattainable
truth, 281-83; and ignorance and hope, 283-85. _See also_ Deduction;
Observation.
Scott, Sir Walter, industry, 252.
Sedgwick, Adam, and D., 205.
Self-dissection, as betrayal of scientific spirit, 279.
Sénancour, É. P. de, on nature, 153; self-dissection, 280.
Sexual selection, D.’s theory, 66, 67.
Shakespeare, William, vitality, 126; D.’s opinion, 147.
Shaw, G. B., and religion and evolution, 237.
Shelley, P. B., and nature, 152.
Sin, effect of evolution on belief, 231.
Slavery, D.’s antipathy, 134.
Smoking, D. and, 182.
Snuff, D.’s indulgence, 183.
Socialism, and evolution, 224.
Society, D. and, 173, 178.
Spencer, Herbert, and ‘survival of the fittest,’ 5, 91; D. on, 47,
78; type, 54; and universal evolution, 121, 219.
Spinoza, Baruch, type, 53.
Spiritualism, and evolution, 238.
Sport, D.’s attitude, 174-76.
Statement, accuracy, 22-24.
Stephen, Leslie, on D., 169.
Sterne, Laurence, on observation, 7; on doing, 277.
Study. _See_ Observation.
Survival of the fittest. Spencer’s term, 5, 91.
Sympathy, and observation, 34-38.
System, D. and, 30, 183.
Theater, D.’s attitude, 139.
Theology. _See_ Religion.
Thoreau, H. D., and observation of nature, 13; on knowledge as aid to
observation, 39; and deduction, 48.
Thrift, self-contradiction, 280.
Tolerance, D.’s trait, 79, 80; element in scientific spirit, 261-63.
Tolstoi, Leo, effect of evolution on, 241.
Torrey, Bradford, on observation, 8.
Truth, instinct as element in scientific spirit, 265, 275; Goethe’s
characteristic, 270; unattainable, 281-83; ignorance and hope,
283-85.
Turner, Sir William, on D. and information, 24.
Twain, Mark, effect of evolution on, 243.
Vivisection, D.’s attitude, 136.
Voltaire, and tolerance, 261; on study, 277.
Wallace, A. R., on collecting, 43; and D.’s sexual-selection theory,
66, 67; and presentation of evolutionary theory, 93, 94; relations
with D., 94, 95; and spiritualism, 238.
Water cure, D.’s subjection to, 181.
Wedgwood, Emma, Mrs. Darwin, 4.
Weisman, August, on deduction, 70; and evolution, 122, 218.
Wells, H. G., and religion and evolution, 237.
Westminster Abbey, D.’s tomb, 6.
White, Gilbert, and nature, 12.
Whitehead, A. N., on D.’s caution, 125; and evolution, 235, 246; on
scientific flexibility, 255.
Wiesner, Julius, courtesy, 262.
Wisdom, and knowledge, 44. _See also_ Deduction.
Wordsworth, William, and nature, 151.
Zola, Émile, as realist, 226, 241.
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 120 Changed: excuses any earlier undue insistance to: excuses any
earlier undue insistence
pg 241 Changed: Nietsche grew into the cloudy and colossal phantom
to: Nietzsche grew into the cloudy and colossal phantom