Zadkiel's Almanac for 1849. Nineteenth number.
Raphael's Prophetic Almanac for 1849. Twenty-ninth number.
Reasons for belief in judicial astrology, and remarks on the dangerous
character of popish priestcraft. London, 1849, 12mo.
Astronomy in a nutshell: or the leading problems of the solar system
solved by simple proportion only, on the theory of magnetic attraction.
By Lieut. Morrison,[85] N. N. London (_s. a._) 12mo.
{44}
Lieut. Morrison is Zadkiel Tao Sze, and declares himself in real earnest an
astrologer. There are a great many books on astrology, but I have not felt
interest enough to preserve many of them which have come in my way. If
anything ever had a fair trial, it was astrology. The idea itself is
natural enough. A human being, set down on this earth, without any
tradition, would probably suspect that the heavenly bodies had something to
do with the guidance of affairs. I think that any one who tries will
ascertain that the planets do not prophesy: but if he should find to the
contrary, he will of course go on asking. A great many persons class
together belief in astrology and belief in apparitions: the two things
differ in precisely the way in which a science of observation differs from
a science of experiment. Many make the mistake which M. le Marquis made
when he came too late, and hoped M. Cassini[86] would do the eclipse over
again for his ladies. The apparition chooses its own time, and comes as
seldom or as often as it pleases, be it departed spirit, nervous
derangement, or imposition. Consequently it can only be observed, and not
experimented upon. But the heavens, if astrology be true, are prophesying
away day and night all the year round, and about every body. Experiments
can be made, then, except only on rare phenomena, such as eclipses: anybody
may choose his time and his question. This is the great difference: and
experiments were made, century after century. If astrology had been true,
it must have lasted in an ever-improving state. If it be true, it is a
truth, and a useful truth, which had experience and prejudice both in its
favor, and yet lost ground as soon as astronomy, its working tool, began to
improve.
1850. A letter in the handwriting of an educated man, dated from a street
in which it must be taken that educated persons live, is addressed to the
Secretary of the {45} Astronomical Society about a matter on which the
writer says "his professional pursuit will enable him to give a
satisfactory reply." In a question before a court of law it is sworn on one
side that the moon was shining at a certain hour of a certain night on a
certain spot in London; on the other side it is affirmed that she was
clouded. The Secretary is requested to decide. This is curious, as the
question is not astrological. Persons still send to Greenwich, now and
then, to have their fortunes told. In one case, not very many years ago, a
young gentleman begged to know who his wife was to be, and what fee he was
to remit.
Sometimes the astronomer turns conjurer for fun, and his prophesies are
fulfilled. It is related of Flamsteed[87] that an old woman came to know
the whereabouts of a bundle of linen which had strayed. Flamsteed drew a
circle, put a square into it, and gravely pointed out a ditch, near her
cottage, in which he said it would be found. He meant to have given the
woman a little good advice when she came back: but she came back in great
delight, with the bundle in her hand, found in the very place. The late
Baron Zach[88] received a letter from Pons,[89] a successful finder of
comets, complaining that for a certain period he had found no comets,
though he had searched diligently. Zach, a man of much sly humor, told him
that no spots had been seen on the sun for about the same time--which was
true,--and assured him that when the spots came back, the comets would come
with them. Some time after he got a letter {46} from Pons, who informed him
with great satisfaction that he was quite right, that very large spots had
appeared on the sun, and that he had found a fine comet shortly after. I do
not vouch for the first story, but I have the second in Zach's handwriting.
It would mend the joke exceedingly if some day a real relation should be
established between comets and solar spots: of late years good reason has
been shown for advancing a connection between these spots and the earth's
magnetism.[90] If the two things had been put to Zach, he would probably
have chosen the comets. Here is a hint for a paradox: the solar spots are
the dead comets, which have parted with their light and heat to feed the
sun, as was once suggested. I should not wonder if I were too late, and the
thing had been actually maintained. My list does not contain the twentieth
part of the possible whole.
