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ness and isolation perhaps awakens the idea, and at the sight of grown creatures of its own kind it recognizes the friends it needs. It is not magnetically drawn to its own parent, but it has an idea of the parent and recognizes the parental form.
most careful and fussy about the temperature of its eggs is a creature that cannot sit on them at all: I mean the ant.
Many phenomena show that the bird does not sit, as a rule, out of any passion for sitting. She does not continue, as a rule, to sit after her eggs are taken. That the impulse works occasionally through inherited habit, when the reason for it is absent, and that a broody hen or turkey will sit hard on the bare ground does not invalidate what I say. Only take a seat of eggs to a broody bird sitting on the bare ground: notice how she rushes at them and hastens to extend herself over them. She recognizes them at once as the things she craved. As a rule we may say the bird's impulse to sit
What is it again that makes the newborn creature at first sight anticipate danger from those things or persons that have proved hostile to its race? It may be said, if creatures recognize at first sight things familiar to their ancestors, why may not the first step of some old æonian sequence suggest, by association, the second, and the second the third, and so on? Why may not the bird's pairing bring to its mind the nest building, and that the incubation, and that the hatch-adjusts itself to the needs of the embryo ing? Wonderful as such reminiscence would be, it seems to some, at first sight, less wonderful than the supposition that birds as well as insects provide for the wants of the coming generation without knowing the purpose for which they work. The bird builds, or finds, or captures, or repairs some nest or hole, or nook, not for herself, but for her eggs. She does not build at a season when she requires personal warmth or repose, or when she is shy and retiring. She builds when she enjoys the coming spring, and when she is least shy, least timid, least retiring.*
it is an impulse to supply to them the shelter or warmth which they need. Witness the way birds relieve one another in the task of sitting, and the energy with which they avail themselves of the reliefs. Here the sitting is not a pleasure but a task, the pleasure is being relieved from it. The need of the embryo compels the service of the parent bird. As the embryos need a more equable temperature, a more equable temperature is supplied; the bird leaves its nest seldomer and returns to it sooner.
That broodiness does not prompt her hardly needs asserting, for the desire of sitting does not come on till some time later. She builds her nest first clearly as a deposit for her eggs. If we are asked what is the impulse that moves her we can really only answer, she is impelled by the needs of the coming generation. When the embryo needs warmth for its development she sits on them to give them the warmth they need. Audubon notices that in many cases the same bird sits laxly or assiduously according as little or much heat is needed to supplement the natural temperature. The Telegalla, or brush turkey, does not sit at all because the bottom heat of the great grass mound she makes for her eggs suffices for the hatching. For the same reason the ostrich does not sit by day, and the African Leipoa does not sit at all, but leaves its eggs to be hatched by the heat of the sand mound in which it deposits them. The creature that of all others is the
Audubon. That animals in seeking their own comfort accidentally provide a place of shelter for their young may be plausibly affirmed of some nest-building or hole-boring mammals, but not of birds or insects.
Considering the elastic adjustment of the parent's acts to the embryo's needs, I cannot wonder at the theory that the bird anticipates, by some innate tradition, the coming of its eggs and its offspring. Only I maintain that this theory is not needed to account for her acts, because there are a set of acts similar to hers that cannot be attributed to anticipation of results. Of those insects that make such careful provision for their eggs, some die as soon as they have deposited their eggs, and in general, as we believe, they see and know and care nothing about their eggs after they have been deposited. Anticipation of an offspring that not only they but their ancestors have never known or seen, instead of explaining anything would only be itself an inexplicable marvel. There are birds that know or care nothing for their eggs after it is deposited as the cuckoo-who is nevertheless careful where she deposits her eggs. Some birds behave in a way inconsistent with the idea that anticipation of offspring is the inspiring motive of their care of their eggs. I remember a hen corncrake at Newton Valence which sat on its seat of twelve eggs in a grass field all through the mowing and haymaking
that went on all around it with no protec- | trusts to a guidance, the rationale of tion from gazers except a few boughs which he cannot fathom. His feeling, which the mowers had stuck round its not his science, informs him of the exnest. It sat with a courage marvellously tent of his powers. We acknowledge the foreign to the usual nature of the bird, authority of undefinable instincts also and grew bolder and bolder as the time when we allow the unaccountable attracof hatching drew nigh. tion of two for each other to determine the important question of marriage. But
Was this courage due to the anticipation of offspring? It did not seem so; we all of us acknowledge it in more ways for the moment her young were hatched than can be enumerated, and no one conand needed her less, her natural fears re-sistently denies it. When we hear it asturned, and she left them. The power serted that certain things are not to be that seems to rule the bird as well as the done — however advantageous the result insect is the need of the unborn offspring. may be because they are of themselves What they need, that the parent is led to hateful, unlovely, unclean; we must provide for them, without apparently any either assert that these reasons for conscious motive beyond the gratification avoiding them are all nonsense, or else of an impulse; and it seems as if this we must admit the authority of unreasimpulse was obeyed oftentimes, not as a soning impulse; of an authority within pleasure but as a duty which could not be that will not be disobeyed when, for reagainsayed. sons we cannot fathom, it bids us do certain things and avoid others.
