occupied in revising some of his mathematical text-books; in drawing up
a Report on Mineralogy for the British Association, described as ‘an
example of the unrivalled power with which he mastered a subject with
which his previous studies had had but little connexion’; and in writing
one of the Bridgewater Treatises, a work which, with most men, would
have been enough to occupy them fully during the whole of the three
years which had elapsed since the President of the Royal Society had
selected him as one of the eight writers who should carry out the
intentions of the Earl of Bridgewater. The subject of his treatise is
_Astronomy and General Physics considered with reference to Natural
Theology_. It is one of Whewell’s most thoughtful and justly celebrated
works, on which he must have bestowed much time. During the intervals,
however, of its composition, he had not only written the reviews we have
mentioned, and others also, to which we can only allude, but had
commenced those researches on the Tides, which are embodied in no fewer
than fourteen memoirs in the Transactions of the Royal Society, and for
which he afterwards received the Royal Medal. No wonder that even he
began to feel overworked, and resigned the Professorship of Mineralogy
early in the year. He writes to his friend Mr Jones, whom he was always
striving to inspire with some of his own restless activity of thought
and composition:
‘I am plunging into term-work, hurried and distracted as usual; the only
comfort is the daily perception of what I have gained by giving up the
Professorship. If I can work myself free so as to have a little command
of my own time, I think I shall be wiser in future than to mortgage it
so far. Quiet reflexion is as necessary as fresh air, and I can scarcely
get a breath of it.’
His friend must have smiled as he read this, for he probably knew what
such resolutions were worth. Whewell might have said, with Lord Byron—
‘I make
A vow of reformation every spring,
And break it when the summer comes about’;
for, notwithstanding these promises and many others like them, we shall
find that in future years he took upon himself a greater rather than a
less amount of work, which he did not merely _get through_ in a
perfunctory fashion, but discharged with a thoroughness as rare as it is
marvellous.
The Bridgewater Treatise appeared in 1833, a year in which he delivered
an address to the British Association, at its meeting at Cambridge;
contributed a paper _On the Use of Definitions_ to the Philological
Museum; and increased his stock of architectural and geological
knowledge by tours with Messrs Rickman, Sedgwick, and Airy. He was now
generally recognized as the first authority on scientific language; and
we find Professor Faraday deferring to him on the nomenclature of
electricity. In 1834 he invented an _anemometer_, or instrument for
measuring the force and direction of the wind; it was employed for some
time at York, by Professor Phillips, but has since been superseded by
more convenient contrivances.
The real meaning of his longing for leisure soon became manifest. In
July 1834 he expounds to his friend Mr Jones the plan of the _History
and Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_, which he was prosecuting
vigorously. This great work occupied him, _almost_ to the exclusion of
other matters, for the whole of 1835 and 1836. We say _almost_, because,
even at this time, with his usual habit of taking up some new subject
just before he had completed an extensive labour on an old one, he was
beginning to study systematic morality, and in 1835 published a preface
to Sir James Mackintosh’s _Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical
Philosophy_, a subject which he further considered in 1837, when he
preached before the University _Four Sermons on the Foundation of
Morals_. In this year he succeeded Mr Lyell as President of the
Geological Society, an office which must have been given to him rather
in recognition of his general scientific attainments and the work he had
done in the kindred science of mineralogy, than on account of any
special publications on geology. He seems to have made an excellent
President. Sir Charles Lyell[4] speaks of him with enthusiasm, and
points out his sacrifices of time, not only in attending the meetings of
the Society, but in supervising the details of its organization. The
extra work which the office involved is thus described in a letter to
his sister, dated November 18, 1837:
‘My old complaint of being overwhelmed with business, especially at this
time of year, is at present, I think, rather more severe than ever. For,
besides all my usual employments, I have to go to London two days every
fortnight as President of the Geological Society, and am printing a book
which I have not yet written, so that I am obliged often to run as fast
as I can to avoid the printers riding over me, so close are they at my
heels. I am, in addition to all this, preaching a course of sermons
before the University; but this last employment, though it takes time
and thought, rather sobers and harmonizes my other occupations than adds
anything to my distraction.’
