draughts of the marvellous: time confirmed him in his opinions, and he
passed his conjectures from race to race, for realities; a tyrannical
power maintained him in his notions, because by those alone could
society be enslaved. It was in vain, that some faint glimmerings of
Nature occasionally attempted, the recall of his reason; that slight
corruscations of experience sometimes threw his darkness into light; the
interest of the few was bottomed on his enthusiasm; their pre-eminence
depended on his love of the wonderful; their very existence rested on
the solidity of his ignorance they consequently suffered no opportunity
to escape, of smothering even the lambent flame. The many were thus
first deceived into credulity, then coerced into submission. At length,
the whole science of man became a confused mass of darkness, falsehood,
and contradictions, with here and there a feeble ray of truth, furnished
by that Nature of which he can never entirely divest himself, because,
without his knowledge, his necessities are continually bringing him back
to her resources."
Having stated that by "nature" he means the "great whole," our author
complains of those who assert that matter is senseless, inanimate,
unintelligent, etc., and says, "Experience proves to us that the matter
which we regard as inert or dead, assumes action, intelligence, and
life, when it is combined in a certain way:"--
"If flour be wetted with water, and the mixture closed up, it will be
found, after some little lapse of time, by the aid of a microscope, to
have produced organized beings that enjoy life, of which the water and
the flour were believed incapable: it is thus that inanimate matter can
pass into life, or animate matter, which is in itself only an assemblage
of motion. Reasoning from analogy, which the philosophers of the present
day hold perfectly compatible, the production of a man, independent of
the ordinary means, would not be more marvellous than that of an insect
with flour and water. Fermentation and putrefaction evidently produce
living animals. We have here the principle; with proper materials,
principles can always be brought into action. That generation which is
styled _equivocal_ is only so for those who do not reflect, or who
do not permit themselves, attentively, to observe the operations of
Nature."
This passage is much ridiculed by Voltaire, who asserts that it is
founded on some experiments made by one Needham, who placed some
rye-meal in well-corked bottles, and some boiled mutton gravy in other
bottles, and found that eels were produced in each. We do not know
sufficient of the history of Needham's experiments, either to affirm or
deny their authenticity, but we feel bound to remind our readers of
the much-decried experiments conducted by Mr. Crosse, and which were
afterwards verified by Mr. Weekes, of Sandwich. In these cases, insects
were produced by the action of a powerful voltaic battery upon a
saturated solution of silicate of potash, and upon ferro cyanuret
of potassium. The insects were a species of acarus, minute and
semi-transparent, and furnished with long bristles, which could only be
seen by the aid of the microscope. The sixth chapter treats of man, and
the author thus answers the question, "What is man?":--
"We say he is a material being, organized after a peculiar manner,
conformed to a certain mode of thinking, of feeling, capable of
modification in certain modes peculiar to himself, to his organization,
to that particular combination of matter which is found assembled in
him. If again it be asked, What origin we give to beings of the human
species? We reply, that like all other beings, man is a production of
nature, who resembles them in some respects, and finds himself submitted
to the same laws; who differs from them in other respects, and follows
particular laws determined by the diversity of his conformation. If then
it be demanded, Whence came man? We answer, our experience on this
head does not capacitate us to resolve the question; but that it cannot
interest us, as it suffices for us to know that man exists, that he is
so constituted as to be competent to the effects we witness."