That animals perform provident constructive acts without having learnt by experience how to do them, or without inheriting the experience or skill which their parents have acquired, is generally supported by reference to the instincts of the sexless working bee, and other sexless working insects. Darwin most assuredly does not overlook this, but perhaps there is a danger that his disciples should overlook its bearings. The bee cannot have got his connate working powers from its ancestors, because its ancestors have not been working bees at all from time immemorial; they cannot transmit their powers to their descendants, for they have no descendants. Natural selection ought to destroy the bee's working powers, for all the workers die and leave no seed, and only the nonworkers transmit their kind. The only thing I complain of in Darwin is that he dwells so strongly on the wonder of this instinct. There are other instincts which, with the knowledge we have of brute animal nature, it is impossible to suppose were ever connected with anticipations of results in brute creatures; I speak of the instinct to which the perpetuation of every sexual race of animals is due. What do dumb beasts know or think of the providential meaning of their act when they propagate their race?
Again, let me ask, what man, however wise and scientific, is not compelled to obey impulse or appetite to some extent in order to know what to eat or what to refuse, when to eat and when to cease from eating, when to work and when to rest from working. As often as he does so, he acknowledges a providence and
I have given you my reasons, reader, for thinking that before we knew anything or could provide for ourselves, a providence that was the property of our life wrought for us and brought us what was needed for our development. We were first provided for, then made to do the things our needs required, and then by degrees came to learn providence by seeing it in actual operation, noticing not only the things which it was impelling others to do but the things which it was impelling us to do, and so the same power that first made and sustained us, from being our Maker, passed on to become our Inspirer and Teacher.
I find, as I shall show, our goodness and religion unfolding themselves out of our natural affection, and our natural affections again are but an extension of that impulse which makes each creature maintain itself and its kind; and this impulse again presents itself as that which moves and thus makes the structureless protista into organized forms.
NATURAL DEVELOPMENT OF GOODNESS
It is scarcely necessary to say that the lowest forms of life have nothing of the character of monads or individuals about them. Of what the elementary molecules of living matter may be we know nothing, but the lowest molluscs are associations rather than individuals; they may be cut into very small pieces, and each piece becomes a separate association. The unity of these creatures is a unity of co-operation and sympathy; the rudest associations are republics not kingdoms.
The hydra, though it has a certain organization, may be turned inside out without destruction to its working power, and may be cut into as many pieces as you like and not be destroyed, but only multiplied by the process, and yet when its internal cavity is empty its tentacula spread themselves out on the chance of catching any passing food, if one of these touches a fly or water-flea it immediately clasps it, the other tentacula come to its aid and coil round their prey and draw it into the digestive cavity.* This sym-ity which needs only sufficient breadth of pathy also, as Hunter and others follow- sympathy or intelligence to transform it ing him have noticed, exists between the into that very same love which is spoken parts of plants, which are associations of by St. John as the simply convertible and not individuals. attribute of the supreme God.*
have other offspring secretly substituted for her own. She is a mother to them. I have not space to add my little contribu tion to the interesting facts with which Darwin illustrates this. The impulse which makes the mother delight in shielding and sustaining and educating the little unformed creatures committed to her charge is precisely on a limited scale that love which the Christian man attributes to his Saviour and his God. And it contains in it that expansive potential
So that we may say co-operation aud sympathy manifests itself almost as soon as life manifests itself. In the earliest stage of life this co-operation and sympathy does not extend beyond the united portions of one isolated mass. The detached bits, or buds, or globules float away and draw to themselves the nourishment they need. As we rise in the scale of beings, the sympathy and help of the parent is extended to the offspring after the offspring has become isolated from it. And it is curious to observe that in proportion as the egg or young one needs the care and help of the parent it gets it. The higher the grown-creature is advanced in the scale of intelligence, the more it is left to provide for itself and to learn by experience and the more this is the case the more helpless is the young creature that has not yet got its experience. Thus, as intelligence increases, the need of parental help increases, and though the parental impulse to help does not in all cases keep pace with the increased demand, yet it does so in some cases, and only those races continue and save their children in whom the parental impulse is strong; others die
The instinct of self-preservation in the case of oviparous creatures seems first to extend into a love of possession. It loves its eggs as its own property. This instinct, on the hatching of the eggs, finds itself transformed into motherly love, which ever remains to man the very purest type under which he can conceive of the highest goodness.
