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Evolution is at work everywhere, even in the matter of jokes. Once in
the House of Commons, Benjamin Disraeli, who prided himself on his fine
scholarship as well as on his Hyperion curl, interrupted a speaker and
corrected him on a matter of history.
"I would rather be a gentleman than a scholar!" the man
replied. "My friend is seldom either," came the quick response.
When Thomas Brackett Reed was Speaker of the House of Representatives,
a member once took exception to a ruling of the "Czar," and
having in mind Reed's supposed Presidential aspirations closed his
protests with the thrust, "I would rather be right than
President." "The gentleman will never be either," came the
instant retort.
But some years before the reign of the American Czar, Gladstone,
Premier of England, said, "I would rather be right and believe in the
Bible, than excite a body of curious, infidelic, so-called scientists to
unbecoming wonder by tracing their ancestry to a troglodyte." And
Huxley replied, "I, too, would rather be right—I would rather be
right than Premier."
Charles Darwin was a Gentle Man. He was the greatest[Pg
210] naturalist of his time, and a more perfect gentleman never
lived. His son Francis said: "I can not remember ever hearing my
father utter an unkind or hasty word. If in his presence some one was
being harshly criticized, he always thought of something to say in way of
palliation and excuse."
One of his companions on the "Beagle," who saw him daily for
five years on that memorable trip, wrote: "A protracted sea-voyage is
a most severe test of friendship, and Darwin was the only man on our ship,
or that I ever heard of, who stood the ordeal. He never lost his temper or
made an unkind remark."
Captain Fitz-Roy of the "Beagle" was a disciplinarian, and
absolute in his authority, as a sea-captain must be. The ship had just
left one of the South American ports where the captain had gone ashore and
been entertained by a coffee-planter. On this plantation all the work was
done by slaves, who, no doubt, were very well treated.
The captain thought that negroes well cared for were very much better
off than if free. And further, he related how the owner had called up
various slaves and had the Captain ask them if they wished their freedom,
and the answer was always, "No."
Darwin interposed by asking the Captain what he thought the answer of a
slave was worth when being interrogated in the presence of his owner.
Here Fitz-Roy flew into a passion, berating the volunteer naturalist,
and suggested a taste of the rope's end[Pg
211] in lieu of logic. Young Darwin made no reply, and
seemingly did not hear the uncalled-for chidings.
In a few hours a sailor handed him a note from Captain Fitz-Roy, full
of abject apology for having so forgotten himself. Darwin was then but
twenty-two years old, but the poise and patience of the young man won the
respect and then the admiration and finally the affection of every man on
board that ship. This attitude of kindness, patience and good-will formed
the strongest attribute of Darwin's nature, and to these godlike qualities
he was heir from a royal line of ancestry. No man was ever more
blest—more richly endowed by his parents with love and intellect—than
Darwin. And no man ever repaid the debt of love more fully—all that he
had received he gave again.
Darwin is the Saint of Science. He proves the possible; and when
mankind shall have evolved to a point where such men will be the rule, not
the exception—as one in a million—then, and not until then, can we say
we are a civilized people.
Charles Darwin was not only the greatest thinker of his time (with
possibly one exception), but in his simplicity and earnestness, in his
limpid love for truth—his perfect willingness to abandon his opinion if
he were found to be wrong—in all these things he proved himself the
greatest man of his time.
Yet it is absurd to try to separate the scientist from the father,
neighbor and friend. Darwin's love for[Pg
212] truth as a scientist was what lifted him out of the fog of
whim and prejudice and set him apart as a man.
He had no time to hate. He had no time to indulge in foolish debates
and struggle for rhetorical mastery—he had his work to do.
That statesmen like Gladstone misquoted him, and churchmen like
Wilberforce reviled him—these things were as naught to Darwin—his face
was toward the sunrising. To be able to know the truth, and to state it,
were vital issues: whether the truth was accepted by this man or that was
quite immaterial, except possibly to the man himself. There was no
resentment in Darwin's nature.
Only love is immortal—hate is a negative condition. It is love that
animates, beautifies, benefits, refines, creates. So firmly was this truth
fixed in the heart of Darwin that throughout his long life the only things
he feared and shunned were hate and prejudice. "They hinder and blind
a man to truth," he said—"a scientist must only love."[Pg
213]
Emerson has been called the culminating flower of seven generations of
New England culture. Charles Darwin seems a similar culminating product.
Surely he showed rare judgment in the selection of his grandparents.
His grandfather on his father's side was Doctor Erasmus Darwin, a poet, a
naturalist, and a physician so discerning that he once wrote: "The
science of medicine will some time resolve itself into a science of
prevention rather than a matter of cure. Man was made to be well, and the
best medicine I know of is an active and intelligent interest in the world
of Nature."
Erasmus Darwin had the felicity to have his biography written in
German, and he also has his place in the "Encyclopedia
Britannica" quite independent of that of his gifted grandson.