In the seventh chapter the author, treating of the soul and spirit
says:--
"The doctrine of spirituality, such as it now exists, offers nothing
but vague ideas, or, rather, is the absence of all ideas. What does it
present to the mind but a substance which possesses nothing of which our
senses enable us to have a knowledge? Can it be truth, that man is able
to figure to himself a being not material, having neither extent nor
parts; which, nevertheless, acts upon matter without having any point
of contact, any kind of analogy with it; and which itself receives the
impulse of matter by means of material organs, which announce to it the
presence of other beings? Is it possible to conceive the union of the
soul with the body; to comprehend how this material body can bind,
enclose, constrain, determine a fugitive being, which escapes all our
senses? Is it honest, is it plain dealing, to solve these difficulties,
by saying there is a mystery in them, that they are the effects of a
power more inconceivable than the human soul, than its mode of acting,
however concealed from our view? When to resolve these problems, man is
obliged to have recourse to miracles, to make the Divinity interfere,
does he not avow his own ignorance? When notwithstanding the ignorance
he is thus obliged to avow by availing himself of the divine agency,
he tells us, this immaterial substance, this soul, shall experience the
action of the element of fire, which he allows to be material; when
he confidently says, this soul shall be burnt; shall suffer in
purgatory--have we not a right to believe, that either he has a design
to deceive us, or else that he does not himself understand that which he
is so anxious we shall take upon his word?"
The ninth chapter, after treating of the diversity of the intellectual
faculties, proceeds, "Man at his birth brings with him into the world
nothing but the necessity of conserving himself, of rendering his
existence happy; instruction, examples, the custom of the world, present
him with the means, either real or imaginary, of achieving it; habit
procures for him the facility of employing these means:"--
"In order that man may become virtuous, it is absolutely requisite that
he should have an interest, that he should find advantages in practicing
virtue. For this end, it is necessary that education should implant in
him reasonable ideas; that public opinion should lean towards virtue, as
the most desirable good; that example should point it out as the object
most worthy of esteem; that government should faithfully recompense,
should regularly reward it; that honor should always accompany its
practice; that vice should constantly be despised; that crime should
invariably be punished. Is virtue in this situation amongst men!
Does the education of man infuse into him just, faithful ideas of
happiness--true notions of virtue---dispositions really favorable to the
beings with whom he is to live? The examples spread before him, are
they suitable to innocence of manners? Are they calculated to make him
respect decency, to cause him to love probity, to practice honesty,
to value good faith, to esteem equity, to revere conjugal fidelity,
to observe exactitude in fulfilling his duties? Religion, which alone
pretends to regulate his manners, does it render him sociable? does
it make him pacific? does it teach him to be humane? The arbiters, the
sovereigns of society, are they faithful in recompensing punctual in
rewarding, those who have best served their country, in punishing
those who have pillaged, who have robbed, who have plundered, who have
divided, who have ruined it? Justice, does she hold her scales with
a firm, with an even hand, between all the citizens of the state? The
laws, do they never support the strong against the weak, favor the rich
against the poor, uphold the happy against the miserable? In short, is
it an uncommon spectacle to behold crime frequently justified, often
applauded, sometimes crowned with success, insolently triumphing,
arrogantly striding over that merit which it disdains, over that virtue
which it outrages? Well, then, in societies thus constituted, virtue
can only be heard by a very small number of peaceable citizens, a few
generous souls, who know how to estimate its value, who enjoy it in
secret. For the others, it is only a disgusting object; they see in
it nothing but the supposed enemy to their happiness, or the censor of
their individual conduct."
In the tenth chapter, which is upon the soul, the author says:--
"The diversity in the temperament of man, is natural, the necessary
source of the diversity of passions, of his taste, of his ideas of
happiness, of his opinions of every kind. Thus this same diversity
will be the fatal source of his disputes--of his hatreds--of his
injustice--every time he shall reason upon unknown objects, but to which
he shall attach the greatest importance. He will never understand either
himself or others, in speaking of a spiritual soul, or of immaterial
substances distinguished from nature; he will, from that moment, cease
to speak the same language, and he will never attach the same ideas to
the same words. What then shall be the common standard that shall decide
which is the man that thinks with the greatest justice?
