been largely focussed on the marvellous achievements of the human
intellect. Discoveries, inventions, advanced methods and great strides
of progress in countless directions are the boast and pride of modern
times. There is no disputing this, nor is there any doubt but that a
great wave of scientific accomplishment, which was somewhat slow in
developing, has, within the last two generations, suddenly assumed the
most stupendous and bewildering proportions. The railroad and the
automobile; the telephone and electric light; the airplane, phonograph,
moving picture; anti-septic surgery and the germ theory of disease; the
dreadnought, the submarine and wireless telegraphy;--these are but a few
striking examples of the hundreds and thousands of achievements which
the intellect has been able to accomplish in a comparatively short space
of time.
No wonder that we hear and read on all sides such constant and confident
reference to the "advancement of science," the "progress of humanity,"
and the bewildering resourcefulness of man's brain.
All those achievements are objective and impersonal; they concern the
comforts and welfare, of each and every one of us, to a greater or less
extent, but in a purely material and general way.
When we turn to the personal life of the individual and consider his
acts and motives, subjectively, we find that the rôle played by the
intellect is almost equally important.
As we have seen in our previous discussions, the intellect has a say in
nearly everything we do or think of doing. It enquires into the cause,
and considers the effect, and passes judgment, for or against, in
accordance with the dictates of its reason. If a certain instinct within
us, which may be purely animal, has a need for food or water, the
intellect recognizes and approves the need; but if the food and water
set before us is poisonous or unfit, it is the intellect which
determines that and overrules the instinct. If another instinct, or
impulse, prompts us to set fire to a house, or jump out of a window, the
intellect decides that such an act would be unreasonable and forbids us
to do so.
It frequently happens that two or more of our instincts, inclinations,
desires, are opposed to each other. I want to eat my apple now; I want
to keep it to eat at the ball-game; and I want to trade it for Tim's
lignum-vitæ top. In such a case, it is the intellect which considers the
advantages and disadvantages of each and announces its decision. If it
is a healthy intellect, in good control, it will enforce its decision,
too; but even if it isn't, and an unruly impulse proves too strong to be
denied, that won't prevent the intellect from pointing out the mistake
that is being made and keeping it in memory for future reference.
It is not necessary to go over all this ground again. We have already
examined it with sufficient care in connection with the first answer
which we gave to the up-to-date youth who wanted to know why he
shouldn't follow his every inclination. The various examples which we
cited to illustrate the significance of reason and experience are enough
to establish the point we are now making.
As far as the material things of this world are concerned, and the
material needs of the individual, the intellect is generally and
properly acknowledged as the sovereign master. The rule of reason in
private life; and the rule of science in civilization have become more
and more the accepted standards of the world in which we live.
If an instinct or a desire is unreasonable, it should not be allowed to
prevail; if a tradition or a convention of the past is unscientific, it
should be discarded and ridiculed as something out-of-date. That is the
conclusion which advanced intellects have reached through scientific
methods of enlightenment; it is the message they have been
communicating, the example which they have been setting, until the
wide-spread results are becoming increasingly apparent among all
classes and in nearly all places, where modern science and civilization
have penetrated.
It ought not to be very difficult for any one to recognize and
understand why the methods of science and the rule of reason occupy such
a dominant place in public estimation as they undoubtedly do to-day. The
only natural question is why they have not always, in by-gone
generations, occupied just as high a place. The answer to this question
is very simple, though some people's attention may not have been called
to it. The scientific method of investigation, as we know it to-day, is
a comparatively recent product of the human intellect. There was no
science of any such kind when Homer wrote the Iliad, or when the
Christian religion was founded, or when Leonardo da Vinci painted the
Mona Lisa and Shakespeare wrote his masterpieces. Even at the time our
great American republic was put into operation, modern science was still
in its swaddling clothes. It is only in the last two generations that it
may be said to have reached its true form and begun turning out in rapid
succession the multitude of discoveries and inventions which have had
such an immense effect in the daily life of civilization.
It also takes a certain amount of time for great changes to permeate,
and become absorbed by masses of people, so that it should not seem
strange if many of the indirect results have only begun to be noticeable
within the past few years.
And now if we look about and pause to reflect on these triumphs of
modern science, as they affect the life and ideas and feelings of the
average individual, a very curious and somewhat startling question is
liable to suggest itself.
Is it possible that right here may be the main and underlying cause of
the so-called "demoralization" of the present generation? Is it possible
that the "impossible notions" and the equally "impossible conduct" of
the up-to-date young people which grandmother finds so shocking are
traceable to this source? Is it possible that faith, honor, loyalty and
other ideals and aspirations of man's better nature, are being neglected
and corrupted by the methods of modern science and the rule of reason?