The mention of coincidences suggests an everlasting source of explanations,
applicable to all that is extraordinary. The great paradox of coincidence
is that of Leibnitz, known as the _pre-established harmony_, or _law of
coincidences_, by which, separately and independently, the body receives
impressions, and the mind proceeds as if it had perceived them from
without. Every sensation, and the consequent state of the soul, are
independent things coincident in time by the pre-established law. The
philosopher could not otherwise _account for_ the connection of mind and
matter; and he never goes by so vulgar a rule as _Whatever is, is_; to him
that which is not clear as to how, is not at all. Philosophers in general,
who tolerate each other's theories much better than Christians do each
other's failings, seldom revive Leibnitz's fantasy: they seem to act upon
the maxim quoted by Father Eustace[91] from the {47} Decretals, _Facinora
ostendi dum puniuntur, flagitia autem abscondi debent_.[92]
The great _ghost-paradox_, and its theory of _coincidences_, will rise to
the surface in the mind of every one. But the use of the word _coincidence_
is here at variance with its common meaning. When A is constantly
happening, and also B, the occurrence of A and B at the same moment is the
mere coincidence which may be casualty. But the case before us is that A is
constantly happening, while B, when it does happen, almost always happens
with A, and very rarely without it. That is to say, such is the phenomenon
asserted: and all who rationally refer it to casualty, affirm that B is
happening very often as well as A, but that it is not thought worthy of
being recorded except when A is simultaneous. Of course A is here a death,
and B the spectral appearance of the person who dies. In talking of this
subject it is necessary to put out of the question all who play fast and
loose with their secret convictions: these had better give us a reason,
when they feel internal pressure for explanation, that there is no
weathercock at Kilve; this would do for all cases. But persons of real
inquiry will see that first, experience does not bear out the asserted
frequency of the spectre, without the alleged coincidence of death: and
secondly, that if the crowd of purely casual spectres were so great that it
is no wonder that, now and then the person should have died at or near the
moment, we ought to expect a much larger proportion of cases in which the
spectre should come at the moment of the death of one or another of all the
cluster who are closely connected with the original of the spectre. But
this, we know, is almost without example. It remains then, for all, who
speculate at all, to look upon the asserted phenomenon, think what they may
of it, the thing which is to be explained, as a _connection_ in time of the
death, and the {48} simultaneous appearance of the dead. Any person the
least used to the theory of probabilities will see that purely casual
coincidence, the _wrong spectre_ being comparatively so rare that it may be
said never to occur, is not within the rational field of possibility.
The purely casual coincidence, from which there is no escape except the
actual doctrine of special providences, carried down to a very low point of
special intention, requires a junction of the things the like of each of
which is always happening. I will give three instances which have occurred
to myself within the last few years: I solemnly vouch for the literal truth
of every part of all three:
In August 1861, M. Senarmont,[93] of the French Institute, wrote to me to
the effect that Fresnel[94] had sent to England, in or shortly after 1824,
a paper for translation and insertion in the _European Review_, which
shortly afterwards expired. The question was what had become of that paper.
I examined the _Review_ at the Museum, found no trace of the paper, and
wrote back to that effect at the Museum, adding that everything now
depended on ascertaining the name of the editor, and tracing his papers: of
this I thought there was no chance. I posted this letter on my way home, at
a Post Office in the Hampstead Road at the junction with Edward Street, on
the opposite side of which is a bookstall. Lounging for a moment over the
exposed books, _sicut meus est mos_,[95] I saw, within a few minutes of the
posting of the letter, a little catch-penny book of anecdotes of Macaulay,
which I bought, and ran over for a minute. My eye was soon caught by this
sentence: "One of the young fellows immediately wrote to the editor (Mr.
Walker) {49} of the _European Review_." I thus got the clue by which I
ascertained that there was no chance of recovering Fresnel's paper. Of the
mention of current reviews, not one in a thousand names the editor.
