is that it _should_ be a beatitude: and that a man should learn "χαίρειν
ὀρθῶς:" and this rejoicing is above all things to be in actual sight;
you have the truth exactly in the saying of Dante when he is brought
before Beatrice, in heaven, that his eyes "satisfied themselves for
their ten years' thirst."
This, then, I repeat, is the sum of education. All literature, art, and
science are vain, and worse, if they do not enable you to be glad; and
glad justly.
And I feel it distinctly my duty, though with solemn and true deference
to the masters of education in this university, to say that I believe
our modern methods of teaching, and especially the institution of severe
and frequent examination, to be absolutely opposed to this great end;
and that the result of competitive labour in youth is infallibly to
make men know all they learn wrongly, and hate the habit of learning; so
that instead of coming to Oxford to rejoice in their work, men look
forward to the years they are to pass under her teaching as a deadly
agony, from which they are fain to escape, and sometimes for their life,
_must_ escape, into any method of sanitary frivolity.
178. I go back to my peasant and his egret. You all think with some
horror of this man, beating the bird to death, as a brutal person. He is
so; but how far are we English gentlemen, as a body, raised above him?
We are more delicately nurtured, and shrink from the notion of bruising
the creature and spoiling its feathers. That is so far right, and well.
But in all probability this countryman, rude and cruel though he might
be, had some other object in the rest of his day than the killing of
birds. And very earnestly I ask you, have English gentlemen, as a class,
any other real object in their whole existence than killing birds? If
they discern a duty, they will indeed do it to the death; but have the
English aristocracy at this moment any clear notion of their duty? I
believe solemnly, and without jest, their idea of their caste is that
its life should be, distinctively from inferior human lives, spent in
shooting.
And that is not an idea of caste with which England, at this epoch, can
any longer be governed.
179. I have no time to-day to push my argument farther; but I have said
enough, I think, to induce you to bear with me in the statement of my
main theorem--that reading and writing are in no sense education, unless
they contribute to this end of making us feel kindly towards all
creatures; but that drawing, and especially physiologic drawing, is
vital education of a most precious kind. Farther, that more good would
be done by any English nobleman who would keep his estate lovely in its
native wildness; and let every animal live upon it in peace that chose
to come there, than will be done, as matters are going now, by the talk
of all the Lords in Parliament as long as we live to listen to them; and
I will even venture to tell you my hope, though I shall be dead long
before its possible fulfilment, that one day the English people will,
indeed, so far recognize what education means as to surround this
university with the loveliest park in England, twenty miles square; that
they will forbid, in that environment, every unclean, mechanical, and
vulgar trade and manufacture, as any man would forbid them in his own
garden;--that they will abolish every base and ugly building, and nest
of vice and misery, as they would cast out a devil;--that the streams of
the Isis and Cherwell will be kept pure and quiet among their fields and
trees; and that, within this park, every English wild flower that can
bloom in lowland will be suffered to grow in luxuriance, and every
living creature that haunts wood and stream know that it has happy
refuge.
And now to our immediate work.
180. The natural history of anything, or of any creature, divides itself
properly into three branches.
We have first to collect and examine the traditions respecting the
thing, so that we may know what the effect of its existence has hitherto
been on the minds of men, and may have at our command what data exist to
help us in our inquiries about it, or to guide us in our own thoughts of
it.
We have secondly to examine and describe the thing, or creature, in its
actual state, with utmost attainable veracity of observation.
Lastly, we have to examine under what laws of chemistry and physics the
matter of which the thing is made has been collected and constructed.
Thus we have first to know the poetry of it--_i.e._, what it has been to
man, or what man has made of it.
Secondly, the actual facts of its existence.
Thirdly, the physical causes of these facts, if we can discover them.