The very idea of such a possibility, when it first dawned upon me,
seemed like such a palpable absurdity that I put it aside, yet as I
followed the other trains of thought which have been under discussion,
this idea kept recurring with greater and greater persistency. If it
happened to be true, the lesson to be derived from it might prove so
important and helpful to struggling humanity, that it appears to me,
now, entitled to careful consideration.
Let us begin with a general commentary and ask ourselves--How comes it,
while scientific methods have achieved such amazing results in the
material world, they have not succeeded equally well in improving the
inner nature of man? How comes it that science, with all its
investigations and accurately reasoned conclusions, cannot show the
individuals of the present day how to make better paintings than Raphael
or Titian? Or better statues than Michael Angelo? Or better music than
Chopin or Wagner? Or better literature than Moliere or Shakespeare?
It can show him how to make a hundred times better ship, or factory, or
surgical operation; but when it comes to this other kind of thing, it
appears to have made no improvement at all. Those artists we have named
and hundreds of others in past centuries, who made immortal
masterpieces, had no intellects enlightened by modern science, nor any
of the benefits of modern education and progress. If we may judge at all
by results (which is the modern, enlightened way), the only effect of
science in teaching people how to get an inspiration and find a
beautiful expression for it, has been a detriment rather than a help.
If you take a boy to-day, who has a natural bent for poetry, or
painting, how much will you help him by filling his mind with scientific
methods and theories, rules and exceptions, deductions and compilations,
of the various elements which should logically determine the value of
the finished product? By giving his intellect a thorough course in
scientific training, which may occupy his time and absorb his energy for
many years, is it not possible that you will turn out in the end a
plodding hack, instead of the inspired artist who might have been?
Did anybody ever feel the poetic beauty of a rose with greater intensity
for having examined its petals through a microscope, and learned to
classify it scientifically, both as to species and variety?
Did anybody ever learn by scientific rules of grammar and classified
tables of words, to speak a foreign language with the ease and charm of
a child, who picks it up from a stupid governess in one-tenth the time?
The childlike, natural way to learn a language is to absorb it into the
system, almost without effort, until it becomes a part of second
nature--in much the same way that we absorb tunes. Without the slightest
conscious effort, we are absorbing and retaining countless bars of
music, all through our lives--yet can anybody imagine an enlightened
intellect, undertaking to analyze and classify with scientific method
the use of sharps and flats in different kinds of bars, and attempting
to learn them in that form?
Homer's Iliad and Virgil's Æneid are generally regarded as great
masterpieces of literature. They are full of poetic feeling,
imagination, charm and inspiring sentiments. They are still being read
by thousands of boys and girls, every year, but they are being read to
the accompaniment of grammars, lexicons, and the commentary of learned
professors, upon roots, derivatives and obsolete usages. A vast amount
of time and energy is devoted to this undertaking, which is usually
justified on the ground that it affords excellent training for the
intellect. But how about the feelings of admiration and enthusiasm which
works of such great beauty were intended to inspire? Are they exercised
to the same extent? Or is the tendency rather to trammel and divert them
by so much laborious and irrelevant interference?
When we turn to the more personal feelings of the individual, in his
intimate relations with other beings, is not the situation much the
same? Has scientific thought discovered, or devised, any means of
increasing the warmth and tenderness of the human heart? Has the rule
of reason made husbands and wives any more devoted to each other, or to
their friends? It has succeeded in providing a great many people with a
telephone and an automobile, but has it succeeded equally well in
providing them with generous feelings of self-denial and consideration
for others? Or has its tendency, on the contrary, been rather to
interfere with the spontaneous development of such feelings, by
attempting to replace them by an analysis of human motives in which
calculations of self-interest are made the prime factor?
But it is only when we come to the spiritual feelings that the really
radical effects of science upon man's nature are encountered. And the
method of these changes is so eminently "reasonable," as to be almost
self-explanatory.
First is the question of religion, which in all countries and at all
times has been such an important influence in the conduct of mankind.
For the time being, let us be content to confine our attention to our
own country and our own Christian religion, and ask ourselves frankly
what conclusions the modern methods of scientific investigation and the
modern rule of reason might be expected to arrive at in regard to that?