In this same year (1837) the _History of the Inductive Sciences_ was
published, to be followed in less than three years by the _Philosophy_
of the same. This encyclopædic publication—for the two books must be
considered together—marks the conclusion of that part of his life which
had been devoted, in the main, to pure science; and it gives the reason
for his having thrown himself into occupations so diverse. It was not
his habit to write on that which he had not completely mastered; and he
therefore thought, wrote, and published on most of the separate sciences
while tracing their history and developing their philosophy.
In this rapid sketch we have not been able to do more than indicate the
principal works which Whewell had had in hand. It must not be forgotten
that at the same time he was engaged in a large and ever-increasing
correspondence; writing letters—which, as he used to say himself, ought
to be ‘postworthy’—not merely to scientific men, as we know from Mr
Todhunter’s book, but—as we now know from Mrs Stair Douglas—to his
sisters and other ladies, on all sorts of subjects which he thought
would interest them. Then he was a wide reader, as is proved by notes he
made on the books which he had read from 1817 to 1830: ‘books in almost
all the languages of Europe; histories of all countries, ancient or
modern; treatises on all sciences, moral and physical. Among the notes
is an epitome of Kant’s _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, a work which
exercised a marked influence on all his speculations in mental
philosophy.’ Whatever he read, he read thoroughly. Mr Todhunter
illustrates this by a story given on the authority of one of his oldest
friends. He was found reading Henry Taylor’s _Philip van Artevelde_,
which then had just appeared. Not content with the poem alone, however,
he had Froissart by his side, and was carefully comparing the modern
drama with the ancient chronicle. Lastly—and we put the subject we are
now about to mention last, not because it was least, but because it was,
or ought to have been, the most important of all his occupations—he held
the office of tutor of one of the three _sides_, as they were called,
into which Trinity College was then divided, first alone, and next in
conjunction with Mr Perry, from 1823 to 1838.
At that time the College was far smaller than it is at present, and a
tutor was able, if he chose, to see much more of his pupils, to form
some appreciation of their tastes and capacities, and personally to
direct their studies. A man who combines the varied qualities which a
thoroughly good tutor ought to possess is not readily found. It is a
question of natural fitness rather than of training. In the first place,
he must be content to forego all other occupations, and to be at the
beck and call of his pupils and their parents whenever they may choose
to come to him. Secondly, he must never forget that the dull, the idle,
and the vicious demand even more care and time than the clever and the
industrious. It may seem almost superfluous to mention that nothing
which concerns his pupils must be beneath his notice. Petty details
which concern their daily life, their rooms, their bills, their domestic
relations, their amusements, have all to be referred to the tutor; and
the most trivial of these may not seldom be of the greatest importance
in giving occasion for exercising influence or administering advice. We
are sorry to have to admit that Whewell was hardly so successful as he
ought to have been in discharging these arduous duties. The period of
his tutorship was, as we have shown, precisely that during which he was
most occupied with his private studies; he threw his energies into them,
and disposed of his College work in a perfunctory fashion. His letters
are full of such passages as: ‘I have got an infinitude of that trifling
men call business on my hands’; ‘During the last term I have been almost
too busy either to write or read. I took upon myself a number of
employments which ate up almost every moment of the day’; and the like;
and his delight at having transferred the financial part of the work to
his colleague Mr Perry, in 1833, was unbounded. The result was
inevitable; he could not give the requisite time to his pupils, and, in
fact, hardly knew some of them by sight. A story used to be current
about him which is so amusing that we think it will bear repeating. We
do not vouch for its accuracy; but we think that it would hardly have
passed current had it not been felt to be applicable. One day he gave
his servant a list of names of certain of his pupils whom he wished to
see at a wine-party after Hall, a form of entertainment then much in
fashion. Among the names was that of an undergraduate who had died some
weeks before. ‘Mr Smith, sir; why he died last term, sir!’ objected the
man. ‘You ought to tell me when my pupils die,’ replied the tutor
sternly; and Whewell could be stern when he was vexed. Again, his
natural roughness of manner was regarded by the undergraduates as
indicating want of sympathy. They thought he wanted to get rid of them
and their affairs as quickly as possible. Those who understood him
better knew that he was really a warm-hearted friend; and we have seen
that with his private pupils he had been exceedingly popular; but those
who came only occasionally into contact with him regarded him with fear,
not with affection. On the other hand, he was inflexibly just, whatever
gossip or malevolence may have urged to the contrary. He had no
favourites. No influence of any kind could make him swerve from the
lofty standard of right which he had prescribed for himself.