181. Now, it is customary, and may be generally advisable, to confine
the term 'natural history' to the last two branches of knowledge only. I
do not care what we call the first branch; but, in the accounts of
animals that I prepare for my schools at Oxford, the main point with me
will be the mythology of them; the second, their actual state and
aspect, (second, this, because almost always hitherto only half known);
and the anatomy and chemistry of their bodies, I shall very rarely, and
partially, as I told you, examine at all: but I shall take the greatest
pains to get at the creature's habits of life; and know all its
ingenuities, humours, delights, and intellectual powers. That is to say,
what art it has, and what affection; and how these are prepared for in
its external form.
182. I say, deliberately and energetically, 'prepared for,' in
opposition to the idea, too prevalent in modern philosophy, of the
form's being fortuitously developed by repetition of impulse. It is of
course true that the aspects and characters of stones, flowers, birds,
beasts, and men, are inseparably connected with the conditions under
which they are appointed to have existence; but the method of this
connection is infinitely varied; so far from fortuitous, it appears
grotesquely, often terrifically arbitrary; and neither stone, flower,
beast, nor man can understand any single reason of the arbitrament, or
comprehend why its Creator made it thus.
183. To take the simplest of instances,--which happens also to be one of
the most important to you as artists,--it is appointed that vertebrated
animals shall have no more than four legs, and that, if they require to
fly, the two legs in front must become wings, it being against law that
they should have more than these four members in ramification from the
spine.
Can any law be conceived more arbitrary, or more apparently causeless?
What strongly planted three-legged animals there might have been! what
symmetrically radiant five-legged ones! what volatile six-winged ones!
what circumspect seven-headed ones! Had Darwinism been true, we should
long ago have split our heads in two with foolish thinking, or thrust
out, from above our covetous hearts, a hundred desirous arms and
clutching hands; and changed ourselves into Briarean Cephalopoda. But
the law is around us, and within; unconquerable; granting, up to a
certain limit, power over our bodies to circumstance and will; beyond
that limit, inviolable, inscrutable, and, so far as we know, eternal.
184. For every lower animal, similar laws are established; under the
grasp of these it is capable of change, in visibly permitted oscillation
between certain points; beyond which, according to present experience,
it cannot pass. The adaptation of the instruments it possesses in its
members to the conditions of its life is always direct, and occasionally
beautiful; but in the plurality of instances, partial, and involving
painful supplementary effort. Some animals have to dig with their noses,
some to build with their tails, some to spin with their stomachs: their
dexterities are usually few--their awkwardnesses numberless;--a lion is
continually puzzled how to hold a bone; and an eagle can scarcely pull
the meat off one, without upsetting himself.
185. Respecting the origin of these variously awkward, imperfectly, or
grotesquely developed phases of form and power, you need not at present
inquire: in all probability the race of man is appointed to live in
wonder, and in acknowledgment of ignorance; but if ever he is to know
any of the secrets of his own or of brutal existence, it will assuredly
be through discipline of virtue, not through inquisitiveness of science.
I have just used the expression, "had Darwinism been true," implying its
fallacy more positively than is justifiable in the present state of our
knowledge; but very positively I can say to you that I have never heard
yet one logical argument in its favour, and I have heard, and read, many
that were beneath contempt. For instance, by the time you have copied
one or two of your exercises on the feather of the halcyon, you will be
more interested in the construction and disposition of plume-filaments
than heretofore; and you may, perhaps, refer, in hope of help, to Mr.
Darwin's account of the peacock's feather. I went to it myself, hoping
to learn some of the existing laws of life which regulate the local
disposition of the colour. But none of these appear to be known; and I
am informed only that peacocks have grown to be peacocks out of brown
pheasants, because the young feminine brown pheasants like fine
feathers. Whereupon I say to myself, "Then either there was a distinct
species of brown pheasants originally born with a taste for fine
feathers; and therefore with remarkable eyes in their heads,--which
would be a much more wonderful distinction of species than being born
with remarkable eyes in their tails,--or else all pheasants would have
been peacocks by this time!" And I trouble myself no more about the
Darwinian theory.
When you have drawn some of the actual patterns of plume and scale with
attention, I believe you will see reason to think that spectra of
organic species may be at least as distinct as those of metals or gases;
but learn at all events what they are now, and never mind what they have
been.
