tell about the universal belief in immortality. They have a very
pretentious line of reasoning, which I may summarise thus. Life appeared
on earth not less than three hundred thousand years ago. First of all
our planet hung in the form of vapour, and drifted with millions of
other similar clouds through space; then the vapour became liquid; then
the globular form was assumed, and the flying ball began to rotate round
the great attracting body. We cannot tell how living forms first came on
earth; for they could not arise by spontaneous generation, in spite of
all that Dr. Bastian may say. Of the coming of life we can say
nothing--rather an odd admission, by-the-way, for gentlemen who are so
sure of most things--but we know that some low organism did appear--and
there is an end of that matter. No two organisms can possibly be exactly
alike; and the process of differentiation began in the very shrine. The
centuries passed, and living organisms became more and more complex; the
slowly-cooling ball of the earth was covered with greenery, but no
flower was to be seen. Then insects were attracted by brightly-coloured
leaves; then flowers and insects acted and reacted on each other. But
there is no need to trace every mark on the scale. It is enough to say
that infinitely-diversified forms of life branched off from central
stocks, and the process of variation went on steadily. Last of all, in a
strange environment, a certain small upright creature appeared. He was
not much superior in development to the anthropoid apes that we now
know--in fact, there is less difference between an orang and a Bosjesman
than there is between the primitive man and the modern Caucasian man.
This creature, hairy and brown as a squirrel, stunted in stature, skinny
of limb, was our immediate progenitor. So say the confident scientific
men. The owner of the queer ape-like skull found at Neanderthal belonged
to a race that was ultimately to develop into Shakespeares and Newtons
and Napoleons. In all the enormous series that had its first term in the
primeval ooze and its last term in man, one supreme motive had actuated
every individual. The desire of life, growing more intense with each new
development, was the main influence that secured continuance of life.
The beings that had the desire of life scantily developed were overcome
in the struggle for existence by those in whom the desire of life was
strong. Thus in man, after countless generations, the wish for life had
become the master-power holding dominion over the body. As the various
branches of the human race moved upward, the passionate love of life
grew so strong that no individual could bear to think of resigning this
pleasing anxious being and proceeding to fall into dumb forgetfulness.
Men saw their comrades stricken by some dark force that they could not
understand. The strong limbs grew lax first, and then hopelessly stiff;
the bright eye was dulled; and it soon became necessary to hide the
inanimate thing under the soil. It was impossible for those who had the
quick blood flowing in their veins to believe that a time would come
when feeling would be known no more. This fierce clinging to life had at
last its natural outcome. Men found that at night, when the quicksilver
current of sleep ran through their veins and their bodies were
quiescent, they had none the less thoughts as of life. The body lay
still; but something in alliance with the body gave them impressions of
vivid waking vigour and action. Men fancied that they fought, hunted,
loved, hated; and yet all the time their limbs were quiet. What could it
be that forced the slumbering man to believe himself to be in full
activity? It must be some invisible essence independent of the bones and
muscles. Therefore when a man died it followed that the body which was
buried must have parted permanently from the mystic "something" that
caused dreams. That mystic "something" therefore lived on after the
death of the body. The bodily organs were mere accidental encumbrances;
the real "man" was the viewless creature that had the visions of the
night. The body might go; but the thing which by and by was named
"soul" was imperishable.
I can see the drift of foggy argument. The writer means to say that the
belief in immortality sprang up because the wish was father to the
thought. Men longed to live, and thus they persuaded themselves that
they would live; and, one refinement after another having been added to
the vague-minded savage's animal yearning, we have the elaborate system
of theology and the reverential faith that guide the lives of civilized
human entities. Very pretty! Then the literary critic steps in and shows
how the belief in immortality has been enlarged and elaborated since the
days of Saul, the son of Kish. When the witch of Endor saw gods
ascending from the earth, she was only anticipating the experience of
sorcerers who ply their trade in the islands of the Pacific. Professor
Huxley admires the awful description of Saul's meeting with the witch;
but the Professor shows that the South Sea islanders also see gods
ascending out of the earth, and he thinks that the Eastern natives in
Saul's day encouraged a form of ancestor-worship. The literary critic
says ancestor-worship is one of the great branches of the religion of
mankind. Its principles are not difficult to understand, for they
plainly keep up the social relations of the living world. The dead
ancestor, now passed into a deity, goes on protecting his family and
receiving suit and service from them as of old. The dead chief still
watches over his own tribe, still holds his authority by helping friends
and harming enemies, still rewards the right and sharply punishes the
wrong. That, then, was the kind of worship prevalent in the time of
Saul, and the gods were only the ancestors of the living. Well, this
may be admirable as science, but, as I summarized the long argument, I
felt as though something must give way.
Then we are told that our sacred book, the Old Testament, contains no
reference to the future life--rather ignores the notion, in fact. It
appears that, when Job wrote about the spirit that passed before him and
caused all the hair of his flesh to stand up, he meant an enemy, or a
goat, or something of that species. Moreover, when it is asserted that
Enoch "was not, for God took him," no reference is made to Enoch's
future existence. The whole of the thesis regarding the Shadow Land has
been built up little by little, just as our infinitely perfect bodily
organization has been gradually formed. It took at least thirty thousand
years to evolve the crystalline lens of the human eye, and it required
many thousands of years to evolve from the crude savagery of the early
Jews the elaborate theories of the modern Buddhists, Islamites, and
Christians.
Certainly this same evolution has much to answer for. I utterly fail to
see how a wish can give rise to a belief that comes before the wish is
framed in the mind. More than this, I know that, even when human beings
crave extinction most--when the prospect of eternal sleep is more than
sweet, when the bare thought of continued existence is a horror--the
belief in, or rather the knowledge of, immortality is still there, and
the wretch who would fain perish knows that he cannot.