Charles Darwin's grandfather on his mother's side was Josiah Wedgwood,
one of the most versatile of men. He was as fine in spirit as those
exquisite designs by Flaxman that you will see today on the Wedgwood
pottery. Josiah Wedgwood was a businessman—an organizer, and he was
beyond this, an artist, a naturalist, a sociologist and a lover of his
race. His portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds reveals a man of rare
intelligence, and his biography is as interesting as a novel by Kipling.
His space in the "Encyclopedia Britannica" is even more
important than that occupied by his dear[Pg
214] friend and neighbor, Doctor Erasmus Darwin. The hand of
the Potter did not shake when Josiah Wedgwood was made. Josiah Wedgwood
and Doctor Darwin had mutually promised their children in marriage.
Wedgwood became rich and he made numerous other men rich, and he enriched
the heart and the intellect of England by setting before it beautiful
things, and by living an earnest, active and beautiful life.
Josiah Wedgwood coined the word "queensware." He married his
cousin, Sarah Wedgwood. Their daughter, Susannah Wedgwood, married Doctor
Robert Darwin, and Charles Darwin, their son, married Emma Wedgwood, a
daughter of Josiah Wedgwood the Second. Caroline Darwin, a sister of
Charles Darwin, married Josiah Wedgwood the Third. Let those who have the
time work out this origin of species in detail and show us the
relationship of the Darwins and Wedgwoods. And I hope we'll hear no more
about the folly of cousins marrying, when Charles Darwin is before us as
an example of natural selection.
From his mother Darwin inherited those traits of gentleness, insight,
purity of purpose, patience and persistency that set him apart as a marked
man.
The father of Charles Darwin, Doctor Robert Darwin, was a most
successful physician of Shrewsbury.
His marriage to Susannah Wedgwood filled his heart, and also placed him
on a firm financial footing, and[Pg
215] he seemed to take his choice of patients. Doctor Darwin
was a man devoted to his family, respected by his neighbors, and he lived
long enough to see his son recognized, greatly to his surprise, as one of
England's foremost scientists.
Charles Darwin in youth was rather slow in intellect, and in form and
feature far from handsome. Physically he was never strong. In disposition
he was gentle and most lovable. His mother died when he was eight years of
age, and his three older sisters then mothered him. Between them all
existed a tie of affection, very gentle, and very firm.
The girls knew that Charles would become an eminent man—just how they
could not guess—but he would be a leader of men: they felt it in their
hearts. It was all the beautiful dream that the mother has for her babe as
she sings to the man-child a lullaby as the sun goes down.
In his autobiographical sketch, written when he was past sixty, Darwin
mentions this faith and love of his sisters, and says, "Personally, I
never had much ambition, but when at college I felt that I must work, if
for no other reason, so as not to disappoint my sisters."
At school Charles was considerable of a grubber: he worked hard because
he felt that it was his duty. English boarding-schools have always taught
things out of season, and very often have succeeded in making[Pg
216] learning wholly repugnant. Perhaps that is the reason why
nine men out of ten who go to college cease all study as soon as they
stand on "the threshold," looking at life ere they seize it by
the tail and snap its head off. To them education is one thing and life
another.
But with many headaches and many heartaches Charles got through
Cambridge and then was sent to attend lectures at the University of
Edinburgh. Of one lecturer in Scotland he says, "The good man was
really more dull than his books, and how I escaped without all science
being utterly distasteful to me I hardly know." To Cambridge, Darwin
owed nothing but the association with other minds, yet this was much, and
almost justifies the college. "Send your sons to college and the boys
will educate them," said Emerson.
The most beneficent influence for Darwin at Cambridge was the
friendship between himself and Professor Henslow. Darwin became known as
"the man who walks with Henslow." The professor taught botany,
and took his classes on tramps a-field and on barge rides down the river,
giving out-of-door lectures on the way. This commonsense way of teaching
appealed to Darwin greatly, and although he did not at Cambridge take up
botany as a study, yet when Henslow had an out-of-door class he usually
managed to go along.
In his autobiography Darwin gives great credit to this very gentle and
simple soul, who, although not being great as a thinker, yet could animate
and arouse[Pg 217]
a pleasurable interest.
Henslow was once admonished by the faculty for his lack of discipline,
and young Darwin came near getting himself into difficulty by declaring,
"Professor Henslow teaches his pupils in love; the others think they
know a better way!"
The hope of his father and sisters was that Charles Darwin would become
a clergyman. For the army he had no taste whatsoever, and at twenty-one
the only thing seemed to be the Church. Not that the young man was filled
with religious zeal—far from that—but one must, you know, do
something. Up to this time he had studied in a desultory way; he had also
dreamed and tramped the fields. He had done considerable grouse-shooting
and had developed a little too much skill in that particular line.
To paraphrase Herbert Spencer, to shoot fairly well is a manly
accomplishment, but to shoot too well is evidence of an ill-spent youth.
Doctor Darwin was having fears that his son was going to be an idle
sportsman, and he was urging the divinity-school.
The real fact was that sportsmanship was already becoming distasteful
to young Darwin, and his hunting expeditions were now largely carried on
with a botanist's drum and a geologist's hammer.
But to the practical Doctor these things were no better than the
gun—it was idling, anyway. Natural History as a pastime was excellent,
and sportsmanship for exercise and recreation had its place, but the
business[Pg 218]
of life must not be neglected—Charles should get himself to a
divinity-school, and quickly, too.