In the summer of 1865 I made my first acquaintance with the tales of
Nathaniel Hawthorne, and the first I read was about the siege of Boston in
the War of Independence. I could not make it out: everybody seemed to have
got into somebody else's place. I was beginning the second tale, when a
parcel arrived: it was a lot of old pamphlets and other rubbish, as he
called it, sent by a friend who had lately sold his books, had not thought
it worth while to send these things for sale, but thought I might like to
look at them and possibly keep some. The first thing I looked at was a
sheet which, being opened, displayed "A plan of Boston and its environs,
shewing the true situation of his Majesty's army and also that of the
rebels, drawn by an engineer, at Boston Oct. 1775." Such detailed plans of
current sieges being then uncommon, it is explained that "The principal
part of this plan was surveyed by Richard Williams, Lieutenant at Boston;
and sent over by the son of a nobleman to his father in town, by whose
permission it was published." I immediately saw that my confusion arose
from my supposing that the king's troops were besieging the rebels, when it
was just the other way.
April 1, 1853, while engaged in making some notes on a logical point, an
idea occurred which was perfectly new to me, on the mode of conciliating
the notions _omnipresence_ and _indivisibility into parts_. What it was is
no matter here: suffice it that, since it was published elsewhere (in a
paper on _Infinity_, _Camb. Phil. Trans._ vol. xi. p. 1) I have not had it
produced to me. I had just finished a paragraph on the subject, when a
parcel came in from a bookseller containing Heywood's[96] _Analysis of
Kant's Critick_, 1844.
{50} On turning over the leaves I found (p. 109) the identical thought
which up to this day, I only know as in my own paper, or in Kant. I feel
sure I had not seen it before, for it is in Kant's first edition, which was
never translated to my knowledge; and it does not appear in the later
editions. Mr. Heywood gives some account of the first edition.
In the broadsheet which gave account of the dying scene of Charles II, it
is said that the Roman Catholic priest was introduced by P. M. A. C. F. The
chain was this: the Duchess of Portsmouth[97] applied to the Duke of York,
who may have consulted his Cordelier confessor, Mansuete, about procuring a
priest, and the priest was smuggled into the king's room by the Duchess and
Chiffinch.[98] Now the letters are a verbal acrostic of _Pere Mansuete a
Cordelier Friar_, and a syllabic acrostic of _PortsMouth and ChifFinch_.
This is a singular coincidence. Macaulay adopted the first interpretation,
preferring it to the second, which I brought before him as the conjecture
of a near relative of my own. But Mansuete is not mentioned in his
narrative: it may well be doubted whether the writer of a broadside for
English readers would use _Pere_ instead of _Father_. And the person who
really "reminded" the Duke of "the duty he owed to his brother," was the
Duchess and not Mansuete. But my affair is only with the coincidence.
But there are coincidences which are really connected without the
connection being known to those who find in them matter of astonishment.
Presentiments furnish marked cases: sometimes there is no mystery to those
who have the clue. In the _Gentleman's Magazine_ (vol. 80, part 2, p. 33)
we read, the subject being presentiment of death, as follows: "In 1778, to
come nearer the recollection of {51} survivors, at the taking of
Pondicherry, Captain John Fletcher, Captain De Morgan, and Lieutenant
Bosanquet, each distinctly foretold his own death on the morning of his
fate." I have no doubt of all three; and I knew it of my grandfather long
before I read the above passage. He saw that the battery he commanded was
unduly exposed: I think by the sap running through the fort when produced.