"Propose to a man to change his religion for yours, he will believe you
a madman; you will only excite his indignation, elicit his contempt; he
will propose to you, in his turn, to adopt his own peculiar opinions;
after much reasoning, you will treat each other as absurd beings,
ridiculously opinionated, pertinaciously stubborn; and he will display
the least folly who shall first yield. But if the adversaries become
heated in the dispute, which always happens, when they suppose the
matter important, or when they would defend the cause of their own
self-love, from thence their passions sharpen, they grow angry, quarrels
are provoked, they hate each other, and end by reciprocal injury. It
is thus that for opinions, which no man can demonstrate, we see the
Brachman despised; the Mahomedan hated; the Pagan held in contempt; that
they oppress and disdain each with the most raucorous animosity: the
Christian burns the Jew at what is called an _Auto-da-fe_, because he
clings to the faith of his fathers; the Roman Catholic condemns the
Protestant to the flames, and makes a conscience of massacreing(sp.) him
in cold blood; this re-acts in his turn; sometimes the various sects
of Christians league together against the incredulous Turk, and for
a moment suspend their own bloody disputes that they may chastise the
enemies to the true faith: then, having glutted their revenge, return
with redoubied fury, to wreak over again their infuriated vengeance on
each other."
The thirteenth chapter argues as follows, against the doctrine of the
immortality of the soul and a future state:--
"In old age, man extinguishes entirely, his fibres become rigid, his
nerves lose their elasticity, his senses are obtunded, his sight grows
dim, his ears lose their quickness, his ideas become unconnected, his
memory fails, his imagination cools,--what, then, becomes of his soul.
Alas! it sinks down with the body, it gets benumbed as this loses its
feeling, becomes sluggish as this decays in activity; like it, when
enfeebled by years, it fulfils its functions with pain; this substance,
which is deemed spiritual, which is considered immaterial, which it is
endeavored to distinguish from matter, undergoes the same revolutions,
experiences the same vicissitudes, submits to the name modifications as
does the body itself. In despite of this proof of the materiality of the
soul, of its identity with the body so convincing to the unprejudiced,
some thinkers have supposed that although the latter is perishable, the
former does not perish; that this portion of man enjoys the especial
privilege of immortality; that it is exempt from dissolution; free from
those changes of form all the beings in nature undergo: in consequence
of this, man is persuaded himself that this privileged soul does not
die.
"It will be asked, perhaps, by what road has man been conducted to form
to himself gratuitous ideas of another world. I reply, that it is a
truth man has no idea of a future life; they are the ideas of the past
and the present, that furnish his imagination with the materials of
which he constructs the edifice of the regions of futurity. Hobbes says,
'We believe that, that which is will always be, and that the same causes
will have the same effects.' Man in his actual state has two modes
of feeling--one, that he approves; another, that he disapproves: thus
persuaded that these two modes of feeling must accompany him even
beyond his present existence, he placed in the regions of eternity two
distinguished abodes; one destined to felicity; the other to misery: the
one must contain those who obey the calls of superstition, who believe
in its dogmas; the other is a prison, destined to avenge the cause
of heaven on all those who shall not faithfully believe the doctrines
promulgated by the ministers of a vast variety of superstitions. Has
sufficient attention been paid to the fact that results as a necessary
consequence from this reasoning; which on examination will be found
to have rendered the first place entirely useless, seeing, that by
the number and contradiction of these various systems, let man believe
whichever he may, let him follow it in the most faithful manner, still
he must be ranked as an Infidel, as a rebel to the divinity; because
he cannot believe in all; and those from which he dissents, by a
consequence of their own creed, condemn him to the prison-house?--Such
is the origin of the ideas upon a future life, so diffused among
mankind. Everywhere may be seen an Elysium, and a Tartarus, a Paradise
and a Hell; in a word, two distinguished abodes, constructed according
to the imagination of the enthusiasts who have invented them; who have
accommodated them to their own peculiar prejudices, to the hopes, to the
fears of the people who believe in them. The Indian figures the first of
these abodes as one of inaction, of permanent repose, because, being the
inhabitant of a hot climate, he has learned to contemplate rest as the
extreme of felicity: the Mussulman promises himself corporeal pleasures,
similar to those that actually constitute the object of his research in
this life: each figures to himself that on which he has learned to set
the greatest value."
