On presenting to the public a work of this novel character,
overstepping, as it does, the barriers erected by modern systems to the
further progress of knowledge, a few words of explanation may not be
inappropriate. Early imbued with a desire to understand the _causes_ of
natural phenomena, the author devoured with avidity the interpretations
contained in the elementary works of orthodox science, until reason and
observation rendered him dissatisfied with the repast. To him it
appeared that there was an evident tendency in scholastic instruction,
to make the knowledge of nature inaccessible to the many, that the world
might be made more dependent on the few; while many of the _established
principles_, on which the learned rested, seemed to be at variance with
the simplicity and consistency of truth. Thus situated, he ventured to
think for himself, and looking back on the history of the past, and
finding so many cases in which the philosophy of to-day was supplanted
by a different system on the morrow, he was led to suspect the
possibility of future revolutions, and was thus determined to be no
longer embarrassed by previous systems, nor deterred by opinions
however learned, which conflicted with a rational recognition of the
mechanical nature of all physical phenomena.
The science of meteorology, to which the following pages are devoted,
is, and always has been, a confessedly complex subject; and on this
account, any suggestions and facts which observation gleans,--no matter
how humble the source may be, should not be denied a hearing by those
professedly engaged in the pursuit of truth. Step by step, the author
became more and more confirmed in his doubts of the soundness of many
modern theories; and in 1838 he had attained a position which enabled
him to allege in the public prints of the day, that there did exist
certain erroneous dogmas in the schools, which stood in the way of a
fuller development of the causes of many meteorological phenomena. This
annunciation was made in general terms, and no notice was taken of it.
Subsequently, he forwarded to the British Association of Science, then
convened at Birmingham, a communication of similar tenor; and at a later
date still, a more particular statement of the advantages of his
discoveries to the navigator and agriculturist, was sent to the British
admiralty. The first of these communications was treated with silent
contempt; the last elicited some unimportant reply. In 1844 a memorial
was presented to Congress, accompanied with a certified copy of
_predictions_ of the weather, written several weeks before the event,
and attested in due form by two impartial witnesses; but neither did
this result in any inquiry as to its truth. During the time since
elapsed, he has been engaged in pursuits which prevented him from
pressing the subject elsewhere, until the spring of 1853, he brought
his theory under the notice of the Smithsonian Institution. This led to
a correspondence between himself and the gentlemanly Secretary of the
Institution, whose doubts of the truth of his allegations were expressed
with kindness, and whose courtesy was in strange contrast with the
conduct of others. In the communications which he forwarded to that
Institution, he gave a detailed statement of the difficulties he had met
with, and expressed the hope that an Institution, created for the
purpose of increasing and diffusing knowledge, would feel justified in
lending the influence of its name to facilitate the completion of a
theory which was yet undeniably imperfect. In view of this, a test was
proposed.[1] "Give us, for example, a prediction of the weather for one
month in each season of the year 1854, for the City of Washington." This
test the author refused, for the reason that he did not consider it
necessary to wait so long; but he informed the Secretary of the
Institution, that he would prepare an outline of his theory, which would
enable him to decide upon the merits of the discoveries claimed. This
outline is contained in the following pages. During the summer of 1853
he called upon Professor Henry, then at Chicago, with his manuscript;
but a sudden indisposition prevented that gentleman from having it read.
He, however, strongly recommended its publication from such impressions
he then received.[2] This the author had resolved on, from a sense of
duty to the world at large, although the promise was rather of
prospective loss than of present benefit. The peculiar form under which
the theory appears, is, therefore, a result of the circumstances above
stated, and of the author's present inability to enter into the minute
details of a subject, which embraces in its range the whole visible
creation.
In extending the theory to other phenomena, he has only fearlessly
followed out the same principles which have conducted him to a knowledge
of a disturbing cause, to which atmospheric storms owe their origin, and
in doing so he has conferred with no one. For whatever of merit or of
blame may therefore justly attach to these views, he alone is
responsible. If he has charged the scientific with inconsistency, or
with sometimes forgetting that the truth of their unnecessarily abstruse
investigations depends on the truth of the data, he at least is
conscientious; for he is too well aware that to provoke an unfavorable
verdict by contending against such fearful odds, is not the surest way
to either wealth or fame, or even to an acknowledgment of at least _the
mite_, which he cannot but feel that he has contributed to the treasury
of knowledge. That the scientific organisations of the day do tend to
curb the aberrations of a fanciful philosophy, cannot be denied; but at
the same time there is engendered such a slavish subordination as checks
the originality of thought, and destroys that perfect freedom from the
trammels of system, so necessary to success in the pursuit of truth. Of
such an influence the author explicitly asserts his entire independence.
In thus introducing his theory, the reader is forewarned that he will
not find it dressed in the fascinating garb of the popular literature of
the day, whose chief characteristic is to promise much when possessing
little. It is, however, a plant of the author's own raising, unpropped,
unpruned, with none of the delicate tendrils or graceful festoons of the
trellissed vine; yet he flatters himself that its roots are watered by
the springs of truth, and hopes that he who is in quest of _that_, will
not find, amidst its many clusters, any fruit to set his teeth on
edge.