And this instinct cannot be said to be properly understood if we overlook the fact that it contains within it the seed of universal compassion. The mother may
Carpenter's "Comparative Physiology."
Of filial love I must give the results of my thoughts briefly. It is at first simply the natural craving for food, warmth, comfort, safety. If it was merely this it would offer no aspects of sentimental beauty; but the creature inherits motherly love from its parents. A person must be unobservant who has not noticed the strength of motherly love that there is in girls, or even in quite little children. Thus the well-formed child not only forms pleasant associations with its mother as the supplier of its wants, but also sympathizes with her in her motherly love. Filial attachment wins the name of goodness, because it involves parental love. Motherly love is the purest type of what men prize and praise in their fellow men. It is the most disinterested and self-sacrificing, the most careful and considerate love that is ever seen in the mere animal or in the mere animal man. The mother is emphatically the supplier of the creature's wants, and so she is emphatically the creature's good. For what does goodness mean? It is important that the word should not be used at all in an essay like this unless it is used in a strict, unmistakable, scientific sense. The word is a perfectly plain one, if people would not saddle it with fanciful ideal meanings. It is simply a term of praise. It is what men praise, or prize, or count dear. Men want help and sympathy, and praise those who freely yield it. And this being the meaning of the word goodness, the maternal instinct at once takes its place as at once the earliest and purest incarnation of it. The idea of the parent dwelling in the mind becomes by degrees refined and purified from all those earthly limitations that obscure it, especially after
"He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, for Gud
Thus I find human goodness and human religion existing as a latent property of the living substance.
the parent's death. And so the soil of man's nature, even among the rudest and most uncultivated races, is prepared to receive the doctrine of an all good, all provident parent, unchangingly the same.
The love of the parent is the purest type of all goodness. It is a mercy that contains in it the seeds of justice and every other social virtue. When we talk of a mother labouring to do justice to her children, we are not using the word justice in its secondary sense, but in its primary sense. For justice in its primary form is simply motherly in its character, distributing to each what they need, what they can hold, and what they can profit by. The fierce, passionate corrective or vindictive form of justice is secondary. That motherhood renders a woman unjust to those who are not her children is no negation of what I say. It merely means that all those affections out of
which justice springs, instead of being diffused among her neighbours, are concentrated on her children. Parental love then is the purest type of all goodness; and, on the other hand, filial piety, which proceeds from the indwelling of the spirit of the parent in the child, is the purest type of all religion. The antiseptic influence of the mother's home that may be seen banishing impurity, not only from the Christian man's family circle, but from the Iroquois,* or modern Red Indian cabin, and the passionate valour of the mother defending her child, show that the domestic sphere is the cradle not only of the social but of the self-asserting virtues. I must ask my reader not to misunderstand me here. If I was to assert that the thing men emphatically praised or prized in their fellows was parental love, I should not be asserting a fact. Good motherhood by no means makes a woman loved or praised by her neighbours. All I assert is that parental love manifests in a contracted sphere that affection which is called goodness when a man feels it not exclusively to his own chil- manifested in the accidents of life, but I dren but to his neighbours and fellow-believe that it acts through them, though citizens also. So far as man has this all- I cannot see it." And so do I. All I embracing benevolence and sympathy, so argue for is that we should first confine far he shows men the Father. our attention to the place where it is unmistakably visible. That is in life. Life is provident in its action.
THE CHRISTIAN'S PRESENTIMENT. It will still, after all, be said by a Christian man who would otherwise approve of my argument: "You say that Providence is manifested in life but not in life's environment. I grant that I cannot see it
As parental love contains the germ of all goodness, so Filial Piety contains the germ of all religion. Our Saviour made His followers religious men by showing them what a Father really meant. They learned to know and love and trust the Father in Him. That was their religion.
