It is amusing to note the superficial forms of reaction against
scientific positivism. The triumph of Darwin was signalized by the
invention of that happy word Agnostic, which had great vogue. But
agnosticism, as a fashion, was far too reasonable to endure. There came
a rumour of Oriental magic, (how the world repeats itself!) and presently
every one who had nothing better to do gossipped about "esoteric
Buddhism"--the saving adjective sounded well in a drawing-room. It did
not hold very long, even with the novelists; for the English taste this
esotericism was too exotic. Somebody suggested that the old
table-turning and spirit-rapping, which had homely associations, might be
re-considered in a scientific light, and the idea was seized upon.
Superstition pranked in the professor's spectacles, it set up a
laboratory, and printed grave reports. Day by day its sphere widened.
Hypnotism brought matter for the marvel-mongers, and there followed a
long procession of words in limping Greek--a little difficult till
practice had made perfect. Another fortunate terminologist hit upon the
word "psychical"--the _p_ might be sounded or not, according to the taste
and fancy of the pronouncer--and the fashionable children of a scientific
age were thoroughly at ease. "There _must_ be something, you know; one
always felt that there _must_ be something." And now, if one may judge
from what one reads, psychical "science" is comfortably joining hands
with the sorcery of the Middle Ages. It is said to be a lucrative moment
for wizards that peep and that mutter. If the law against
fortune-telling were as strictly enforced in the polite world as it
occasionally is in slums and hamlets, we should have a merry time. But
it is difficult to prosecute a Professor of Telepathy--and how he would
welcome the advertisement!
Of course I know very well that all that make use of these words are not
in one and the same category. There is a study of the human mind, in
health and in disease, which calls for as much respect as any other study
conscientiously and capably pursued; that it lends occasion to fribbles
and knaves is no argument against any honest tendency of thought. Men
whom one cannot but esteem are deeply engaged in psychical
investigations, and have convinced themselves that they are brought into
touch with phenomena inexplicable by the commonly accepted laws of life.
Be it so. They may be on the point of making discoveries in the world
beyond sense. For my own part, everything of this kind not only does not
interest me; I turn from it with the strongest distaste. If every wonder-
story examined by the Psychical Society were set before me with
irresistible evidence of its truth, my feeling (call it my prejudice)
would undergo no change whatever. No whit the less should I yawn over
the next batch, and lay the narratives aside with--yes, with a sort of
disgust. "An ounce of civet, good apothecary!" Why it should be so with
me I cannot say. I am as indifferent to the facts or fancies of
spiritualism as I am, for instance, to the latest mechanical application
of electricity. Edisons and Marconis may thrill the world with
astounding novelties; they astound me, as every one else, but straightway
I forget my astonishment, and am in every respect the man I was before.
The thing has simply no concern for me, and I care not a _volt_ if to-
morrow the proclaimed discovery be proved a journalist's mistake or
invention.
Am I, then, a hidebound materialist? If I know myself, hardly that.
Once, in conversation with G. A., I referred to his position as that of
the agnostic. He corrected me. "The agnostic grants that there _may_ be
something beyond the sphere of man's knowledge; I can make no such
admission. For me, what is called the unknowable is simply the
non-existent. We see what is, and we see all." Now this gave me a sort
of shock; it seemed incredible to me that a man of so much intelligence
could hold such a view. So far am I from feeling satisfied with any
explanation, scientific or other, of myself and of the world about me,
that not a day goes by but I fall a-marvelling before the mystery of the
universe. To trumpet the triumphs of human knowledge seems to me worse
than childishness; now, as of old, we know but one thing--that we know
nothing. What! Can I pluck the flower by the wayside, and, as I gaze at
it, feel that, if I knew all the teachings of histology, morphology, and
so on, with regard to it, I should have exhausted its meanings? What is
all this but words, words, words? Interesting, yes, as observation; but,
the more interesting, so much the more provocative of wonder and of
hopeless questioning. One may gaze and think till the brain whirls--till
the little blossom in one's hand becomes as overwhelming a miracle as the
very sun in heaven. Nothing to be known? The flower simply a flower,
and there an end on't? The man simply a product of evolutionary law, his
senses and his intellect merely availing him to take account of the
natural mechanism of which he forms a part? I find it very hard to
believe that this is the conviction of any human mind. Rather I would
think that despair at an insoluble problem, and perhaps impatience with
those who pretend to solve it, bring about a resolute disregard of
everything beyond the physical fact, and so at length a self-deception
which seems obtuseness.