186. Nor need you care for methods of classification any more than for
the origin of classes. Leave the physiologists to invent names, and
dispute over them; your business is to know the creature, not the name
of it momentarily fashionable in scientific circles. What practical
service you can get from the order at present adopted, take, without
contention; and as far as possible, use English words, or be sure you
understand the Latin ones.
187. For instance, the order at present adopted in arranging the species
of birds, is, as you know, founded only on their ways of using their
feet.
Some catch or snatch their prey, and are called "Snatchers"--RAPTORES.
Some perch on branches, and are called "In-sitters," or
"Upon-sitters"--INSESSORES.
Some climb and cling on branches, and are called "Climbers"--SCANSORES.
Some scratch the ground, and are called "Scratchers"--RASORES.
Some stand or wade in shallow water, and, having long legs, are called
"Stilt-walkers"--GRALLATORES.
Some float, and make oars of their feet, and are called
"Swimmers"--NATATORES.
188. This classification is unscholarly, because there are many
snatchers and scratchers who perch as well as the sitters; and many of
the swimmers sit, when ashore, more neatly than the sitters themselves;
and are most grave insessors, in long rows, on rock or sand: also,
'insessor' does not mean properly a sitter, but a besieger; and it is
awkward to call a bird a 'Rasor.' Still, the use of the feet is (on the
whole) characteristic, and convenient for first rough arrangement; only,
in general reference, it will be better to use plain English words than
those stiff Latin ones, or their ugly translations. Linnæus, for all his
classes except the stilt-walkers, used the name of the particular birds
which were the best types of their class; he called the snatchers
"hawks" (Accipitres), the swimmers, geese, (Anseres), the scratchers,
fowls, (Gallinae), and the perchers, sparrows, (Passeres). He has no
class of climbers; but he has one since omitted by Cuvier, "pies,"
which, for certain mythological reasons presently to be noted, I will
ask you to keep. This will give you seven orders, altogether, to be
remembered; and for each of these we will take the name of its most
representative bird. The hawk has best right undoubtedly to stand for
the snatchers; we will have his adversary, the heron, for the
stilt-walkers; you will find this very advisable, no less than
convenient; because some of the beaks of the stilt-walkers turn down,
and some turn up; but the heron's is straight, and so he stands well as
a pure middle type. Then, certainly, gulls will better represent the
swimmers than geese; and pheasants are a prettier kind of scratchers
than fowls. We will take parrots for the climbers, magpies for the pies,
and sparrows for the perchers. Then take them in this order: Hawks,
parrots, pies, sparrows, pheasants, gulls, herons; and you can then
easily remember them. For you have hawks at one end, the herons at the
other, and sparrows in the middle, with pies on one side and pheasants
opposite, for which arrangement you will find there is good reason; then
the parrots necessarily go beside the hawks, and the gulls beside the
herons.
189. The bird whose mythic history I am about to read to you belongs
essentially and characteristically to that order of pies, picæ, or
painted birds, which the Greeks continually opposed in their thoughts
and traditions to the singing birds, representing the one by the
magpie, and the other by the nightingale. The myth of Autolycus and
Philammon, and Pindar's exquisite story of the infidelity of Coronis,
are the centres of almost countless traditions, all full of meaning,
dependent on the various ποικιλία, to eye and ear, of these opposed
races of birds. The Greek idea of the Halcyon united both these sources
of delight. I will read you what notices of it I find most interesting,
not in order of date, but of brevity; the simplest first.
190. "And the King of Trachis, the child of the Morning Star, married
Alcyone. And they perished, both of them, through their pride; for the
king called his wife, Hera; and she her husband, Zeus: but Zeus made
birds of them (αὐτους ἀπωρνέωσε), and he made the one a Halcyon, and the
other a Sea-mew."--_Appollodorus_, i. 7, 4.