As for the mathematically-minded thinkers, I must give them up. They
say, "Here are two objects of consciousness whose existence can be
verified; one we choose to call the body, the other we call the soul or
mind or spirit, or what you will. The soul may be called a 'function' of
the body, or the body may be called a 'function' of the soul--at any
rate, they vary together. The tiniest change in the body causes a
corresponding change in the soul. As the body alters from the days when
the little ducts begin to feed the bones with lime up to the days when
the bones are brittle and the muscles wither away, so does the soul
alter. The infant's soul is different from the boy's, the boy's from the
adolescent man's, the young man's from the middle-aged man's, and so on
to the end. Now, since every change in the body, no matter how
infinitesimally small, is followed by a corresponding change in the
soul, then it is plain that, when the body becomes extinct, its
'function,' the soul, must also become extinct."
This is even more appalling than the reasoning of the biologist. But is
there not a little flaw somewhere? We take a branch from a privet-hedge
and shake it; some tiny eggs fall down. In time a large ugly caterpillar
comes from each egg; but, according to the mathematical men, the
caterpillar does not exist, since the egg has become naught. Good! The
caterpillar wraps itself in a winding thread, and we have an egg-shaped
lump which lies as still as a pebble. Then presently from that bundle of
thread there comes a glorious winged creature which flies away, leaving
certain ragged odds and ends. But surely the bundle of threads and the
moth were as much connected as the body and the soul? Logically, then,
the moth does not exist after the cocoon is gone, any more than the soul
exists after the body is gone! I feel very unscientific indeed as we put
forth this proposition, and yet perhaps some simple folk will follow
me.
God will not let the soul die; it is a force that must act throughout
the eternity before us, as it acted throughout the eternity that
preceded our coming on earth. No physical force ever dies--each force
merely changes its form or direction. Heat becomes motion, motion is
transformed into heat, but the force still exists. It is not possible
then that the soul of man--the subtlest, strongest force of all--should
ever be extinguished. Every analogy that we can see, every fact of
science that we can understand, tells us that the essence which each of
us calls "I" must exist for ever as it has existed from eternity. Let us
think of a sweet change that shall merely divest us of the husk of the
body, even as the moth is divested of the husk of the caterpillar. Space
will be as nothing to the soul--can we not even now transport ourselves
in an instant beyond the sun? We can see with the soul's eye the surface
of the stars, we know what they are made of, we can weigh them, and we
can prove that our observation is rigidly accurate even though millions
of miles lie between us and the object which we describe so confidently.
When the body is gone, the soul will be more free to traverse space than
it is even now.
_February, 1888._
Extracts from Reviews of the First Edition.
"Mr. Runciman is terribly in earnest in the greater part of this volume,
especially in the several articles on 'Drink.' He is eminently
practical, withal; and not satisfied with describing and deploring the
effects of drunkenness, he gives us a recipe which he warrants to cure
the most hardened dipsomaniac within a week. We have not quoted even the
titles of all Mr. Runciman's essays; but they are all wholesome in tone,
and show a hearty love of the open air and of outdoor amusement, in
spite of his well-deserved strictures on various forms of so-called
'sport,' while sometimes, notably in the Essay on 'Genius and
Respectability,' he touches the higher notes of feeling."--_Saturday
Review_.
"Mr. Runciman is intensely earnest, and directs his arrows with force
and precision against those 'joints in our social armour' which his keen
vision detects. There is a purpose in all Mr. Runciman says; and
although one cannot always share his enthusiasm or accept his
conclusions, it is impossible to doubt his sincerity as a moral reformer
and his zeal in the cause of philanthropy."--_Academy_.
"Few sermons, one would fancy, could do more good than this book,
honestly considered. It speaks plain sense on faults and follies that
are usually gently satirised; and makes fine invigorating reading. The
book warmly deserves success."--_Scotsman_.
"Mr. Runciman expresses himself with a vigour which leaves nothing to be
desired. He leaves no doubt of what he thinks,--and he thinks,
anyhow, on the right side.... Altogether a very vigorous
deliverance."--_Spectator_.
"No one can read these pleasant thoughtful essays without being the
better for it; all being written with the vigour and grace for which Mr.
Runciman is distinguished."--_Newcastle Daily Chronicle_.
"Essays which form a most important contribution to the literature of
social reform."--_Methodist Times_.
"Mr. Runciman has produced a book which will compel people to read, and
it has many pages which ought to compel them to think, and to act as
well."--_Manchester Examiner._
"Mr. Runciman is endowed with a vigorous and pleasing style, and his
facile pen has obviously been made expert by much use. In dealing with
some of the more threadbare problems, such as the drink question and the
sporting mania, he brings considerable novelty and freshness to their
treatment, and when fairly roused he hits out at social abuses with a
vigour and indignant sincerity which are very refreshing to the jaded
reader ...He has been successful in producing a delightfully readable
book, and even when he does not produce conviction, he will certainly
succeed in securing attention and inspiring interest."--_Bradford
Observer_.
"The essays are a fine contribution in the cause of manly self-culture
and elevation of moral tone."--_Pall Mall Gazette_.
"To those who enjoy essays on current topics, this will be found an
acceptable and instructive volume."--_Public Opinion_.
"His essays are always entertaining and suggestive ...Mr. Runciman, as
is well-known, has a forcible and effective style."--_Star_.
"Mr. Runciman is a bard hitter, and evidently speaks from conviction,
and there is such an honest and clear-minded tone about these papers,
that even those who do not agree with all the conclusions drawn in them
will not regret having read what Mr. Runciman has to say on social
questions."--_Graphic_.