What about all the miracles so devoutly recorded in the Bible? Through
investigation and reason, science to-day considers itself in a position
to pronounce them totally unscientific; and the rule of reason concludes
that they were presumably founded on the imagination, credulity and
ignorance which prevailed in an unenlightened period. What about the
angels with the flaming swords, and the voices from on high, the golden
thrones of heaven, the raging fires of hell, and the childlike account
of the world's creation? With the same complacent assurance, modern
science and reason are pleased to brush them aside as concoctions of
ignorance and credulity. And so with countless other ideas set down in
this same holy book--the motives of jealousy and vanity attributed to
the all-wise Ruler--His insistence upon formalities in the manner of
worship and baptism and christening--His threats concerning other
alleged gods and unbelievers, who dare to dispute His sovereignty. All
such ideas, when subjected to the acid test of scientifically
enlightened reason, are shown in the colors of absurdity and ridicule.
The general conclusion arrived at by this kind of investigation is
considered by scientific minds entirely logical and inevitable. As this
so-called holy book is found to contain so many errors, inaccuracies,
false statements and absurdities, the notion, or claim, of its being a
"revelation," communicated, or inspired, from a supernatural source, is
unreasonable and untenable. An all-wise Creator could not be ignorant,
or inaccurate. This particular book, like many other similar and rival
ones to be found in other parts of the world, may be scientifically
assumed to be no more than a typical and very creditable product of the
unenlightened civilization which gave it birth.
This tendency and effect of modern science is so direct and obvious that
he who runs may read. How far it has already spread and acted upon the
great numbers of people who compose our population is not possible to
determine. Nor is it of any great importance. As we observed before, it
takes considerable time for great changes of this sort to permeate to
and become absorbed by the masses. But the evidence is only too plain,
on all sides, that this operation is now in full swing and gaining
ground rapidly. Among the up-to-date people of the new generation, the
religious beliefs of a very large proportion have become so confused and
unsettled by it, that they are no longer quite sure in their own hearts
whether they have any at all. If you have any doubts about this matter,
or have overlooked it, a very little enquiry among the people you meet
every day, of all classes and kinds, will suffice to bring it home to
you.
Of course, there are still in every community a considerable number of
people who cling bravely to the traditions of the past, who deplore and
combat with indignation the up-to-date and demoralizing tendencies; who
still believe in their religion as firmly as ever, who still regard the
Bible as a divine revelation; and who still display the same fervid
attachment to the various forms and ceremonies of their particular
church.
There are also probably a few who, for private reasons, although they
have really ceased to believe, are still to be found sitting in church
pews.
But when we consider that modern scientific methods are of comparatively
recent origin, the wonder should be, not that so many people have
resisted their tendencies in the matter of religion and still cling to
their beliefs, but that such great numbers have been affected by them in
so short a time.
It seems only too plain and palpable that this is the inevitable
tendency of modern science, when brought to bear upon traditional
doctrines. It eats them away, bit by bit, and step by step, until there
is nothing left but a crumbling residue.
But this is only one side of it--the negative side--which applies to
what science has been taking down. There is also a positive side, which
applies to what science has undertaken to set up in its place.
As we have had occasion to note, the fundamental feelings of faith and
aspiration are not dependent upon any particular form of religion. Faith
has been found to subsist and flourish under various creeds and all
manners of worship, in all stages of civilization. All that it wants is
something to shelter and sustain and encourage it, in its struggles
against the baser instincts. Any religion which does this, by appealing
to the imagination and inspiring whole-souled belief, might be
considered satisfactory in any given community.
The next question, therefore, which we are entitled to ask ourselves is
this:
After science has succeeded in eating into and breaking down the
particular temple in which our fundamental faith had found a refuge,
what fitting substitute has it been able to discover or devise, in order
to meet this universal requirement?
The nearest approach to a scientific answer appears to be the theory of
evolution, which informs man that, instead of being a special and
majestic creation of an all-wise Almighty, as he had so foolishly and
ignorantly imagined, he can consider himself a remote and more or less
accidental, development of a protoplasm; and more immediately, the
lineal descendant of the ape, to whom he still bears a close
resemblance, in a scientific way.
As there is nothing about an ape, or a protoplasm to be accepted as a
haven of refuge, science points to another conclusion. (And in quoting
science, here or elsewhere, let it be borne in mind that I make no claim
of speaking as a scientific expert, but am merely attempting to give the
general gist and point-of-view as it affects the average intelligence.