"When the King of Trachis, the son of Hesperus, or of Lucifer, and
Philonis, perished in shipwreck, his wife Alcyone, the daughter of Æolus
and Ægiale, for love of him, threw herself into the sea;--who both, by
the mercy of the gods, were turned into the birds called Halcyons. These
birds, in the winter-time, build their nests, and lay their eggs, and
hatch their young on the sea; and the sea is quiet in those days, which
the sailors call the Halcyonia."--_Hyginus, Fab._ LXV.
191. "Now the King of Trachis, the son of Lucifer, had to wife Halcyone.
And he, wishing to consult the oracle of Apollo concerning the state of
his kingdom, was forbidden to go, by Halcyone, nevertheless he went; and
perished by shipwreck. And when his body was brought to his wife
Halcyone, she threw herself into the sea. Afterwards, by the mercy of
Thetis and Lucifer, they were both turned into the sea-birds called
Halcyons. And you ought to know that Halcyone is the woman's name, and
is always a feminine noun; but the bird's name is Halcyon, masculine and
feminine, and so also its plural, Halcyones. Also those birds make
their nests in the sea, in the middle of winter; in which days the calm
is so deep that hardly anything in the sea can be moved. Thence, also,
the days themselves are called Halcyonia."--_Servius, in Virg. Georg._
i. 399.
192. "And the pairing of birds, as I said, is for the most part in
spring time, and early summer; except the halcyon's. For the halcyon has
its young about the turn of days in winter, wherefore, when those days
are fine, they are called 'Halcyonine' (ἀλκυόνειοι); seven, indeed,
before the turn, and seven after it, as Simonides poetized, (ἐποίησεν).
'As, when in the wintry month
Zeus gives the wisdom of calm to fourteen days,
Then the people of the land call it
The hour of wind-hiding, the sacred
Nurse of the spotted Halcyon.'
"And in the first seven days the halcyon is said to lay her eggs, and in
the latter seven to bring forth and nourish her young. Here, indeed, in
the seas of Greece, it does not always chance that the Halcyonid days
are at the solstice; but in the Sicilian sea, almost always. But the
æthuia and the laros bring forth their young, (two, or three) among the
rocks by the sea-shore; but the laros in summer, the æthuia in first
spring, just after the turn of days; and they sit on them as other birds
do. And none of these birds lie torpid in holes during the winter; but
the halcyon is, of all, seen the seldomest, for it is seen scarcely at
all, except just at the setting and turn of Pleias, and then it will but
show itself once, and away; flying, perhaps, once round a ship at
anchor, and then it is gone instantly."--_Aristotle, Hist. Av._, v. 8,
9.
193. "Now we are ready enough to extol the bee for a wise creature, and
to consent to the laws by which it cares for the yellow honey, because
we adore the pleasantness and tickling to our palates that is in the
sweetness of that; but we take no notice of the wisdom and art of other
creatures in bringing up their young, as for instance, the halcyon, who
as soon as she has conceived, makes her nest by gathering the thorns of
the sea-needle-fish; and, weaving these in and out, and joining them
together at the ends, she finishes her nest; round in the plan of it,
and long, in the proportion of a fisherman's net; and then she puts it
where it will be beaten by the waves, until the rough surface is all
fastened together and made close. And it becomes so hard that a blow
with iron or stone will not easily divide it; but, what is more
wonderful still, is that the opening of the nest is made so exactly to
the size and measure of the halcyon that nothing larger can get into it,
and nothing smaller!--so they say;--no, not even the sea itself, even
the least drop of it."--_Plutarch: De Amore Prolis._
I have kept to the last Lucian's dialogue, "the Halcyon," to show you
how the tone of Christian thought, and tradition of Christ's walking on
the sea, began to steal into heathen literature.
SOCRATES--CHAEREPHON.
194. "_Chaerephon._ What cry is that, Socrates, which came to us from
the beach? how sweet it was; what can it be? the things that live in the
sea are all mute.
"_Socrates._ Yet it is a sea-creature, Chaerephon; the bird called
Halcyon, concerning which the old fable runs that she was the daughter
of Æolus, and, mourning in her youth for her lost husband, was winged by
divine power, and now flies over the sea, seeking him whom she could not
find, sought throughout the earth.
"_Chaerephon._ And is that indeed the Halcyon's cry? I never heard it
yet; and in truth it is very pitiful. How large is the bird, Socrates?
"_Socrates._ Not great; but it has received great honour from the Gods,
because of its lovingness; for while it is making its nest, all the
world has the happy days which it calls halcyonidæ, excelling all others
in their calmness, though in the midst of storm; of which you see this
very day is one, if ever there was. Look, how clear the sky is, and the
sea waveless and calm, like a mirror!
"_Chaerephon._ You say truly, and yesterday was just such another. But
in the name of the Gods, Socrates, how is one to believe those old
sayings, that birds were ever changed into women, or women into birds,
for nothing could seem more impossible?
195. "_Socrates._ Ah, dear Chaerephon, it is likely that we are poor and
blunt judges of what is possible and not: for we judge by comparing to
human power a power unknown to us, unimaginable, and unseen. Many
things, therefore, that are easy, seem to us difficult; and many things
unattainable that may be attained; being thus thought of, some through
the inexperience, and some through the infantine folly, of our minds.
For in very deed every man may be thought of as a child--even the oldest
of us,--since the full time of life is little, and as a baby's compared
to universal time. And what should we have to say, my good friend, who
know nothing of the power of gods or of the spirits of Nature, whether
any of such things are possible or not? You saw, Chaerephon, what a
storm there was, the day before yesterday; it makes one tremble even to
think of it again;--that lightning, and thunder, and sudden tempest, so
great that one would have thought all the earth falling to ruin; and
yet, in a little while, came the wonderful establishing of calm, which
has remained even till now. Whether, then, do you think it the greater
work, to bring such a calm out of that tormenting whirlwind, and reduce
the universe to peace, or to change the form of a woman into that of a
bird? For indeed we see how very little children, who know how to knead
clay, do something like this also; often out of one lump they will make
form after form, of different natures: and surely to the spirit-powers
of Nature, being in vast and inconjecturable excess beyond ours, all
such things must be in their hands easy. Or how much do you think heaven
greater than thyself--can you say, perchance?
"_Chaerephon._ Who of men, O Socrates, could imagine or name any of
these things?
196. "_Socrates._ Nay; do we not see also, in comparing man with man,
strange differences in their powers and imbecilities? for complete
manhood, compared with utter infancy, as of a child five or ten days
old, has difference in power, which we may well call miraculous: and
when we see man excel man so far, what shall we say that the strength of
the whole heaven must appear, against ours, to those who can see them
together, so as to compare them? Also, to you and me, and to many like
us, sundry things are impossible that are easy to other people; as
singing to those ignorant of music, and reading or writing to those
ignorant of letters;--more impossible than to make women birds, or birds
of women. For Nature, as with chance throw, and rough parable, making
the form of a footless and wingless beast in changeable matter; then
putting on feet and wings, and making it glitter all over with fair
variegation and manifold colour, at last brings out, for instance, the
wise bee, maker of the divine honey; and out of the voiceless and
spiritless egg she brings many kinds of flying and foot-going and
swimming creatures, using besides (as runs the old Logos) the sacred art
of the great Aether.[H] We then, being altogether mortal and mean, and
neither able to see clearly great things nor small, and, for the most
part being unable to help ourselves even in our own calamities,--what
can we have to say about the powers of the immortals, either over
halcyons or nightingales? But the fame of fable such as our fathers gave
it to us, this, to my children, O thou bird singing of sorrow, I will
deliver concerning thy hymns: and I myself will sing often of this
religious and human love of thine, and of the honour thou hast for it
from the Gods. Wilt not thou do likewise, O Chaerephon?
"_Chaerephon._ It is rightly due indeed, O Socrates, for there is
two-fold comfort in this, both for men and women, in their relations
with each other.
"_Socrates._ Shall we not then salute the halcyon, and so go back to the
city by the sands, for it is time?
"_Chaerephon._ Indeed let us do so."
[H] Note this sentence respecting the power of the creative Athena.