Things urged become repellent; and Charles was groping around for an
excuse when a letter came from Professor Henslow, saying, among other
things, that the Government was about to send a ship around the world on a
scientific surveying tour, especially to map the coast of Patagonia and
other parts of South America and Australia. A volunteer naturalist was
wanted—board and passage free, but the volunteer was to supply his own
clothes and instruments.
The proposition gave Charles a great thrill: he gave a gulp and a gasp
and went in search of his father. The father saw nothing in the plan
beyond the fact that the Government was going to get several years' work
out of some foolish young man, for nothing—gadzooks!
Charles insisted—he wanted to go! He urged that on this trip he would
be to but very little expense. "You say I have cost you much, but the
fellow who can spend money on board ship must be very clever."
"But you are a very clever young man, they say," the father
replied. That night Charles again insisted on discussing the matter. The
father was exasperated and exclaimed, "Go and find me one sane man
who will endorse your wild-goose chase and I will give my consent."
Charles said no more—he would find that "sane man." But he
knew perfectly well that if any average person endorsed the plan his
father would declare the man was[Pg
219] insane, and the proof of it lay in the fact that he
endorsed the wild-goose chase.
In the morning Charles started of his own accord to see Henslow.
Henslow would endorse the trip, but both parties knew that Doctor Darwin
would not accept a mere college professor as sane. Charles went home and
tramped thirty miles across the country to the home of his uncle, Josiah
Wedgwood the Second. There he knew he had an advocate for anything he
might wish, in the person of his fair cousin, Emma. These two laid their
heads together, made a plan and stalked their prey.
They cornered Josiah the Second after dinner and showed him how it was
the chance of a lifetime—this trip on H.M.S. the "Beagle"!
Charles wasn't adapted for a clergyman, anyway; he wanted to be a
ship-captain, a traveler, a discoverer, a scientist, an author like Sir
John Mandeville, or something else. Josiah the Second had but to speak the
word and Doctor Darwin would be silenced, and the recommendation of so
great a man as Josiah Wedgwood would secure the place.
Josiah the Second laughed—then he looked sober. He agreed with the
proposition—it was the chance of a lifetime. He would go back home with
Charles and put the Doctor straight. And he did.
And on the personal endorsement of Josiah Wedgwood and Professor
Henslow, Charles Robert Darwin was duly booked as Volunteer Naturalist in
Her Majesty's service.[Pg
220]
Captain Fitz-Roy of the "Beagle" liked Charles Darwin until
he began to look him over with a very professional eye. Then he declared
his nose was too large and was not rightly shaped; besides, he was too
tall for his weight: outside of these points the Volunteer would answer.
On talking with young Darwin further, the Captain liked him better, and he
waived all imperfections, although no promise was made that they would be
remedied. In fact, Captain Fitz-Roy liked Charles so well that he invited
him to share his own cabin and mess with him. The sailors, on seeing this,
touched respectful forefingers to their caps and began addressing the
Volunteer as "Sir."
The "Beagle" sailed on December Twenty-seven, Eighteen
Hundred Thirty-one, and it was fully four years and ten months before
Charles Darwin saw England again. The trip decided the business of Darwin
for the rest of his life, and thereby an epoch was worked in the upward
and onward march of the race.
Captain Fitz-Roy of the British Navy was but twenty-three years old. He
was a draftsman, a geographer, a mathematician and a navigator. He had
sailed around the world as a plain tar, and taken his kicks and cuffs with
good grace. At the Portsmouth Naval School he had won a gold medal for
proficiency in study, and another medal had been given him for heroism in
leaping from a sailing-ship into the sea to save a drowning[Pg
221] sailor.
Let us be fair—the tight little island has produced men. To evolve
these few good men she may have produced many millions of the spawn of
earth, but let the fact stand—England has produced men. Here was a
beardless youth, slight in form, silent by habit, but so well thought of
by his Government that he was given charge of a ship, five officers, two
surgeons and forty-one picked men to go around the world and make
measurements of certain coral-reefs, and map the dangerous coasts of
Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego.
The ship was provisioned for two years, but the orders were, "Do
the work, no matter how long it may take, and your drafts on the
Government will be honored."
Captain Fitz-Roy was a man of decision: he knew just where he wanted to
go, and what there was to do. He was to measure and map dreary wastes of
tossing tide, and to do the task so accurately that it would never have to
be done again: his maps were to remain forever a solace, a safety and a
security to the men who go down to the sea in ships.
England has certainly produced men—and Fitz-Roy was one of them. Fitz-Roy
is now known to us, not for his maps which have passed into the mutual
wealth of the world, but because he took on this trip, merely as an
afterthought, a volunteer naturalist.
Before the "Beagle" sailed, Captain Fitz-Roy and young Mr.