"As for the miserable abode of souls, the imagination of fanatics,
who were desirous of governing the people, strove to assemble the most
frightful images to render it still more terrible; fire is of all things
that which produces in man the most pungent sensation; not finding
anything more cruel, the enemies to the several dogmas were to be
everlastingly punished with this torturing element: fire, therefore, was
the point at which their imagination was obliged to stop; the ministers
of the various systems agreed pretty generally, that fire would one day
avenge their offended divinities; thus, they painted the victims to the
anger of the gods, or rather those who questioned their own creeds,
as confined in fiery dungeons; as perpetually rolling into a vortex of
bituminous flames; as plunged in unfathomable gulfs of liquid sulphur;
making the infernal caverns resound with their useless groanings, with
their unavailing gnashing of teeth. But it will, perhaps, be inquired,
how could man reconcile himself to the belief of an existence
accompanied with eternal torments; above all, as many according to their
own superstitions had reason to fear it for themselves--Many causes
have concurred to make him adopt so revolting an opinion: in the first
place, very few thinking men have ever believed such an absurdity,
when they have deigned to make use of their reason; or, when they have
accredited it, this notion was always counterbalanced by the idea of
the goodness, by a reliance on the mercy, which they attributed to their
respective divinities: in the second place, those who were blinded by
their fears never rendered to themselves any account of these strange
doctrines which they either received with awe from their legislators,
or which were transmitted to them by their fathers; in the third place,
each sees the object of his terrors only at a favorable distance;
moreover, superstition promises him the means of escaping the tortures
he believes he has merited."
We conclude by quoting the following eloquent passage:--
"Oh! Nature! sovereign of all beings! and ye, her adorable daughters,
Virtue, Reason, and Truth! remain forever our reverend protectors. It is
to you that belong the praises of the human race; to you appertains the
homage of the earth. Show us, then, oh! Nature! that which man ought
to do, in order to obtain the happiness which thou makest him
desire.--Virtue! animate him with thy beneficent fire! Reason! conduct
his uncertain steps through the paths of life. Truth! let thy torch
illumine his intellect, dissipate the darkness of his road.... Banish
error from our mind, wickedness from our hearts, confusion from our
footsteps. Cause knowledge to extend its salubrious reign, goodness to
occupy our souls, serenity to dwell in our bosoms.... Let our eyes,
so long either dazzled or blindfolded, be at length fixed upon those
objects we ought to seek. Dispel forever those mists of ignorance, those
hideous phantoms, together with those seducing chimeras, which only
serve to lead us astray. Extricate us from that dark abyss into which
we are plunged by superstition, overthrow the fatal empire of delusion,
crumble the throne of falsehood, wrest from their polluted hands the
power they have usurped."
ROBERT TAYLOR.
Many of the readers of this number will, from their own memories, be
better able to do justice to him, whom Henry Hunt named "The Devil's
Chaplain," than we shall in our limited space. Robert Taylor was born at
Edmonton, in the county of Middlesex, on the 18th of August, 1784.