He represented this to the engineer officers, and to the
commander-in-chief; the engineers denied the truth of the statement, the
commander believed them, my grandfather quietly observed that he must make
his will, and the French fulfilled his prediction. His will bore date the
day of his death; and I always thought it more remarkable than the
fulfilment of the prophecy that a soldier should not consider any danger
short of one like the above, sufficient reason to make his will. I suppose
the other officers were similarly posted. I am told that military men very
often defer making their wills until just before an action: but to face the
ordinary risks intestate, and to wait until speedy death must be the all
but certain consequence of a stupid mistake, is carrying the principle very
far. In the matter of coincidences there are, as in other cases, two
wonderful extremes with every intermediate degree. At one end we have the
confident people who can attribute anything to casual coincidence; who
allow Zadok Imposture and Nathan Coincidence to anoint Solomon Selfconceit
king. At the other end we have those who see something _very curious_ in
any coincidence you please, and whose minds yearn for a deep reason. A
speculator of this class happened to find that Matthew viii. 28-33 and Luke
viii. 26-33 contain the same account, that of the demons entering into the
swine. Very odd! chapters tallying, and verses so nearly: is the
versification rightly managed? Examination is sure to show that there are
monstrous inconsistencies in the mode of division, which being corrected,
the verses tally as well as the chapters. And then how comes it? I cannot
go on, {52} for I have no gift at torturing a coincidence, but I would lay
twopence, if I could make a bet--which I never did in all my life--that
some one or more of my readers will try it. Some people say that the study
of chances tends to awaken a spirit of gambling: I suspect the contrary. At
any rate, I myself, the writer of a mathematical book and a comparatively
popular book, have never laid a bet nor played for a stake, however small:
not one single time.
It is useful to record such instances as I have given, with precision and
on the solemn word of the recorder. When such a story as that of Flamsteed
is told, _a priori_ assures us that it could not have been: the story may
have been a _ben trovato_,[99] but not the bundle. It is also useful to
establish some of the good jokes which all take for inventions. My friend
Mr. J. Bellingham Inglis,[100] before 1800, saw the tobacconist's carriage
with a sample of tobacco in a shield, and the motto _Quid rides_[101] (_N._
& _Q._, 3d S. i. 245). His father was able to tell him all about it. The
tobacconist was Jacob Brandon, well known to the elder Mr. Inglis, and the
person who started the motto, the instant he was asked for such a thing,
was Harry Calender of Lloyd's, a scholar and a wit. My friend Mr. H. Crabb
Robinson[102] remembers the King's Counsel (Samuel Marryat) who took the
motto _Causes produce effects_, when his success enabled him to start a
carriage.
The coincidences of errata are sometimes very remarkable: it may be that
the misprint has a sting. The death of Sir W. Hamilton[103] of Edinburgh
was known in London on a Thursday, and the editor of the _Athenaeum_ wrote
to {53} me in the afternoon for a short obituary notice to appear on
Saturday. I dashed off the few lines which appeared without a moment to
think: and those of my readers who might perhaps think me capable of
contriving errata with meaning will, I am sure, allow the hurry, the
occasion, and my own peculiar relation to the departed, as sufficient
reasons for believing in my entire innocence. Of course I could not see a
proof: and two errata occurred. The words "addition to Stewart"[104]
require "_for_ addition to _read_ edition of." This represents what had
been insisted on by the Edinburgh publisher, who, frightened by the edition
of Reid,[105] had stipulated for a simple reprint without notes. Again
"principles of logic and mathematics" required "_for_ mathematics _read_
metaphysics." No four words could be put together which would have so good
a title to be Hamilton's motto.
April 1850, found in the letter-box, three loose leaves, well printed and
over punctuated, being
Chapter VI. Brethren, lo I come, holding forth the word of life, for so
I am commanded.... Chapter VII. Hear my prayer, O generations! and walk
by the way, to drink the waters of the river.... Chapter VIII. Hearken
o earth, earth, earth, and the kings of the earth, and their armies....
A very large collection might be made of such apostolic writings. They go
on well enough in a misty--meant for mystical--imitation of St. Paul or the
prophets, until at last some prodigious want of keeping shows the education
of the writer. For example, after half a page which might {54} pass for
Irving's[106] preaching--though a person to whom it was presented as such
would say that most likely the head and tail would make something more like
head and tail of it--we are astounded by a declaration from the _Holy
Spirit_, speaking of himself, that he is "not ashamed of the Gospel of
Christ." It would be long before we should find in _educated_ rhapsody--of
which there are specimens enough--such a thing as a person of the Trinity
taking merit for moral courage enough to stand where St. Peter fell. The
following declaration comes next--"I will judge between cattle and cattle,
that use their tongues."