* * * * *
We left Whewell completing the _Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_;
and for the future we shall find him turning his attention
exclusively—so far as he could be said to do anything exclusively—to
Moral Philosophy. In 1838 he was elected to the Knightbridge
Professorship, founded in 1677 by the Rev. John Knightbridge, who
directed his Professor of ‘Moral Theology or Casuistical Divinity,’ as
he termed it, to read five lectures in the Public Schools in every term,
and, at the end of it, to deliver them, fairly written out, to the
Vice-Chancellor. Various pains and penalties were enjoined against those
who failed to perform these duties; but, notwithstanding, the office had
remained a sinecure for more than a century; indeed we are doubtful
whether it had ever been anything else. The suggestion that Whewell
should become a candidate for it was made by his old friend, Dr Worsley,
Master of Downing, who was Vice-Chancellor in that year, and, by virtue
of his office, one of the electors. Whewell determined to inaugurate a
new era, and at once commenced a course of lectures, which were
regularly continued in subsequent years. We have seen that he had
prepared himself for these pursuits by previous studies; and his letters
show that he had made up his mind to devote himself to them for some
years to come. In 1845 he produced his _Elements of Morality_, wherein
the subject is treated systematically; and subsequently he wrote, or
edited, works devoted to special parts of it, as _Lectures on the
History of Moral Philosophy in England_; _Grotius de Jure Belli et
Pacis_; and the _Platonic Dialogues for English Readers_. The permanent
influence which Grotius exercised upon his mind is marked by his
munificent foundation of a Professorship and Scholarships in
International Law, in connexion with two additional courts for Trinity
College, one of which was built during his life-time, while for the
other funds were provided by his Will. The most sober-minded of men may
sometimes be a visionary; and the motto _Paci sacrum_, which Whewell
placed on the western façade of his new buildings, would seem to prove
that he seriously believed that his foundation would put an end to war,
and inaugurate ‘a federation of the world.’
As time went on, and Whewell approached his fiftieth year, he began to
feel that ‘College rooms are no home for declining years.’ His friends
were leaving, or had left; he did not make new ones; and he was
beginning to lead a life of loneliness which was very oppressive to him.
In 1840 he thought seriously of taking a College living, but his friend
Mr Hare dissuaded him; and the letters that passed between them on this
subject are among the most interesting in Mrs Stair Douglas’ volume. In
1841 he made up his mind to settle in Cambridge as a married man, with
his Professorship and his ethical studies as an employment. The lady of
his choice was Miss Cordelia Marshall. They were married on October 12,
1841, and on the very same day, Dr Wordsworth, Master of Trinity, wrote
to him at Coniston, where he was spending his honeymoon, announcing his
intention of resigning, ‘in the earnest _desire_, _hope_, and _trust_,
that _you_ may be, and _will_ be, my successor.’ The news, which seems
to have been quite unexpected, spread rapidly among the small circle of
Whewell’s intimate friends; and succeeding posts brought letters from Dr
Worsley and others, urging him ‘not to linger in his hymeneal Elysium,’
but to go up to London at once, and solicit the office from the Prime
Minister, Sir Robert Peel. Dr Whewell describes himself as ‘vehemently
disturbed’; most probably he was unwilling to comply with what seems to
us to have been extraordinary advice. He did comply, however, and went
to London, where he found a letter from Sir Robert, offering him the
Mastership. It is pleasant to be able to record that the offer was made
spontaneously, before any solicitations had reached the Minister.