In such a general way, this, then, is what science says:)
"If you must worship something, instead of taking a figment of the
imagination, why not pick out something real and established, about
whose insistence there can be no doubt--the most logical and admirable
thing on earth--your own self and your scientifically enlightened
intellect? If you need a creed of some sort, to take the place of the
antiquated one which science has broken down, why not accept a pleasing
and simple creed which is entirely logical? Let your conduct be governed
at all times by your own self-interest and the rule of reason. For
everything that happens in this world, there must be a cause; and for
every act of a living thing, there must be a motive, either conscious or
unconscious. These are universal facts which have been adequately
established by scientific research. In the case of an individual man,
the only logical and sufficient motive which can be arrived at in a
scientific way, to explain his conduct, under any and all circumstances,
is the principle of self-interest, which he shares, with all other
animals. This may be conscious or unconscious, more or less enlightened,
or more or less deluded by ignorance and instinct; but that in no way
affects the application of the principle."
This is the only practical substitute which science has to offer for the
religious structures which it has been slowly, but surely, destroying.
But as this also is no haven of refuge for the vague feelings of faith
and aspiration, where are they to go? In the process of demolition, they
appear to have been left groping about, more dead than alive, under the
ruins.
With an upheaval of this kind, spreading in the souls of great numbers
of people, and their fundamental faith groping in confusion, is there
anything strange in the fact that we hear and see constant references to
"the spirit of unrest," which has become so prevalent among all classes
at the present time?
In the relations of capital and labor, in the political world and the
business world; in the divorce courts and domestic life, the deportment
of women and the bringing up of children; in various other forms and
directions, both public and private, no less than in church
circles--there has been rapidly accumulating evidence of a mysterious
influence of some sort, with a tendency to confuse and unsettle the
standards and conduct of mankind.
This state of affairs is not confined to our own country. It appears to
be equally evident in England, if we may believe the testimony of those
who pretend to know. In confirmation of this, it may be worth while to
give a few quotations from a more or less authoritative and much
discussed English book which was published recently. In the concluding
chapter of his work, the author refers more particularly to the
aristocracy of England, a privileged class of men who in the past have
generally been considered a bulwark of traditional and lofty standards.
At the present time, the author says:
We are a nation without standards, kept in health rather by
memories which are fading than by examples which are
compelling.... We still march to the dying music of great
traditions, but there is no captain of civilization at the
head of our ranks. We have indeed almost ceased to be an army
marching with confidence towards the enemy, and have become a
mob breaking impatiently loose from the discipline and ideals
of our past.
... Aristocracy has lost its respect for learning, it has
grown careless of manners, it has abandoned faith in its duty,
it is conscious of no solemn obligations, but it still
remains for the multitude a true aristocracy, and looking up
at that aristocracy, for its standards, the multitude has
become materialistic, throwing Puritanism to the dogs, and
pushing as heartily forward to the trough as any full-fed
glutton in the middle or the upper ranks of life.
... There is no example of modesty, restraint, thrift, duty,
or culture. Everything is sensual and ostentatious, and
shamefacedly sensual and ostentatious.
... It is a grievous thing to corrupt the minds of the simple.
The poor have always believed in heartiness and cheerfulness.
All their proverbs spring out of a keen sense of virtue. All
their games are of a manly character. To materialize this
glorious people, to commercialize and mamonize it, to make it
think of economics, instead of life, to make it bitter,
discontented and tyrannous, this is to strike at the very
heart of England.
The author of this book has a very clear idea, very forcibly expressed,
that the example of the upper classes, the leading citizens in the
community, exerts a great influence on the others. That is a universal
principle which applies, in greater or less degree, to all other
countries, including America. It furnishes a simple explanation of how
comparatively stupid people, who do very little thinking of any kind,
may be found putting into effect motives and points-of-view which owe
their origin to the enlightened reason of a few superior intellects.
Also it may be observed that while the author appears to recognize and
affirm with conviction a general demoralization of standards among the
aristocracy, he does not attempt to suggest any visible cause for it. It
may be gathered, in a way, that he takes for granted that, somehow, it
is a consequence of the World War. This notion, as we have seen, is so
apt to be fallen back on as a convenient excuse for anything and
everything that is now taking place.
But to the best of my knowledge and belief, confirmed by all manner of
testimony and information, the tendencies in England which the author
refers to, no less than the similar tendencies in America, were plainly
in evidence and rapidly gathering momentum before the beginning of war.
For tendencies which appear to be world-wide, it is fair to assume that
there must be some cause, or causes, which are world-wide also. The
spread of modern science complies with that. Our English author refers
to the declining influence and lack of vitality of the English church,
without hazarding an opinion as to the cause. The idea which we have
gotten hold of affords a clue to that part of it, at least.
If it is also a clue to all the rest, as I suggest it may be, then, by
following its lead in different directions, we ought to unearth lucid
explanations for the various phenomena which are disturbing and
perplexing so many people.
Let us go on a little further and see just what we do find.