It was an easy task for a scholar like Perowne to penetrate Donaldson’s
plot, but the marvel is that it should have deceived its author, who
had so acute a mind. The pointing out of its obvious fallacies was
a vexation, but the replying was a pleasure, and was intended for a
fresh literary feat. The worst of it for Donaldson was that the day of
invective had gone by; the finest satire that could be written would have
remained unread. It was therefore a poor substitute in the case for a
sound refutation, which alone could have extricated the offending scholar
from his dilemma.
Perowne almost justly accused Donaldson of maliciousness; but I believe
that it was boast, an attempt of the criticised to establish his
superiority to criticism itself, unaware of the weakness of his weapon,
the use of which a century before might have led to his being called the
greatest controversionalist of his day; and, though his invective was
powerless, he believed that he should be so esteemed in a century to come.
Donaldson had immense merit. While an articled clerk he attended lectures
at University College, and, so disclosing a facility in acquiring
Greek, went to Cambridge instead of pursuing law any further; and, in
the short period of his terms, not only did the work necessary for the
examinations, but came out the second classic, beaten only by Kennedy.
Such men should reap all their fame in their lifetime, like men of
science. Their names are soon lost in the history of the knowledge
wherein alone they survive, unless they are Scotts and Liddells, to be
hourly referred to. Donaldson was a lifelong student, impelled by vanity,
the motor-power of all noble work, but which, as in his case, often
breaks up the brain prematurely. By his “Jasher” and his “Varronianus,”
he was accused of striking a blow at the Church. He may have done so
against its dogmatists and bigots, but he broke his knuckles even in that
slight aim. They would have liked to have received him as Professor of
Greek at Cambridge; they told him so, but they did not dare elect him.
Donaldson, as the world goes, was a good citizen, and unexceptionable as
a husband and parent. He was not sympathetic; the advancement of friends
delighted him as gossip, but did not touch him much within.
He was too active in his movements, mental as well as bodily, to be
profound; he had not sufficient pause. Expediency with him did not go
against the grain. In matters of religion he was fully aware that,
though the thumb-screw, rack, and faggot had fallen into disuse, their
office was exercised by public feeling as their successor, through
which men stood in terror, not of their lives, but of their living. On
these grounds only Donaldson quoted Scripture against Perowne in his
controversy with him. This served his purpose, as he had no other moral
philosophy to quote. But he did not give the slightest adhesion, really,
to any kind of dogma. Science alone will reveal to great and modest
minds the truth that the best of men cannot credit themselves with their
own goodness They might as well assume that they made themselves; but
religion has to teach this to common understandings.
I can assert of Donaldson that what he says in his “Reply” is most
strictly true of himself—
“Doubtless it is the duty of Christians to be patient under injuries. But
our Saviour has expressly said (Luke xvii. 3), ‘If thy brother trespass
against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him.’ On this rule I
shall always endeavour to act. I bear no malice against any man in this
world. And those who are acquainted with my life, know that, when I have
been wronged, I have always been willing to welcome the first advances
towards reconciliation.”
I said to Donaldson once, “Why in your laborious efforts do you refute
the fallacies of our Church by learned quotation, when they are so
obvious to the simplest reason?” His reply was, “You forget that I am a
Doctor of Divinity.”
Verily the divines are the most potent of metaphysicians. What beautiful
systems have come down to them from the ages that produced a Pythagoras
and an Epicurus! They now anticipate all things, interpolating Nature at
every point with dogma, to satisfy the desires of the millions in every
new generation!
One cannot but admit that metaphysicians are clever, but they have not
the active industry of the experimental classes, who realize that there
is nothing for them beyond the actual phenomena, although it demands the
most effective operation of their intellects to arrange these in the
order of their succession.
The why and the wherefore of the universe, and of Nature as its
conductor, is, for a very simple reason, quite impenetrable; so
completely so that the uneducated peasant will always know as much about
it as the president of any learned society.
For the benefit of those who do not quite see this, and who think that
things may be one day cleared up, on this one spot, it cannot be too
definitively stated what a human intellect is at the utmost, and within
what limits its activity lies.
This intellect is a mere organic tool. It can only operate on efficient
causes, which here mean the moving functions of a universal machine in
full activity already. It can see, hear, taste, smell, and touch; it can
set the results of sensation in order, and observe them as a whole, and
choose a line of action coincident with them. It is a mere instrument for
effecting these ends.
This is the whole story of Nature. She reveals herself as a function,
acting continuously before senses which are mirrors; and here lies the
absolute limit. She reveals her Efficient Causes without affording the
remotest glimpse of her Predisposing Causes.