Whewell accepted it on October 18; had an interview with Sir Robert on
the 19th; returned to Coniston by the night mail; and on the 23rd
(according to Mr Todhunter) had sufficiently recovered from his
excitement to sit down to compose the first lecture of a new course on
Moral Philosophy.
The appointment was felt to be a good one, though it must be admitted
that there were dissentient voices. It was notorious that Dr Wordsworth
had resigned soon after the fall of Lord Melbourne’s administration, in
order to prevent the election of either Dean Peacock or Professor
Sedgwick, both of whom were very popular with the Fellows. The feeling
in College, therefore, was rather against the new Master than with him.
Nor was he personally popular. We now know, from the letters which, in
reply to congratulations, he wrote to Lord Lyttelton, Bishop Thirlwall,
Mr Hare, and others, how diffident he was of his fitness for the office,
and how anxious to discharge its high duties becomingly. Mr Hare had
evidently been giving advice with some freedom, as was his wont, for
Whewell replies:
‘I perceive and feel the value of the advice you give me, and I have no
wish, I think, either to deny or to defend the failings you point out.
In a person holding so eminent a station as mine will be, everything
impatient and overbearing is of course quite out of place; and though it
may cost me some effort, my conviction of this truth is so strong that I
think it cannot easily lose its hold. As to my love of disputation, I do
not deny that it has been a great amusement to me; but I find it to be
so little of an amusement to others that I should have to lay down my
logical cudgels for the sake of good manners alone.’
The writer of these sentences was far too straightforward not to have
meant every word that he wrote; and we feel sure that he tried to carry
out his good intentions. We are compelled, however, to admit that he
failed. He _was_ impatient and he _was_ overbearing; or he was thought
to be so, which, so far as his success as a Master went, came to the
same thing. He had lived so long as a bachelor among bachelors—giving
and receiving thrusts in argument, like a pugilist in a fair fight—that
he had become somewhat pachydermatous. It is probable, too, that he was
quite ignorant of the weight of his own blows. He forgot those he
received, and expected his antagonist to have an equally short memory.
Again, the high view which he took of his position as Master laid him
open to the charge of arrogance. We believe the true explanation to be
that he was too conscientious, if such a phrase be admissible; too
inflexible in exacting from others the same strict obedience to College
rules which he imposed upon himself. There are two ways, however, of
doing most things; and he was unlucky in nearly always choosing the
wrong one. For instance, his hospitality was boundless; whenever
strangers came to Cambridge, they were entertained at Trinity Lodge;
and, besides, there were weekly parties at which the residents were
received. The rooms are spacious, and the welcome was intended to be a
warm one; but the parties were not successful. Even at those social
gatherings he never forgot that he was Master; compelling all his guests
to come in their gowns, and those who came only after dinner to wear
them during the entire evening. Then an idea became current that no
undergraduate might sit down. So far as this notion was not wholly
erroneous, it was based on the evident fact that the great drawing-room,
large as it is, could not contain more than a very limited number of
guests, supposing them all to sit; and that the undergraduates were
obviously those who ought to stand. A strong feeling against anybody,
however, resembles a popular panic; argument is powerless against it;
and the victim of it must be content to wait until his persecutors are
weary with fault-finding. In Dr Whewell’s case it seemed to matter very
little what he did, or what he left undone; he was sure to give offence.
The inscription commemorating himself on the restored oriel window of
the Lodge[5]; the motto, _Lampada tradam_, which he adopted for his
arms; his differences with Her Majesty’s judges about their
entertainment at the Lodge; his attempts to stop the disorderly
interruptions of undergraduates in the Senate House; and a hundred other
similar matters, were all made occasions for unfavourable comment both
in and out of College. The comic literature of the day not unfrequently
alluded to him as the type of the College Don and the University Snob;
and in 1847, when he actively promoted the election of the Prince
Consort as Chancellor, a letter in the _Times_ newspaper, signed
‘Junius,’ informed Prince Albert that he had been made ‘the victim
chiefly of one man of notoriously turbulent character and habits. Ask
how HE is received by the University whenever he appears,’ &c.; and a
second letter, signed ‘Anti-Junius,’ affecting to reply to these
aspersions, described in ironical language, with infinite humour, ‘the
retiring modesty, the unfeigned humility, the genuine courtesy’ of the
‘honoured and beloved Whewell[6].’ We are happy to be able to say that
he outlived much of this obloquy; his temper grew gradually softer—a
change due partly to age, partly to the genial influence of both his
wives; and before the end came he had achieved respect, if not
popularity. The notion that he was arrogant and self-asserting may still
be traced in the epigrams to which the essay on _The Plurality of
Worlds_ gave occasion. Sir Francis Doyle wrote:
‘Though you through the regions of space should have travelled,
And of nebular films the remotest unravelled,
You’ll find, though you tread on the bounds of infinity,
That God’s greatest work is the Master of Trinity.’