His family was highly respectable, and his parents were in affluent
circumstances; but, being a younger son in a family of eleven children,
it was necessary that Robert Taylor should follow some profession. His
father died when he was about seven years old, leaving him under the
guardianship of a paternal uncle. When seventeen years of age, he was
apprenticed to a surgeon, at Birmingham, and studied medicine afterwards
under Sir Astley Cooper and Mr. Clive, passing the College of Surgeons
with considerable _eclat_. When about twenty-three, he became acquainted
with the Rev. Thomas Cotterell, a clergyman of the Established Church,
of high evangelical principles, who induced him to quit physic for
metaphysics, and in 1809 Robert Taylor entered Saint John's College,
Cambridge, and in 1813 took his degree of Bachelor of Arts. He was
publicly complimented by the Master of the College as a singular honor
to the University in his scholarship, and was ordained on the 14th of
March, 1813, by the bishop of Chichester; from that time until 1818,
Taylor officiated as curate at Midhurst. Here he became acquainted with
a person named Ayling who held Deistical opinions, and who induced
Taylor to read various Free-thinking works; this soon resulted in an
avowal of Deism on the part of Taylor, who tendered his resignation to
his Bishop. His friends and family were much alarmed, and much pressure
was brought to bear upon him, and we regret to state that it had the
effect of producing a temporary recantation. This, however, brought
Taylor no relief; he found himself in distress, and shunned by his
family. Through the kindness of an old friend, he obtained the curacy of
Yardley, near Birmingham, but his previous apostacy having reached the
ears of the Bishop, the necessary license was refused, and the rector
received a peremptory notice to dismiss Taylor. This harsh treatment
caused a reaction, and while the rector sought another curate, Taylor
preached a series of sermons, by means of which he shook the faith of
nearly the whole of his congregation. The following is an abstract of
his last sermon at Yardley:--
"The text was, 'For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the
whale's belly, so shall the son of man be three days and three nights in
the heart of the earth.'--Matt, xii., 40. He began, 'Then this glorious
miracle of the man having been swallowed alive by a fish, and remaining
alive for seventy-two hours, undigested and unhurt, in the fish's
bowels, and being vomited up unhurt and safe upon the dry land, was as
true as the gospel; and consequently the gospel was as true, but not
more true, than this sea-sick miracle. He inferred that no person could
have a right to pretend to believe in the death and resurrection of
Christ, who had the least doubt as to the reality of the deglutition and
evomition of the prophet Jonah. As to the natural improbabilities and
physical impossibilities of this very wonderful Bible miracle, these
were nothing in the way of a true and lively faith. Where miracles of
any sort were concerned, there could be no distinction into the greater
and the less, since infinite power was as necessary to the reality of
the least as to the greatest. We should never forget that it was the
Lord who prepared the fish, and prepared him for the express purpose of
swallowing the man, and probably gave him a little opening physic, to
cleanse the apartment for the accommodation of its intended tenant; and
had the purpose been, that the whole ship and all the crew should have
been swallowed as well as he, there's no doubt that they could have been
equally well accommodated. But as to what some wicked Infidels objected,
about the swallow of the whale being too narrow to admit the passage of
the man, it only required a little stretching, and even a herring or
a sprat might have gulped him. He enlarged, most copiously, on the
circumstance of the Lord speaking to the fish, in order to cause him to
vomit; and insisted on the natural efficacy of the Lord, which was
quite enough to make anybody sick. He pointed out the many interesting
examples of faith and obedience which had been set by the scaly race,
who were not only at all times easy to be caught in the gospel net, when
thrown over them by the preaching of the word, but were always ready to
surrender their existence to the Almighty, whenever he pleased to drop
'em a line. That as the first preachers of the gospel were fishermen,
so the preachers of the gospel, to this day, might truly be said to
be looking after the loaves and fishes, and they who, as the Scripture
says, are 'wise to catch soles,' speak to them for no other purpose than
that for which the Lord spake unto the whale--that is, to ascertain how
much they can swallow. The moral of this pungent persiflage, aimed
to admonish the proud and uncharitable believer, who expected his
acceptance with the deity on the score of his credulity, that when his
credulity was fairly put to trial, it might be found that he was in
reality as far from believing what he did not take to be true as the
most honest and avowed Infidel. 'Thou then who wouldst put a trick
upon infinite wisdom, and preferest the imagined merit of a weak
understanding to the real utility of an honest heart--thou who wouldst
'Compound for sins thou art inclined to,
By damning those thou hast no mind to;'
hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? Thou believest only that
which seemeth to thee to be true; what does the Atheist less? And that
which appeareth to be a lie thou rejectest; what does the Atheist more?
Can we think that God has given us reason only to betray us, and made
us so much superior to the brute creation, only to deal with us so much
worse than they, to punish us for making the best use we could of the
faculties he has given us, and to make the very excellence of our nature
the cause of our damnation?'"