Darwin went down to Portsmouth, and the Captain showed him the ship. The
Captain took pains[Pg
222] to explain the worst. It was to be at least two years of
close, unremitting toil. It was no pleasure-excursion—there were no
amusements provided, no cards, no wine on the table; the fare was to be
simple in the extreme. This way of putting the matter was most attractive
to Darwin—Fitz-Roy became a hero in his eyes at once. The Captain's
manner inspired much confidence—he was a man who did not have to be
amused or cajoled. "You will be left alone to do your work,"
said Fitz-Roy to Darwin, "and I must have the cabin to myself when I
ask for it." And that settled it. Life aboard ship is like life in
jail. It means freedom, freedom from interruption—you have your evenings
to yourself, and the days as well. Darwin admired every man on board the
ship, and most of all, the man who selected them, and so wrote home to his
sisters. He admired the men because each was intent on doing his work, and
each one seemed to assume that his own particular work was really the most
important.
Second Officer Wickham was entrusted to see that the ship was in good
order, and so thorough was he that he once said to Darwin, who was
constantly casting his net for specimens, "If I were the skipper, I'd
soon have you and your beastly belittlement out of this ship with all your
devilish, damned mess." And Darwin, much amused, wrote this down in
his journal, and added, "Wickham is a most capital[Pg
223] fellow." The discipline and system of ship-life, the
necessity of working in a small space, and of improving the calm weather,
and seizing every moment when on shore, all tended to work in Darwin's
nature exactly the habit that was needed to make him the greatest
naturalist of his age.
Every sort of life that lived in the sea was new and wonderful to him.
Very early on this trip Darwin began to work on the "Cirripedia"
(barnacles), and we hear of Captain Fitz-Roy obligingly hailing
homeward-bound ships, and putting out a small boat, rowing alongside,
asking politely, to the astonishment of the party hailed, "Would you
oblige us with a few barnacles off the bottom of your ship?" All this
that the Volunteer, who was dubbed the "Flycatcher," might have
something upon which to work.
When on shore a sailor was detailed by Captain Fitz-Roy just to attend
the "Flycatcher," with a bag to carry the specimens, geological,
botanical and zoological, and a cabin-boy was set apart to write notes.
This boy, who afterward became Governor of Queens and a K.C.B., used in
after years to boast a bit, and rightfully, of his share in producing
"The Origin of Species." When urged to smoke, Darwin replied,
"I am not making any new necessities for myself."
When the weather was rough the "Flycatcher" was sick, much to
the delight of Wickham; but if the ship was becalmed, Darwin came out and
gloried in the[Pg
224] sunshine, and in his work of dissecting, labeling, and
writing memoranda and data. The sailors might curse the weather—he did
not. Thus passed the days. At each stop many specimens were secured, and
these were to be sorted and sifted out at leisure.
On shore the Captain had his work to do, and it was only after a year
that Darwin accidentally discovered that the sailor who was sent to carry
his specimens was always armed with knife and revolver, and his orders
were not so much to carry what Wickham called, "the damned
plunder," as to see that no harm befell the "Flycatcher."
Fitz-Roy's interest in the scientific work was only general: longitude
and latitude, his twenty-four chronometers, his maps and constant
soundings, with minute records, kept his time occupied.
For Darwin and his specimens, however, he had a constantly growing
respect, and when the long five-year trip was ended, Darwin realized that
the gruff and grim Captain was indeed his friend. Captain Fitz-Roy had
trouble with everybody on board in turn, thus proving his impartiality;
but when parting was nigh, tears came to his eyes as he embraced Darwin,
and said, with prophetic yet broken words, "The 'Beagle's' voyage may
be remembered more through you than me—I hope it will be so!" And
Darwin, too moved for speech, said nothing except through the pressure of
his hand.[Pg 225]
The idea of evolution took a firm hold upon the mind of Darwin, in an
instant, one day while on board the "Beagle." From that very
hour the thought of the mutability of species was the one controlling
impulse of his life.
On his return from the trip around the world he found himself in
possession of an immense mass of specimens and much data bearing directly
upon the point that creation is still going on.
That he could ever sort, sift and formulate his evidence on his own
account, he never at this time imagined. Indeed, about all he thought he
could do was to present his notes and specimens to some scientific
society, in the hope that some of its members would go ahead and use the
material.
With this thought in mind he began to open correspondence with several
of the universities and with various professors of science, and to his
dismay found that no one was willing even to read his notes, much less
house, prepare for preservation, and index his thousands of specimens.
He read papers before different scientific societies, however, from
time to time, and gradually in London it dawned upon the few thinkers that
this modest and low-voiced young man was doing a little thinking on his
own account. One man to whom he had offered the specimens bluntly
explained to Darwin that his specimens and ideas were valuable to no one
but[Pg 226]
himself, and it was folly to try to give such things away. Ideas are like
children and should be cared for by their parents, and specimens are for
the collector.
Seeing the depression of the young man, this friend offered to present
the matter to the Secretary of the Exchequer. Everything can be done when
the right man takes hold of it: the sum of one thousand pounds was
appropriated by the Treasury for Charles Darwin's use in bringing out a
Government report of the voyage of the "Beagle." And Darwin set
to work, refreshed, rejoiced and encouraged. He was living in London in
modest quarters, solitary and alone. He was not handsome, and he lacked
the dash and flash that make a success in society. On a trip to his old
home, he walked across the country to see his uncle, Josiah Wedgwood the
Second.
When he left it was arranged that he should return in a month and marry
his cousin, Emma Wedgwood. And it was all so done.
One commentator said he married his cousin because he didn't know any
other woman that would have him. But none was so unkind as to say that he
married her in order to get rid of her, yet Henslow wondered how he ceased
wooing science long enough to woo the lady.
Doubtless the parents of both parties had a little to do with the
arrangement, and in this instance it was beautiful and well. Darwin was
married to his work,[Pg
227] and no such fallacy as marrying a woman in order to
educate her filled his mind.
His wife was his mental mate, his devoted helper and friend.
It is no small matter for a wife to be her husband's friend.
Mrs. Darwin had no small aspirations of her own. She flew the futile
Four-o'Clock and made no flannel nightgowns for Fijis. Twenty years after
his marriage, Darwin wrote thus: "It is probably as you say—I have
done an enormous amount of work. And this was only possible through the
devotion of my wife, who, ignoring every idea of pleasure and comfort for
herself, arranged in a thousand ways to give me joy and rest, peace and
most valuable inspiration and assistance. If I occasionally lost faith in
myself, she most certainly never did. Only two hours a day could I work,
and these to her were sacred. She guarded me as a mother guards her babe,
and I look back now and see how hopelessly undone I should have been
without her."
In Eighteen Hundred Forty-two, Darwin and his wife moved to the village
of Down, County of Kent. The place where they lived was a rambling old
stone house with ample garden. The country was rough and unbroken, and one
might have imagined he was a thousand miles from London, instead of
twenty.
There were no aristocratic neighbors, no society to speak of. With the
plain farmers and simple folk of[Pg
228] the village Darwin was on good terms. He became treasurer
of the local improvement society, and thereby was serenaded once a year by
a brass band. We hear of the good old village rector once saying,
"Mr. Darwin knows botany better than anybody this side of Kew; and
although I am sorry to say that he seldom goes to church, yet he is a good
neighbor and almost a model citizen." Together the clergyman and his
neighbor discussed the merits of climbing roses, morning-glories and
sweet-peas. Darwin met all and every one on terms of absolute equality,
and never forced his scientific hypotheses upon any one. In fact, no one
in the village imagined this quiet country gentleman in the dusty gray
clothes that matched his full iron-gray beard was destined for a place in
Westminster Abbey—no, not even himself!
Darwin's father, seeing that the Government had recognized him, and
that all the scientific societies of London were quite willing to do as
much, settled on him an allowance that was ample for his simple wants.
On the death of Doctor Darwin, Charles became possessed of an
inheritance that brought him a yearly income of a little over five hundred
pounds. Children came to bless this happy household—seven in all. With
these Darwin was both comrade and teacher. Two hours a day were sacred to
science, but outside of this time the children made the study their own,[Pg
229] and littered the place with their collections gathered on
heath and dale.
The recognition of the "holy time" was strong in the minds of
the children, so no prohibitions were needed. One daughter has written in
familiar way of once wanting to go into her father's study for a forgotten
pair of scissors. It was the "holy time," and she thought she
could not wait, so she took off her shoes and entered in stocking feet,
hoping to be unobserved. Her father was working at his microscope: he saw
her, reached out one arm as she passed, drew her to him and kissed her
forehead. The little girl never again trespassed—how could she, with the
father that gave her only love! That there was no sternness in this
recognition of the value of the working hours is further indicated in that
little Francis, aged six, once put his head in the door and offered the
father a sixpence if he would come out and play in the garden.
For several years Darwin was village magistrate. Most of the cases
brought before him were either for poaching or drunkenness. "He
always seemed to be trying to find an excuse for the prisoner, and usually
succeeded," says his son.
One time, when a prosecuting attorney complained because he had
discharged a prisoner, Darwin, who might have fined the impudent attorney
for contempt of court, merely said: "Why, he's as good as we are. If
tempted in the same way I am sure that I would[Pg
230] have done as he has done. We can't blame a man for doing
what he has to do!" This was poor reasoning from a legal point of
view. Darwin afterward admitted that he didn't hear much of the evidence,
as his mind was full of orchids, but the fellow looked sorry, and he
really couldn't punish anybody who had simply made a mistake. The local
legal lights gradually lost faith in Magistrate Darwin's peculiar brand of
justice; he hadn't much respect for law, and once when a lawyer cited him
the criminal code he said, "Tut, tut, that was made a hundred years
ago!" Then he fined the man five shillings, and paid the fine
himself, when he should have sent him to the workhouse for six months.[Pg
231]
The men who have most benefited the world have, almost without
exception, been looked down upon by the priestly class. That is to say,
the men upon whose tombs society now carves the word Savior were outcasts
and criminals in their day.
In a society where the priest is regarded as the mouthpiece of
divinity, and therefore the highest type of man, the artist, the inventor,
the discoverer, the genius, the man of truth, has always been regarded as
a criminal. Society advances as it doubts the priest, distrusts his
oracles, and loses faith in his institution.
In the priest, at first, was deposited all human knowledge, and what he
did not know he pretended to know. He was the guardian of mind and morals,
and the cure of souls. To question him was to die here and be damned for
eternity.
The problem of civilization has been to get the truth past the preacher
to the people: he has forever barred and blocked the way, and until he was
shorn of his temporal power there was no hope. The prisons were first made
for those who doubted the priest; behind and beneath every episcopal
residence were dungeons; the ferocious and delicate tortures that reached
every physical and mental nerve were his. His anathemas and curses were
always quickly turned upon the strong men of mountain or sea who dared
live natural lives, said what they thought was truth, or did what they[Pg
232] deemed was right. Science is a search for truth, but
theology is a clutch for power.
Nothing is so distasteful to a priest as freedom: a happy, exuberant,
fearless, self-sufficient and radiant man he both feared and abhorred. A
free soul was regarded by the Church as one to be dealt with. The priest
has ever put a premium on pretense and hypocrisy. Nothing recommended a
man more than humility and the acknowledgment that he was a worm of the
dust. The ability to do and dare was in itself considered a proof of
depravity.
The education of the young has been monopolized by priests in order to
perpetuate the fallacies of theology, and all endeavor to put education on
a footing of usefulness and utility has been fought inch by inch.
Andrew D. White, in his book, "The Warfare of Science and
Religion," has calmly and without heat sketched the war that Science
has had to make to reach the light. Slowly, stubbornly, insolently,
theology has fought Truth step by step—but always retreating, taking
refuge first behind one subterfuge, then another. When an alleged fact was
found to be a fallacy, we were told it was not a literal fact, simply a
spiritual one. All of theology's weapons have been taken from her and
placed in the Museum of Horrors—all save one, namely, social ostracism.
And this consists in a refusal to invite Science to indulge in
cream-puffs.
We smile, knowing that the man who now successfully[Pg
233] defies theology is the only one she really, yet secretly,
admires. If he does not run after her, she holds true the poetic unities
by running after him. Mankind is emancipated (or partially so).
Darwin's fame rests, for the most part, on two books, "The Origin
of Species" and "The Descent of Man."
Yet before these were published he had issued "A Journal of
Research into Geology and Natural History," "The Zoology of the
Voyage of the 'Beagle,'" "A Treatise on Coral Reefs, Volcanic
Islands, Geological Observations," and "A Monograph of the
Cirripedia." Had Darwin died before "The Origin of Species"
was published, he would have been famous among scientific men, although it
was the abuse of theologians on the publication of "The Origin of
Species" that really made him world-famous.
Alfred Russel Wallace, Darwin's chief competitor said that "A
Monograph on the Cirripedia" is enough upon which to found a
deathless reputation. Darwin was equally eminent in Geology, Botany and
Zoology.
On November Twenty-fourth, Eighteen Hundred Fifty-nine, was published
"The Origin of Species." Murray had hesitated about accepting
the work, but on the earnest solicitation of Sir Charles Lyell, who gave
his personal guarantee to the publisher against loss, quite unknown to
Darwin, twelve hundred copies of the book were printed. The edition was
sold in one day, and who was surprised most, the author or the[Pg
234] publisher, it is difficult to say.
Up to this time theology had stood solidly on the biblical assertion
that mankind had sprung from one man and one woman, and that in the
beginning every species was fixed and immutable. Aristotle, three hundred
years before Christ, had suggested that, by cross-fertilization and change
of environment, new species had been and were being evoked. But the Church
had declared Aristotle a heathen, and in every school and college of
Christendom it was taught that the world and everything in it was created
in six days of twenty-four hours each, and that this occurred four
thousand and four years before Christ, on May Tenth.
Those who doubted or disputed this statement had no standing in
society, and in truth, until the beginning of the Nineteenth Century, were
in actual danger of death—heresy and treason being usually regarded as
the same thing.
Erasmus Darwin had taught that species were not immutable, but his
words were so veiled in the language of poesy that they naturally went
unchallenged. But now the grandson of Doctor Erasmus Darwin came forward
with the net result of thirty years' continuous work. "The Origin of
Species" did not attack any one's religious belief—in fact, in it
the biblical account of Creation is not once referred to. It was a calm,
judicial record of close study and observation, that seemed to prove that
life began in very lowly forms,[Pg
235] and that it has constantly ascended and differentiated,
new forms and new species being continually created, and that the work of
creation still goes on.
In the preface to "The Origin of Species" Darwin gives Alfred
Russel Wallace credit for coming to the same conclusion as himself, and
states that both had been at work on the same idea for more than a score
of years, but each working separately, unknown to the other.
Andrew D. White says that the publication of Charles Darwin's book was
like plowing into an ant-hill. The theologians, rudely awakened from
comfort and repose, swarmed out angry, wrathful and confused. The air was
charged with challenges; and soggy sermons, books, pamphlets, brochures
and reviews, all were flying at the head of poor Darwin. The questions
that he had anticipated and answered at great length were flung off by men
who had neither read his book nor expected an answer. The idea that man
had evolved from a lower form of animal especially was considered
immensely funny, and jokes about "monkey ancestry" came from
almost every pulpit, convulsing the pews with laughter.
In passing, it may be well to note that Darwin nowhere says that man
descended from a monkey. He does, however, affirm his belief that they had
a common ancestor. One branch of the family took to the plains, and
evolved into men, and the other branch remained[Pg
236] in the woods and are monkeys still. The expression,
"the missing link," is nowhere used by Darwin—that was a
creation of one of his critics.
Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford, summed up the argument against Darwinism
in the "Quarterly Review," by declaring that "Darwin was
guilty of an attempt to limit the power of God"; that his book
"contradicts the Bible"; that "it dishonors Nature."
And in a speech before the British Association for the Advancement of
Science, where Darwin was not present, the Bishop repeated his assertions,
and turning to Huxley, asked if he were really descended from a monkey,
and if so, was it on his father's or his mother's side!
Huxley sat silent, refusing to reply, but the audience began to clamor,
and Huxley slowly arose, and calmly but forcibly said: "I assert, and
I repeat, that a man has no reason to be ashamed of having an ape for his
grandfather. If there were an ancestor whom I should feel shame in
recalling, it would be a man, a man of restless and versatile intellect,
who, not content with success in his own sphere of activity, plunges into
scientific questions with which he has no real acquaintance, only to
obscure them by an aimless rhetoric, and distract the attention of his
hearers from the real point at issue by eloquent digression and a skilful
appeal to religious prejudices." Captain Fitz-Roy, who was present at
this meeting, was also called for.
He was now Admiral Fitz-Roy, and felt compelled[Pg
237] to uphold his employer, the State, so he upheld the State
Religion and backed up the Bishop of Oxford in his emptiness. "I
often had occasion on board the 'Beagle' to reprove Mr. Darwin for his
disbelief in the First Chapter of Genesis," solemnly said the
Admiral. And Francis Darwin writes it down without comment, probably to
show how much the Volunteer Naturalist was helped, aided and inspired by
the Captain of the Expedition.
But the reply of Huxley was a shot heard round the world, and for the
most part the echo was passed along by the enemy.
Huxley had insulted the Church, they said, and the adherents of the
Mosaic account took the attitude of outraged and injured innocence.
As for himself, Darwin said nothing. He ceased to attend the meetings
of the scientific societies, for fear that he would be drawn into debate,
and while he felt a sincere gratitude for Huxley's friendship, he
deprecated the stern rebuke to the Bishop of Oxford. "It will arouse
the opposition to greater unreason," he said. And this was exactly
what happened.
Even the English Catholics took sides with Wilberforce, the Protestant,
and Cardinal Manning organized a society "to fight this new,
so-called science that declares there is no God and that Adam was an
ape."
Even the Non-Conformists and Jews came in, and[Pg
238] there was the very peculiar spectacle witnessed of the
Church of England, the Non-Conformists, the Catholics and the Jews aroused
and standing as one man, against one quiet villager who remained at home
and said, "If my book can not stand the bombardment, why then it
deserves to go down and to be forgotten."
Spurgeon declared that Darwinism was more dangerous than open and
avowed infidelity, since "the one motive of the whole book is to
dethrone God."
Rabbi Hirschberg wrote, "Darwin's volume is plausible to the
unthinking person; but a deeper insight shows a mephitic desire to
overthrow the Mosaic books and to bury Judaism under a mass of fanciful
rubbish."
In America Darwin had no more persistent critic than the Reverend
DeWitt Talmage. For ten years Doctor Talmage scarcely preached a sermon
without making reference to "monkey ancestry" and "baboon
unbelievers."
The New York "Christian Advocate" declared, "Darwin is
endeavoring to becloud and befog the whole question of truth, and his book
will be of short life."
An eminent Catholic physician and writer, Doctor Constantine James,
wrote a book of three hundred pages called "Darwinism, or the
Man-Ape." A copy of Doctor James' book being sent to Pope Pius the
Ninth, the Pope acknowledged it in a personal letter, thanking the author
for his "masterly refutations of[Pg
239] the vagaries of this man Darwin, wherein the Creator is
left out of all things and man proclaims himself independent, his own
king, his own priest, his own God—then degrading man to the level of the
brute by declaring he had the same origin, and this origin was lifeless
matter. Could folly and pride go further than to degrade Science into a
vehicle for throwing contumely and disrespect on our holy religion!"
This makes rather interesting reading now for those who believe in the
infallibility of popes. So well did Doctor James' book sell, coupled with
the approbation of the Pope, that as late as Eighteen Hundred Eighty-two a
new and enlarged edition made its appearance, and the author was made a
member of the Papal Order of Saint Sylvester. It is quite needless to add
that those who read Doctor James' book refuting Darwin had never read
Darwin, since "The Origin of Species" was placed on the
"Index Expurgatorius" in Eighteen Hundred Sixty. Some years
after, when it was discovered that Darwin had written other books, these
were likewise honored.
The book on barnacles being called to the attention of the Censor, that
worthy exclaimed, "Some new heresy, I dare say—put it on the
'Index!'" And it was so done.
The success of Doctor James' book reveals the popularity of the form of
reasoning that digests the refutation first, and the original proposition
not at all.[Pg 240]
In Eighteen Hundred Seventy-five, Gladstone in an address at Liverpool
said, "Upon the ground of what is called evolution, God is relieved
from the labor of creation and of governing the universe."
Herbert Spencer called Gladstone's attention to the fact that Sir Isaac
Newton, with his law of gravitation and the physical science of astronomy,
was open to the same charge.
Gladstone then took refuge in the "Contemporary Review," and
retreated in a cloud of words that had nothing to do with the subject.
Thomas Carlyle, who has facetiously been called a liberal thinker, had
not the patience to discuss Darwin's book seriously, but grew red in the
face and hissed in falsetto when it was even mentioned. He wrote of Darwin
as "the apostle of dirt," and said, "He thinks his
grandfather was a chimpanzee, and I suppose he is right—leastwise, I am
not the one to deprive him of the honor."
Scathing criticisms were uttered on Darwin's ideas, both on the
platform and in print, by Doctor Noah Porter of Yale, Doctor Hodge of
Princeton, and Doctor Tayler Lewis of Union College. Agassiz, the man who
was regarded as the foremost scientist in America, thought he had to
choose between orthodoxy and Darwinism, and he chose orthodoxy. His gifted
son tried to rescue his father from the grip of prejudice, and later
endeavored to free his name from the charge[Pg
241] that he could not change his mind, but alas! Louis
Agassiz's words were expressed in print, and widely circulated.
There were two men in America whose names stand out like beacon-lights
because they had the courage to speak up loud and clear for Charles Darwin
while the pack was baying the loudest. These men were Doctor Asa Gray, who
influenced the Appletons to publish an American edition of "The
Origin of Species," and Professor Edward L. Youmans, who gave up his
own brilliant lecture work in order that he might stand by Darwin,
Spencer, Huxley and Wallace.
For the man who was known as "a Darwinian" there was no place
in the American Lyceum. Shut out from addressing the public by word of
mouth, Youmans founded a magazine that he might express himself, and he
fired a monthly broadside from his "Popular Science Monthly."
And it is good to remember that the faith of Youmans was not without its
reward. He lived to see his periodical grow from a confessed failure—a
bill of expense that took his monthly salary to maintain—to a paying
property that made its owner passing rich.
Gray, too, outlived the charge of infidelity, and was not forced to
resign his position as Professor at Harvard, as was freely prophesied he
would.
As for Darwin himself, he stood the storm of misunderstanding and abuse
without scorn or resentment.[Pg
242]
"Truth must fight its way," he said; "and this gauntlet
of criticism is all for the best. What is true in my book will survive,
and that which is error will be blown away as chaff." He was neither
exalted by praise nor cast down by censure. For Huxley, Lyell, Hooker,
Spencer, Wallace and Asa Gray he had a great and profound love—what they
said affected him deeply, and their steadfast kindness at times touched
him to tears. For the great, seething, outside world that had not thought
along abstruse scientific lines, and could not, he cared little.
"How can we expect them to see as we do," he wrote to Gray;
"it has taken me thirty years of toil and research to come to these
conclusions. To have the unthinking masses accept all that I say would be
calamity: this opposition is a winnowing process, and all a part of the
Law of Evolution that works for good."[Pg
243]
For forty years Darwin lived in the same house at Down, in the same
quiet, simple way. Here he lived and worked, and the world gradually came
to him, figuratively and literally. Gradually it dawned upon the
theologians that a God who could set in motion natural laws that worked
with beneficent and absolute regularity was just as great as if He had
made everything at once and then stopped.
The miracle of evolution is just as sublime as the miracle of Adam's
deep sleep and the making of a woman out of a man's rib. The faith of the
scientist who sees order, regularity and unfailing law is quite as great
as that of a preacher who believes everything he reads in a book. The
scientist is a man with faith, plus.
When Darwin died, in Eighteen Hundred Eighty-two, Darwinism and
infidelity were words no longer synonymous.
The discrepancies and inconsistencies of the theories of Darwin were
seen by him as by his critics, and he was ever willing to admit the doubt.
None of his disciples was as ready to modify his opinions as he. "We
must beware of making science dogmatic," he once said to Haeckel.
And at another time he said, "I would feel I had gone too far were
it not for Wallace, who came to the same conclusions, quite independently
of me." Darwin's mind was simple and childlike. He was a student,[Pg
244] always learning, and no one was too mean or too poor for
him to learn from. The patience, persistency and untiring industry of the
man, combined with the daring imagination that saw the thing clearly long
before he could prove it, and the gentle forbearance in the presence of
unkindness and misunderstanding, won the love of a nation.
He wished to be buried in the churchyard at Down, but at his death, by
universal acclaim, the gates of Westminster swung wide to receive the dust
of the man whom bishops, clergy and laymen alike had reviled. Darwin had
won, not alone because he was right, but because his was a truly great and
loving soul—a soul without the least resentment.
Archdeacon Farrar, quoting Huxley, said, "I would rather be Darwin
and be right than be Premier of England—we have had and will have many
Premiers, but the world will never have another Darwin."[Pg
245]
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