Even better than this was the remark that ‘Whewell thinks himself a
fraction of the universe, and wishes to make the denominator as small as
possible.’ These, however, were harmless sallies, at which he was
probably as much amused as any one.
No one who knew Whewell well can avoid admitting, as we have done, that
there was much in his manner and conduct that might with advantage have
been different. But what we wish to maintain is that these defects were
not essential to his character: that they arose either from a too
precise adherence to views that were in themselves good and noble, or
from a certain vehemence and impulsiveness that swept him away in spite
of himself, and landed him in difficulties over which he had to repent
at leisure. And in this place let us draw attention to one of his most
pleasing traits—his generosity. We do not merely refer to the numerous
cases of distress which he alleviated, delicately and secretly, but to
the magnanimity of temperament with which he treated those from whom he
had differed, or whose conduct he had condemned. He had no false notions
of dignity. If he felt that he had said what he had better have left
unsaid, or overstepped the proper limits of argument, he would sooth the
bruised and battered victims of his sledgehammer with some such words as
these: ‘I am afraid that I was hasty the other day in what I said to
you. I am very sorry.’ He never bore a grudge, or betrayed remembrance
of a fault, or repeated a word of scandal. There was nothing small or
underhand about him. He would oppose a measure of which he disapproved,
fairly and openly, by all legitimate expedients; but, when beaten, he
cordially accepted the situation, and never alluded to the subject
again.
His conduct at the contested election for a University Representative in
1856 affords a good illustration of what we have here advanced. The
candidates were Mr Walpole and Mr Denman; and it was decided, after
conference with their rival committees, that the poll should extend over
five days, on four of which votes were to be taken in the Public Schools
from half-past seven to half-past eight in the evening, in addition to
the usual hours in the Senate House, namely, from ten to four. The
proceedings excited an unusual interest among the undergraduates, who on
the first morning occupied the galleries of the Senate House in force,
and made such a noise that the University officers could not hear each
others’ voices, and the business was transacted in dumb show. In
consequence they represented to the Vice-Chancellor that they could not
do their work unless he ‘took effectual means for the prevention of this
inconvenience.’ Whewell hated nothing so much as insubordination, and
had on former occasions addressed himself to the repression of this
particular form of it. It is therefore probable that he was not
indisposed to take the only step that, under the circumstances, seemed
likely to be effectual, namely, to exclude the undergraduates from the
Senate House for the rest of the days of polling. On the second and
third days peace reigned within the building, but, when the
Vice-Chancellor appeared outside, he was confronted by a howling mob,
through which he had to make his way as best he could. He was advised to
go by the back way; but, with characteristic pluck, he rejected this
counsel, and went out and came in by the front gate of his College. A
few Masters of Arts acted as a body-guard; but further protection was
thought necessary, and on the third afternoon the University beheld the
extraordinary spectacle of the Vice-Chancellor proceeding along Trinity
Street with a prize-fighter on each side of him. On the evening of that
day Mr Denman withdrew from the contest, a step which probably averted a
serious riot. When the excitement had subsided a little Whewell drew up
a printed statement, which, though marked _Private_, is in fact an
address to the undergraduate members of the University. He points out
the necessity for acting as he had done, both as regards the business in
hand and because it was his duty to enforce proper behaviour in a public
place as a part of education. He concludes with the following passage: