Chapter VI: The Ultramontane Way of Thinking (3)

It is very difficult, if not impossible, to read the New Testament without spectacles. For our own part, we are quite sure that the New Testament contains more or less explicitly all the principal and many of the minor Catholic doctrines, and that the sense given by the church is the one given by true exegesis and criticism. Yet we will not venture to say how far we should be able to see this without Catholic spectacles. We are quite sure that Dr. Harwood also has a pair of spectacles, and cannot lay them aside if he would. We find in point of fact, that ordinarily persons who believe in the Bible and read it all their lives, whether Episcopalians, Presbyterians, or even Unitarians, are seldom startled out of the belief they have been taught, and convinced of some different interpretation, merely by reading it. It is evident, therefore, that any one exposition made of Christianity from the simple text will never be a demonstration in the view of all candid, sincere persons. There will always be various interpretations having more or less probability, and unity will never be reached. Besides this, the degree and extent of inspiration will never be settled, or the limits between the human, transitory element and the divine, unchangeable element become fixed. The result will be that we must fall back on philosophy and a system of rationalism. Let it be conceded that the ideas in the mind of each sacred writer when he wrote are clearly apprehended, it will be impossible to secure perfect submission even to the teachings of inspired men, when the principle of church authority has been cast to the winds. This is the reason why, even at the outset of an argument, and before we are entitled to cite the authority of tradition as divine to one who denies it, we refuse to permit the case to be argued on the scriptural ground alone, even though both parties admit the divine authority of Scripture. We desire to do something more than to make a good case, and to establish our interpretation as even the more probable or the most probable. We desire to prove it to a demonstration which does not leave even a slight probability on the other side, through which an adversary may creep. We wish to have the question adjudicated and decided, so that it may be clear and indisputable that God has revealed and commands all men to believe and obey the Gospel of his Son as a distinct and positive law of faith and practice, and not as a mere theory. We are not afraid, however, that we cannot get the best of it, in a discussion of the text of the New Testament, conducted on the same principles that we should apply to an ancient manuscript about whose contents we have no extrinsic light whatever. Those who come nearest to this cold, critical impartiality are men who possess the intellectual keenness necessary to see into ideas as they are, without having any motive to misrepresent them. One who is indifferent as to the question what the sacred writers thought and intended to say, because he considers their teaching as equivalent only to that of Socrates or Confucius, and who is qualified to examine critically the New Testament, will at least attempt to state impartially what impression it has made on his mind. And that statement will throw some light on the question, What does the text clearly and unmistakably signify by itself, apart from ideas on the same subject-matter which are derived from Christian tradition? One person of this kind, Mr. Samuel Johnson, of Lynn, Massachusetts, who is a leader among the Bostonian free-thinkers, in an article which appeared in _The Radical_ gave his opinion that the doctrine of the papacy is clearly contained in St. Matthew's Gospel. The infidel Jew Salvador, in a work whose name we do not now remember, but which we have attentively read, declares that the Roman Catholic religion is the genuine religion of the New Testament, and that Protestantism is a total misconception of Christianity; an opinion we have ourselves personally heard expressed by a well-informed and zealous Israelite of our acquaintance. We do not care to press these testimonies too far; but at all events they indicate, in connection with the fact that so many learned students of the Bible, both Protestant and Catholic, interpret it in a manner quite different from that of Dr. Harwood's school, that it does not on the face of it clearly and unmistakably pronounce in his favor or against us.

We insist then, further, that even conceding Dr. Harwood for a moment in possession of the ground on which his belief of the divine authority of the Scripture stands, he is bound to admit all the light that ecclesiastical history throws back on its text, as he himself partially but inconsistently admits, and as all Protestants have ever done so far as it suited their purposes to do so. We may illustrate this by a parallel case. A Christian discusses the text of the Old Testament with a Jew. If the Jew should insist on sticking to the text, and interpreting the prophecies exclusively by biblical criticism, the Christian could justly insist that the facts of the life of Jesus Christ and the history of Christianity must be considered. The Jew himself would not fail to cite all kinds of historical facts not prejudicial to himself against an infidel, as manifesting the sense and fulfilment of the prophecies. Let the Jew shut his eyes to the miracles proving the divine mission and miraculous conception of Jesus, and he can very plausibly explain the famous prediction, "Behold the Virgin (ha almah) shall conceive," etc., as signifying. "Behold _this young woman_"--that is, one standing by and pointed out by Isaias--shall conceive and bear a son. So, with all the Messianic passages of the Old Testament, as one may see by consulting Rabbi Leeser's English translation, with notes, published at Philadelphia. Now, it is a perfectly fair and conclusive argument against a Jew to show that the history of Jesus, established on merely human faith, presents such a correspondence to the prophecies of the Old Testament that it must be regarded as their fulfilment. Although the Old Testament alone might not reveal Jesus to his individual reason, yet in the light of his life it is shown that these ancient Scriptures testify of him. It is not competent for him to allege his Scripture as a complete and finished revelation, rejecting every thing which is not clearly visible on its face; for we can show him that his Scriptures point out the glorious son of David's royal daughter as the one who will carry out the dispensation of Moses to its consummation.

It is precisely the same case between us and Protestants. We point to the church as presenting historical facts and verities corresponding to the somewhat obscure predictions or other declarations of the Scripture, and manifesting their significance. We show how all that can be learned from the New Testament by itself is in harmony with what the church proclaims herself to be, and declares true Christianity to consist in; and we show the Scripture presupposes, provides for, and points toward the church. If we take all those passages which relate to the divine eucharist, and place beside them the traditional teaching and practice of the church, we see them at once lit up with meaning and irradiating our minds with the true and Catholic doctrine. One is the explanation of the other, and the historical existence of the sacrifice of the mass confronted with the language of the Scripture demonstrates that it must be the thing which the sacred writers meant. We take the prediction of our Lord to St. Peter, "Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will build my church." One who knows nothing about the Catholic Church might easily be persuaded that our Lord meant no more than this: "Thou art firm like a rock in thy faith, and upon such a firm faith I will establish all the elect who are an invisible society known to me, and these Satan shall never be able to overcome." But when that stupendous, world-subduing might of Peter's see which overawes even Dr. Harwood is contemplated in history as it emerges from the obscure dawn of the Christian era, and goes forward through all time conquering and to conquer, its plain correspondence to and fulfilment of the literal significance of our Lord's words proves conclusively that he meant this, and nothing else. We do not intend, however, to go into this argument any further, as Dr. Harwood does not profess to argue the point himself. All we aim at is, to show that the argument must be conducted on the ground of history as well as that of Scripture. And here we desire to call attention to an admirable article by President Woolsey in the same number of the _New-Englander_, in which Dr. Harwood's lecture was first published, on the _Church of the Future_, which exhibits with rare ability the very idea we are insisting upon, that the true Christianity is the genuine historical Christianity.

The only true issue which can be made is respecting the genuine, historical development of the Christian idea. Dr. Harwood and his school cannot escape from this. If, therefore, the champions whom he summons to the controversy respond to his call, they will be bound to demonstrate historically that the papal supremacy was a purely human invention substituted for the authentic constitution which the apostles gave to the Christian church. This Dr. Harwood thinks can be done. "If the pope be that rock, we can find by the lights of history the strata and the law of its structure. We observe it acquired shape and size--and there is a hammer which can break it in pieces." If there is such a hammer, we wonder that it has not yet been found and wielded. In our opinion, the enemies of the papacy have already said every thing which can be said on their side of the question. We are at a loss to know how history can be made to give up any thing new on the subject, any thing which has not been already thoroughly sifted and discussed. We are perfectly willing that our adversaries should try again to look up or manufacture a hammer with which to try the effect of their blows upon the Rock of Peter. We think they will find that they are undertaking a herculean task. One thing only we must be permitted to observe, that any one who undertakes this controversy ought not to ignore and pass by what has already been written by Catholic controversialists. It is not fair that the discussion should be always beginning _de novo_, and Catholic writers be required to repeat all the labor of their predecessors. If Dr. Harwood, or any one else, is disposed to attempt our demolition, let him first master all the arguments and evidences which have been already adduced on our side, give a distinct answer to them, and rebut the answers which we have already made to anti-papal arguments. Whoever does this with competent learning and ability, will no doubt receive due attention; but until this is done, it will be quite sufficient for us to challenge a refutation of the works of our champions which hitherto have remained unanswered, and which we confidently affirm to be unanswerable.

FOOTNOTES:

[60] Romans xvi. 20.

[61] _Liber Librorum._ Note D, p. 228.

HAYDN'S STRUGGLE AND TRIUMPH.

I.

"Seventeen kreutzers for a morning's work!" exclaimed a pretty but slovenly-dressed young woman, standing at the door of an apartment in a mean-looking house in one of the narrow streets of Vienna, addressing a man of low stature and sallow complexion, who had just come in. "And the printers running after you ever since you went out! Profitless doings for you to spend your time! At eight, the singing-desk of the brothers De la Merci; at ten, Count de Haugwitz's chapel; grand mass at eleven; and all this toil for a few kreutzers!"

"What can I do?" said the weary, desponding man.

"Do! Give up this foolish business of music, and take to something that will enable you to live. Did not my father, a hair-dresser, give you shelter when you had only your garret and skylight, and had to lie in bed and write for want of coals? Had he not a right to expect you would dress his daughter as well as she had been used at home, and that she should have servants to wait on her, as in her father's house?"

"You should not reproach me, Nanny. Have I not worked till my health has given way? If fortune is inexorable--"

"Fortune! As if fortune did not always wait upon industry in a proper calling. Your patrons admire and applaud, but they will not _pay_; yet you _will_ drudge away your life in this ungrateful occupation. I tell you, Joseph Haydn, music is not the thing!"

Here a knock was heard at the door; and the wife, with exclamations of impatience, flounced away. The unfortunate artist threw himself on a seat, and leaned his head on a table covered with notes of music. So entirely had he yielded himself to despondency that he did not move, even when the door opened, till the sound of a well-known voice close at his side startled him from his melancholy reverie.

"How now, Haydn! what is the matter, my boy?"

The speaker was an old man, shabbily dressed, but with something striking and even commanding in his noble features. His large, dark, flashing eyes, his olive complexion, and the contour of his face bespoke him a native of a sunnier clime than that of Germany. Haydn sprang up and welcomed him with a cordial embrace.

"And when, my dear Porpora, did you return to Vienna?" he asked.

"This morning only; and my first care was to find you out. But how is this? I find you thin, and pale, and gloomy. Where are your spirits?"

"Gone," murmured the composer, and dropped his eyes on the floor. His visitor regarded him with a look of affectionate interest.

In answer to Porpora's inquiries, Haydn told him of the struggles and failures by which he had been led to doubt his own genius, till he had succumbed under the crushing hand of poverty. "I am chained," he concluded bitterly; and, giving way to the anguish of his heart, he burst into tears.

Porpora shook his head, and was silent for a few moments. At length he said:

"I must, I see, give you a little of my experience. I was, you know, a pupil of Scarlatti more fortunate than you; for my works procured me almost at once a wide-spread fame. I was called for not only in Venice, but in Vienna and London."

"Ah! yours was a brilliant lot," cried the young composer, looking up with kindling eyes.

"The Saxon court," continued Porpora, "offered me the direction of the chapel and of the theatre at Dresden. Even the princesses received my lessons; in short, my success was so great that I awakened the jealousy of Hasse himself. All this you know, and how I returned to London upon the invitation of amateurs in Italian music."

"Where you rivalled Handel!" said Haydn enthusiastically. "Handel, with all his greatness, had no versatility. Your sacred music, Porpora, will live when your theatrical compositions have ceased to enjoy unrivalled popularity."

"My sacred compositions may survive and carry my name to posterity; for taste in such things is less mutable than in the opera. You see now, dear Haydn, for what I have lived and labored. I was once renowned and wealthy. What did prosperity bring me? Envy, discontent, rivalship, disappointment! Would you know to what period I can look back with self-approbation, with thankfulness? To the toil of early years; to the struggle after an ideal of greatness, goodness, and beauty; to the self-forgetfulness that saw only the glorious goal far, far before me; to the undismayed resolve that sought only its attainment. Or to a time still later, when the visions of manhood's impure and selfish ambition had faded away, when the soul had shaken off some of her fetters, and roused herself to a perception of the eternal, the perfect, the divine; when I became conscious of the delusive vanity of earthly hopes and earthly excellence, but at the same time awakened to the revelation of that which cannot die!

"You see me now, seventy-three years old, and too poor to command even a shelter for the few days that yet remain to me in this world. I have lost the splendid fame I once possessed; I have lost the riches that were mine; I have lost the power to win even a competence by my own labors; but I have not lost my passion for our glorious music, nor enjoyment of the reward she bestows on her votaries; nor my confidence in Heaven. And you, at twenty-seven, you--more greatly endowed, to whom the world is open--_you_ despair! Are you worthy to succeed, O man of little faith?"

"My friend, my benefactor!" cried the young artist, clasping his hand with deep emotion.

"Cast away your bonds; cut and rend, if your very flesh is torn in the effort; and the ground once spurned, you are free. What have you been doing?" And he turned over rapidly the musical notes that lay on the table. "Here, what is this--a symphony? Play it for me, if you please."

So saying, with a gentle force he led his young friend to the piano, and Haydn played from the piece he had nearly completed.

"This is excellent, admirable!" cried Porpora, when he rose from the instrument. "When can you finish this? for I must have it at once."

"To-morrow, if you like," answered the composer more cheerfully.

"To-morrow then; and you must work to-night. I will go and order you a physician; he will come to-morrow morning--how madly your pulse throbs!--and when your work is done, you may rest. Adieu for the present." And pressing his young friend's hands, the eccentric but benevolent old man departed, leaving Haydn full of new thoughts, his bosom fired with zeal to struggle against adverse fortune. In such moods does the spiritual champion wrestle with the powers of the abyss, and mightily prevail.

When Haydn, late that night, threw himself on his bed, weary, ill, and exhausted, his frame racked with the pains of fever, he had accomplished the first of an order of works destined to endear his name to all succeeding time.

While the artist lay on a sick-bed, a brilliant _fête_ was given by Count Mortzin, an Austrian nobleman of immense wealth and influence, at which the most distinguished individuals in Vienna were present. The musical entertainments given by these luxurious patrons of the arts were at that time, and for some years after, the most splendid in Europe.

When the concert was over, Prince Antoine Esterhazy expressed the pleasure he had received, and his obligations to the noble host. "Chief among your magnificent novelties," said he, "is the new symphony, _St. Maria_. One does not hear every day such music. Who is the composer?"

The count referred to one of his friends. The answer was, "Joseph Haydn."

"I have heard his quartettos; he is no common artist. Is he in your service, count?"

"He has been employed by me."

"With your good leave, he shall be transferred to ours; and I shall take care he has no reason to regret the change. Let him be presented to us."

There was a murmur among the audience and a movement, but the composer did not appear; and presently word was brought to his highness that the young man on whom he intended to confer so great an honor was detained at home by illness.

"So! Let him be brought to me as soon as he recovers; he shall enter my service. I like his symphony vastly. Your pardon, count; for we will rob you of your best man." And the great prince, having decided the destiny of a greater than himself, turned to those who surrounded him to speak of other matters.

News of the change in his fortune was brought to Haydn by his friend Porpora; and so renovating was the effect of hope that he was strong enough on the following day to pay his respects to his illustrious patron. His highness was just preparing to ride, but would see the composer; and he was conducted through a splendid suite of rooms to the apartment where the proud head of the Esterhazys deigned to receive an almost nameless artist. The prince, in the splendid array suited to his rank, glanced somewhat carelessly at the low, slight figure that stood before him, and said, as he was presented, "Is this, then, the composer of the music I heard last night?"

"This is he--Joseph Haydn," replied the friend who introduced him.

"So--a Moor, I should judge from his dark complexion. And you write such music? Haydn--I recollect the name; and I remember hearing, too, that you were not well paid for your labors, eh?"

"I have been very unfortunate, your highness--"

"Well, you shall have no reason to complain in my service. My secretary shall fix your appointments; and name whatever else you desire. All of your profession find me liberal. Now then, sir Moor, you may go; and let it be your first care to provide yourself with a new coat, a wig, and buckles and heels to your shoes. I will have you respectable in appearance as well as in talents; so let me have no more of shabby professors. And do your best, my little dusky, to recruit in flesh--it will add to the stature; and to relieve your olive with a shade of the ruddy. Such spindle masters would be a walking discredit to our larder, which is truly a spendthrift one."

So saying, with a laugh, the haughty nobleman dismissed his new dependent. The artist chafed not at the imperious tone of patronage; for he did not yet feel the superiority of his own vocation. It was the bondage-time of genius; the wings were not yet grown which were to bear his spirit up, when it brooded over a new world.

The life which Haydn led in the service of Prince Esterhazy, to which service he was permanently attached by Nicolas, the successor of Antoine, in the quality of chapel-master, was one so easy that it might have proved fatal to an artist more inclined to luxury and pleasure, or less devoted to his art. Now for the first time relieved from the care of the future, he was enabled to yield to the impulse of his genius, and create works which gradually extended his fame over all the countries of Europe.

II.

On the evening of a day in the beginning of April, 1809, all the lovers of art in Vienna were assembled in the theatre to witness the performance of the oratorio of _The Creation_. The entertainment had been given in honor of the composer of that noble work--the illustrious Haydn--by his numerous friends and admirers. He had been enticed from Gumpendorf, his retreat in the suburbs, the cottage surrounded by a little garden which he had purchased after his retirement from the Esterhazy service, and where he was spending the last years of his life. Three hundred musicians assisted at the performance. The audience rose _en masse_ and greeted with rapturous applause the white-haired man, who, led forward by the most distinguished nobles in the city, was conducted to the place of honor. There, seated with princesses at his right hand, beauty smiling upon him, the centre of a circle of nobility, the observed and admired of all, the object of the acclamations of thousands--who would not have said that Haydn had reached the summit of human greatness, had more than realized the proudest visions of his youth? His serene countenance, his clear eye, his air of dignified self-possession, showed that prosperity had not overcome him, but that amid the smiles of fortune he had not forgotten the true excellence of man.

"I can see plainly," remarked one of Haydn's friends, whom we will call Manuel, "that he will write no more."

"He has done enough; and now we are ready for the farewell of Haydn," said another.

"The farewell?"

"Did you never hear the story? I have heard him tell it often myself. It concerns one of his most celebrated symphonies. The occasion was this: Among the musicians attached to the service of Prince Esterhazy, were several who, during his sojourn upon his estates, were obliged to leave their wives at Vienna. At one time his highness prolonged his stay at Esterhazy castle considerably beyond the usual period. The disconsolate husbands entreated Haydn to become the interpreter of their wishes. Thus the idea came to him of composing a symphony in which each instrument ceased, one after another. He added at the close of every part the direction, 'Here the light is extinguished.' Each musician, in his turn, rose, put out his candle, rolled up his notes, and went away. This pantomime had the desired effect; the next morning the prince gave orders for their return to the capital.

"He used to tell us a somewhat similar story of the origin of his Turkish or military symphony. You know the high appreciation he met with in his visits to England; but notwithstanding the praise and homage he received, he could not prevent the enthusiastic audience from falling asleep during the performance of his compositions. It occurred to him to devise a kind of ingenious revenge. In this piece, while the current is gliding softly, and slumber beginning to steal over the senses of his audience, a sudden and unexpected burst of martial music, tremendous as a thunder-peal, startles the surprised sleepers into active attention. I would have liked to see the lethargic islanders, with their eyes and mouths thrown open by such an unlooked-for shock!"

A stop was suddenly put to the conversation by the commencement of the performance. _The Creation_, the first of Haydn's oratorios, was regarded as his greatest work, and had often elicited the most heartfelt applause. Now that the aged and honored composer was present, probably for the last time, to hear it, an emotion too deep for utterance seemed to pervade the vast audience. The feeling was too reverential to be expressed by the ordinary tokens of pleasure. It seemed as if every eye in the assembly were fixed on the calm, noble face of the venerated artist; as if every heart beat with love for him. Then came, like a succession of heavenly melodies, the music of _The Creation_, and the listeners felt as if transported back to the infancy of the world. At the words, "Let there be light, and there was light," when all the instruments were united in one full burst of gorgeous harmony, emotion seemed to shake the whole frame of the aged artist. His pale face crimsoned; his bosom heaved convulsively; he raised his eyes, streaming with tears, toward heaven, and, lifting upward his trembling hands, exclaimed, his voice audible in the pause of the music, "Not unto me--not unto me--but unto thy name be all the glory, O Lord!"

From this moment Haydn lost the calmness and serenity that had marked the expression of his countenance. The very depths of his heart had been stirred, and ill could his wasted strength sustain the tide of feeling. When the superb chorus at the close of the second part announced the completion of the work of creation, he could bear the excitement no longer. Assisted by the prince's physician and several of his friends, he was carried from the theatre, pausing to give one last look of gratitude, expressed in his tearful eyes, to the orchestra who had so nobly executed his conception, and followed by the lengthened plaudits of the spectators, who felt that they were never to look upon his face again.

Some weeks after this occurrence, his friend Manuel, who had sent to inquire after his health, received from him a card on which he had written, to notes of music, the words, "_Meine kraft ist dahin_," "My strength is gone." Haydn was in the habit of sending about these cards, but his increased feebleness was evident in the handwriting of this; and Manuel lost no time in hastening to him There, in his quiet cottage, around which rolled the thunders of war, terrifying others but not him, sat the venerable composer. His desk stood on one side, on the other his piano; he smiled, and held out his hand to greet his friend.

"Many a time," he murmured, "you have cheered my solitude, and now you have come to see the old man die."

"Speak not thus, my dear friend," cried Manuel, grieved to the heart; "you will recover."

"Not here," answered Haydn, and pointed upward.

He then made a sign to one of his attendants to open the desk, and reach him a roll of papers. From these he took one and gave it to his friend. It was inscribed in his own hand, "Catalogue of all my musical compositions, which I can remember, since my eighteenth year. Vienna, 4th December, 1805." Manuel, as he read it, understood the mute pressure of his friend's hand, and sighed deeply. That hand would never trace another note.

"Better thus," said Haydn softly, "than a lingering old age of care, disease, perhaps of poverty! No; I am happy. I have lived not in vain. I have accomplished my destiny; I have done good. I am ready for thy call, O Master!"

His spiritual adviser and guide was with him the next hour, and administered the last consolations of religion. The aged man was wrapped in devotion. At length he asked to be supported to his piano; it was opened, and as his trembling fingers touched the keys, an expression of rapture was kindled in his eyes. The music that answered his touch seemed the music of inspiration. But it gradually faded away; the flush gave place to a deadly pallor; and while his fingers still rested on the keys, he sank back into the arms of his friend, and gently breathed out his parting spirit. It passed as in a happy strain of melody!

Prince Esterhazy did honor to the memory of his departed friend by the pageant of funeral ceremonies. His remains were transported to Eisenstadt, in Hungary, and placed in the Franciscan vault. The prince also purchased, at a high price, all his books and manuscripts, and the numerous medals he had obtained. But his fame belongs to the world; and in all hearts sensible to the music of truth and nature is consecrated the memory of Haydn.

PRAYER.

If men but knew--a wise priest gravely said,
His Roman doctor's cap upon his head--
If men but knew what they had won by prayer
Aside from all their worldly thrift and care,
They might be tempted, in a literal sense,
"Always to pray," and with just toil dispense.

THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES.

II.

Of the several circumstances which led to the conception of the theory here advanced, the first and most important was the recognition of the fact that variation was left unaccounted for upon the hypothesis of evolution. Here, if anywhere, we conceived, was to be found the vulnerable part of Darwinism. It occurred to us that the probabilities were that a theory was false when it had for its data phenomena which conform to no law. Our subsequent inquiries furnished us with nothing by which to rebut this presumption; but with much to confirm it. Our suspicion at last strengthened into conviction, and we became confident that contemplation of the subject of the cause of variation alone could furnish us with a solution of the whole question.

It is of laws alone of which we speak in these articles. All the facts adduced by Darwin we accept, and use them merely as illustrations. We have nothing in common with those who contend that the refutation of Darwinism lies solely with mere compilers of facts--fanciers, florists, and breeders. Darwin has heretofore anticipated nothing but a joinder of issue upon facts. He has apparently never contemplated being met by a demurrer. He has endeavored to confound his opponents by a vast multitude of facts; and, owing to his reverence for whatever has the sanction of antiquity, it has never entered his mind that any one would be so presumptuous as to demur to the time-honored conception of _new growth_, upon which these facts are based. Of this presumption we are guilty when we deny the very existence of organic evolution.

In the preceding article we directly intimated, on several occasions, that no theory other than that of reversion can afford a solution of the mystery of the appearance of favorable modifications. As some little diversity of opinion exists respecting Darwin's views on the subject of the cause of variation, it may be well for us to dwell awhile on this question, and to furnish some evidence substantiating our statement.

Darwin, in his _Origin of Species_, candidly and frankly admits that he can assign no satisfactory reason for the appearance of favorable modifications. He ascribes them to "spontaneous variability," and assures us that "our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound." We might adduce a number of other expressions equally declaratory of his inability to assign the cause of variation; but as the Duke of Argyll has taken such pains to direct attention to this _hiatus_ in Darwin's evidence, we cannot refrain from quoting from his _The Reign of Law_:

"It has not, I think, been sufficiently observed that the theory
of Mr. Darwin does not address itself to the same question, (the
introduction of new forms of life,) and does not even profess to
trace the origin of new forms to any definite law. His theory
gives an explanation, not of the processes by which new forms
first appear, but only of the processes by which, when they have
appeared, they acquire a preference over others, and thus become
established in the world. A new species is, indeed, according to
his theory, as well as with the older theories of development,
simply an unusual birth. The bond of connection between allied
specific and generic forms is, in his view, simply the bond of
inheritance. But Mr. Darwin does not pretend to have discovered
any law or rule according to which new forms have been born from
old forms. He does not hold that outward conditions, however
changed, are sufficient to account for them. Still less does he
connect them with the effort or aspirations of any organisms after
new faculties and powers. He frankly confesses that 'our ignorance
of the laws of variation is profound;' and says that in speaking
of them as due to chance, he means only 'to acknowledge plainly
our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.' Again he
says, 'I believe in no law of necessary development.'" (P. 228.)

On page 254, the Duke of Argyll continues:

"It will be seen, then, that the principle of Natural Selection
has no bearing whatever on the origin of species, but only on
the preservation and distribution of species when they have
arisen. I have already pointed out that Mr. Darwin does not
always keep this distinction clearly in view; because he speaks
of natural selection 'producing' organs or 'adapting' them. It
cannot be too often repeated that natural selection can produce
nothing whatever except the conservation or preservation of some
variation otherwise originated. The _true_ origin of species
does not consist in the adjustments which help varieties to live
and prevail; but in those previous adjustments which cause those
varieties to be born at all. Now, what are these? Can they be
traced or even guessed at? Mr. Darwin has a whole chapter on the
laws of variation, and it is here, if anywhere, that we look for
any suggestion as to the physical causes which account for the
origin as distinguished from the preservation of the species.
He candidly admits that his doctrine of natural selection takes
cognizance of variations only after they have arisen, and that
it regards variations as purely accidental in their origin, or,
in other words, as due to chance. This, of course, he adds, is
a supposition wholly incorrect, and only serves 'to indicate
plainly our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.'
Accordingly, the laws of variation which he proceeds to indicate
are merely certain observed facts in respect to variation, and do
not at all come under the category of laws, in that higher sense
in which the word law indicates a discovered method under which
natural forces are made to work."

It will be seen that we have not gone too far in proclaiming Darwin's inability to account for variation. In the absence, then, of any other rational explanation, are we not necessitated to accept the theory of reversion? What possible objection can be urged against it? Reversion is not a heretofore unknown factor. Nor is it an occult factor. It is constantly recognized by Darwin. Two chapters of the _Animals and Plants under Domestication_ are filled with phenomena illustrating its action; and it forms the basis of his lately propounded hypothesis of pangenesis.

In the interval between the publication of his _Origin of Species_ and the writing of his _Animals and Plants under Domestication_, Darwin has received no enlightenment as to the cause of variation. A writer in _The North American Review_ for October, 1868, holds the contrary, and distinctly asserts that Darwin is inclined to adopt the mechanist theory, to attribute the phenomena of variation solely to the influence of the physical conditions, and to repudiate the idea of a concurrent cause. After speaking of Mr. Herbert Spencer's ascription of variations to the physical conditions, he says:

"In his latest work, Mr. Darwin inclines to adopt the mechanist
theory, so far as the cause of variations is concerned. 'We will
now consider,' he says, 'the general arguments, which appear to
me to have great weight, in favor of the view that variations
are directly or indirectly caused by the conditions of life to
which each being, and more especially its ancestors, have been
exposed.... These several considerations alone render it probable
that variation of every kind is directly or indirectly caused by
changed conditions of life. Or, to put the case under another
point of view; if it were possible to expose all the individuals
of a species to absolutely uniform conditions, there would be no
variability.' When variations of all kinds and degrees, that is,
all the gradual differentiations by which the vast multitude of
existing species has been evolved out of the primordial form or
forms, are thus attributed solely to the accumulative action of
the conditions of life, without any recognition of a concurrent
cause in that constant self-adaptation by organisms for which the
conditions cannot account, it would seem fairly inferrible that
the mechanist theory is supposed to explain the evolution of the
species, if not of individual organisms."

Now, there is nothing in the expressions quoted from Darwin's work, which justifies such a construction as _The North American Review_ has here placed upon them. Although we, as a vitalist, implicitly believe in the coöperation of other than mechanical causes, yet we fully and most unqualifiedly concur in Darwin's assertion that there would be no variability were all the individuals of a species exposed to absolutely uniform conditions. This fact is by no means incompatible with a belief in "forces which manifest themselves in the organism." We have shown that varieties or races under nature are attributable solely to the action of the conditions of life. Under domestication, the changed conditions are the secondary cause of favorable modifications, reversion being the primary cause. But without the concurrence of this secondary cause, it is wholly impossible for favorable variations to occur. The expressions of Darwin, then, carry with them no implication that variations are solely caused by the changed condition; for the recognition of the power of the conditions to the extent claimed by Darwin by no means precludes the belief in a concurrent cause. The conclusion that a change in the conditions is a cause of variation, and that were there no such change there would be no variability, is necessitated by the theory here advanced. For, an acquaintance with phenomena displaying the action of the physical conditions forces upon us the teleological inference that certain conditions are essential to the full development of characters. Does it not thence necessarily follow that, when the conditions are dissimilar, modifications will result from the individuals of a species being exposed to conditions favorable or unfavorable in different degrees to the growth of some of the parts or features? Darwin's assertion is then quite consistent with a belief in the concurrence of causes not mechanical.

But the discovery of Darwin's opinion on this point is not left solely to conjecture and speculation. Had the _North American_ Reviewer carefully perused Darwin's late work, he would have found many most unequivocal declarations of the author's belief in the concurrence of other causes. They recur most frequently.

On page 248, Vol. II., he says, "Throughout this chapter and elsewhere, I have spoken of selection as the paramount power; yet its action absolutely depends on what we in our ignorance call spontaneous or accidental variability."

Page 250: "Variation depends in a far higher degree on the nature or constitution of the being, than on the nature of the changed conditions."

On page 291, after giving cases of bud-variation, he says, "When we reflect on these facts, we become deeply impressed with the conviction that in such cases the nature of the variation depends but little on the conditions to which the plant has been exposed, and not in any especial manner on its individual character, but much more on the general nature or constitution, inherited from some remote progenitor of the whole group of allied beings to which the plant belongs. We are thus driven to conclude that in most cases the conditions of life play a subordinate part in causing any particular modification; like that which a spark plays when a mass of combustible matter bursts into flame--the nature of the flame depending on the combustible matter and not on the spark." And again, on page 288, "Now is it possible to conceive external conditions more closely alike than those to which the buds on the same tree are exposed? Yet one bud out of the many thousands borne by the same tree has suddenly, without any apparent cause, produced nectarines. But the case is even stronger than this; for the same flower-bud has yielded a fruit one half or a quarter a nectarine, and the other half or three quarters a peach. Again, seven or eight varieties of the peach have yielded, by bud variation, nectarines; the nectarines thus produced no doubt differed a little from each other; but still they are nectarines. Of course there must be some cause internal or external to excite the peach-bud to change its nature; but I cannot imagine a class of facts better adapted to force on our mind the conviction that what we call the external conditions of life are quite insignificant in relation to any particular variation, in comparison with the organization or constitution of the being which varies."

These assertions that there is something beyond the actions of the conditions of life are met with continually in his work, and they fully and conclusively show that he is no-wise inclined to adopt the mechanist theory. What alternative have we, then, but to conclude that this occult potent factor is reversion?

We have, we think, sufficiently shown that Darwin does not attribute variations solely to the conditions. But it has been asserted by the _North American_ Reviewer, of whom we have often spoken, that Mr. Herbert Spencer declares them to be thus solely due. A dozen careful perusals of _The Principles of Biology_ have failed to corroborate such a statement. On the contrary, Mr. Spencer on many occasions makes use of the phrase "spontaneous variations," though, apparently, under protest. It is true that throughout his work there is a constant insistance on the great part played by the physical conditions in causing variations. The greatest prominence is given to this factor. There is also a manifest desire that the mechanical forces be taken as adequate to the production of the phenomena. But nowhere is there clearly expressed a repudiation of the idea of concurrent cause. In some places there is a recognition of it.

Thus, on page 281, Mr. Darwin, after speaking of the action of the conditions of life, says, "Mr. Herbert Spencer has recently discussed with great ability this whole subject on broad and general grounds. He argues, for instance, that the internal and external tissues are differently acted on by the surrounding conditions, and they invariably differ in intimate structure; so, again, the upper and lower surfaces of true leaves are differently circumstanced with respect to light, etc., and apparently in consequence differ in structure. But, as Mr. Herbert Spencer admits, it is most difficult in all such cases to distinguish between the effects of the definite action of physical conditions and the accumulation through natural selection of inherited variations which are serviceable to the organism, and which have arisen independently of the definite action of these conditions."

It may be well to remark that the physical conditions are the sole cause of variation when viewed in their statical aspect; but when viewed in their dynamical aspect, the conditions are, except when the movement is in the direction of degeneration, only the secondary cause. For, upon the theory here enunciated, were all the individuals of a species fully developed, there would be but one race or variety, that is, the perfect type. The existence of a plurality of races or varieties necessarily implies the unfavorable modification of some of the parts or characters of some of the members of the species.

It is hardly possible for any one's common sense to be so impaired, even by speculation or the bias of a foregone conclusion, as to induce a belief that the characters given below have arisen solely by the action of the physical conditions. When the cases are isolated, such a belief is, in a small measure, excusable; but when they are given consecutively, the ascription of the characters solely to mechanical causes would imply not a little aberration of mind.

Numerous instances of bud-variation are given by Darwin. Several of these we have incidentally adverted to. By this process of bud-variation have arisen in one generation alone, and even in one season, nectarines from the peach, the red magnum bonum plum from the yellow magnum bonum, and the moss-rose from the Provence rose. Many other instances might be adduced of the appearance of characters equally strongly pronounced.

That the following characters have not arisen in one generation is confessedly owing to the lack of scientific knowledge as to the conditions requisite for their growth. The English lop-eared rabbit, which is under domestication, weighs not less than eighteen pounds. The pouter-pigeon is distinguished by the great size of its oesophagus; the English carrier-pigeon, by its surprisingly long beak; and the fantail, as its name connotes, by its immense upwardly-expanded tail. In the progenitor of these birds, the rock pigeon, (_columba livia_,) there is not a trace of these characters discernible. It is a matter of great surprise to look at the stringy roots of the wild carrot and parsnip, and then to note the astonishingly great improvement which has resulted from their subjection to more favorable conditions. Gooseberries have attained a great size and weight. The London gooseberry is now between seven and eight times the weight of the wild fruit. The fruit of one variety of the _curcurbita pepo_ exceeds in volume that of another by more than two thousand fold!

Now, these strongly pronounced favorable modifications are explicable only upon the theory of reversion. Had they arisen by the slow accumulation, through centuries, of successive, scarcely appreciable increments of modification, their being due to evolution, or solely to the physical conditions, would be less inconceivable. Darwin's professedly favorite rule is, _Natura non facit saltum_--"Nature makes no leaps." But we fail to see nature's conformity to it. We must confess that upon the hypothesis of evolution nature indulges herself with the most gigantic leaps.

It might be urged that, upon assuming, for the purposes of the argument, that Mr. Herbert Spencer does attribute variations solely to the physical conditions, he is thereby discharged from the imputation of advocating a theory which is wholly gratuitous. But he assuredly is not. He is placed by this ascription of variations in no better position, so far as respects this point. He has adduced no evidence in favor of their being thus solely ascribable. His attribution of them solely to the physical conditions is equally gratuitous with his ascription of them to evolution. The fact that variations are due to a change in the conditions, and that variations would be absent were all the individuals of a species subjected to absolutely uniform conditions, is, as we have seen, quite compatible with a belief in a concurrent cause. The necessity of a change in the conditions is admitted, and even called for, upon our theory. Mr. Herbert Spencer's assumed assertion of variation being due solely to mechanical causes would necessarily imply a denial of a concurrent cause. But this denial is wholly gratuitous; he has furnished no warrant for it. And again, assuming him to concede a concurrent cause, the question then recurs, Are variations attributable to reversion or to evolution? As we have seen, there is no foundation for ascribing them to evolution--evolution being merely a name for a cause unknown.

In _The Westminster Review_ for July, 1865, and in _The North American Review_ for October, 1868, Mr. Herbert Spencer is taxed with inconsistency. In his _Principles of Biology_, Mr. Spencer writes, "In whatever way it is formulated, or by whatever language it is obscured, this ascription of organic evolution to some aptitude naturally possessed, or miraculously imposed on them, is unphilosophical. It is one of those explanations which explains nothing--a shaping of ignorance into the semblance of knowledge. The cause assigned is not a true cause--not a cause assimilable to known causes--not a cause that can anywhere be shown to produce analogous effects. It is a cause unrepresentable in thought; one of those illegitimate symbolic conceptions which cannot by any mental process be elaborated into a real conception. In brief, this assumption of a persistent formative power, inherent in organisms, and making them unfold into higher forms, is an assumption no more tenable than the assumption of special creations; of which, indeed, it is but a modification, differing only by the fusion of separate unknown processes into a continuous unknown process." When he proceeds to treat of the waste and repair of the tissues, he finds that they refuse to acknowledge his mechanical principles, and he is forced to assume for the living particles "an _innate_ tendency to arrange themselves into the shape of the organism to which they belong." The inconsistency was noted, commented upon, and became the subject of much animadversion.

This inconsistency, however, is comparatively excusable, as the histological phenomena which he had to explain are complicated and involved, and have to respond to the influences of divers parts of the body. But were we to show that his denunciation of the "ascription of organic evolution to some aptitude," is equally applicable to the attribution to "evolution," he would be considered, we are sure, guilty of the grossest possible inconsistency. This we can show; for there is no definition of a "metaphysical entity," to which the term evolution does not answer. Can any one conversant with the works of the first of evolutionists, particularly with his _First Principles_, _Principles of Psychology_, and _Principles of Biology_, gainsay the fact that organic evolution implies a _tendency_ in organisms _to advance_, when under the influence of physical conditions, from the simpler to the more complex?

Mr. Spencer tacitly assumes the inevitable "becoming of all living things;" and that organic progress is a result of some indwelling tendency to develop, naturally impressed on living matter--some ever-acting constructive force, which, concurrently with other forces, moulds organisms into higher and higher forms. Many instances of this we might adduce, but we will quote but two. On page 403, of his _First Principles_, he speaks of "a tendency toward the differentiation of each race into several races." And on page 430, Vol. I. of his _Principles of Biology_, he says, "While we are not called on to suppose that there exists in organisms any primordial impulse which makes them continually unfold into more heterogeneous forms, we see that _a liability to be unfolded_ arises from the action and reaction between organisms and their fluctuating environments."