THE FUNCTION OF ADVERSITY.
Now, how is this parental love, the parent of all that we subsequently call goodness in the creature, evoked? By and that make life, and that make life imthose outward accidents that press on life, possible for the young without the parent's aid. If the outward pressure on vital development was so feeble that young creatures could at once maintain floated away like Medusa buds from the themselves without parental aid, and then parental love and compassion, which parent substance in perfect independence, is really the mother of all virtue, or, at least, the nurse of all virtue, would vanish. The meaning of the word "mother ” would vanish. ther would vanish, the word becoming Our worship of the Fameaningless. Prayer would vanish, for instinct, worn deep by æonian habits into prayer is the child's cry. It is the filial the creature's being, which makes man capable of receiving the idea of a divine parent, and capable of prayer.
That pressure of outward adversity the idea of a God, actually generated the which some modern men say excludes idea and kept it alive in the hearts of
men. We see in vital action a provi-
And what do we mean by life? We mean a certain activity resembling in its character that activity to which we feel our will impelling us. Men have probably learnt to call trees and plants alive even in unscientific times, because in attributing to other things certain charac
ters like our own they found no stopping | mere automaton, unless I attributed acts point. like mine to needs or desires like mine. There are certain acts common to all living things, I mean hunger-like acts; and I trace these from the (so-called) conscious man to the (so-called) unconscious infant, or the (so-called) unconscious mollusc or plant. When I call these living acts, I assert that I am attributing them to motives like ours, and that otherwise the application of the common word life to us and them would be a misnomer. If you forbid me to attribute their hungerlike acts to hunger on the ground that they are unconscious, you are forcing me to do what no man can do without shutting himself out from truth. You are making me draw lines of demarcation where nature has drawn none.
In our fellow-men we see an activity like our own which we attribute to motives like our own. In the higher quadrupeds we see a fainter likeness to our own acts, and consequently a fainter suggestion of our own motives. As we approach the ruder forms, and so on to the structureless ones, we see the resemblance to our own acts and the suggestion of motives like our own rapidly approaching a vanishing point. When we reach the colloids it vanishes altogether. The Christian man denies that the providence visible in living matter is really absent from non-living. Now let me show him that in this he is really not far from those men whom perhaps he has been apt to consider most opposed to him. I do not assume that Huxley would agree with all I have said about providence. I rather hope than feel convinced that he will do so. But, at all events, Huxley, Bastian, and others, are really one with me on this point. They conjecture that the power which from its likeness to what we find in ourselves we call "life," is not isolated from inorganic nature, but is only a new phase of it. This entirely, I think, coincides with our views that the providence which is immediately visible in those forms of activity which are so near our own that we can understand and sympathize with them, works unseen in those forms of being which are too remote from our own for us to understand them.
I see no lines in nature: the Highest dwells potentially in the lowest, irritabil ity involves sentience, sentience involves consciousness and self-consciousness, and these involve - I know and can defend what I am saying - omniscience. Yes: omniscience; for a man only knows himself or anything else in so far as he knows his or its relation to all other things.
Strange to say, the only writer I know of who, without introducing the question of consciousnesss, heartily accepts the necessity of attributing like acts to like motives, is William Law. He does not hesitate to speak of the desire or working will of a plant. I think he is right. It seems to me intolerable that the introduction of consciousness should compel us to draw a line through the animal kingdom where nature has drawn none.
THE POWER OF NEED.
It is no metaphysical assertion to say It will be asked, do you attribute will that need-desiderium-desire-pre- or desire to structureless organless jelly cedes and causes all living motions, specks?—I say nothing about their conwhether conscious or unconscious. First, sciousness of what moves them. I only we attribute all human conscious acts to say I find that which moves us moving desires. But many of these acts which them, and I assert that I cannot draw any we attribute to desire are not the least line between consciousness and uncondependent on consciousness. We per-sciousness, or say where consciousness form them in those states which we call begins. I cannot assert that consciousunconscious. Must I no longer speak of ness or sense does not exist where the need or desire as the motive of an action, organs through which it seems to act are because it is done what we call uncon- absent, because I see living things that sciously that is, because the actor can- are organless and structureless; first exnot recall it? Only think what a vague temporizing, and subsequently making shadowy thing consciousness is, and by the organs they need. I see the function what imperceptible gradations it sinks - the movement to compass an endinto unconsciousness, and rises out of preceding the organ, and only gradually, unconsciousness again. When I see acts in more highly organized beings, becomlike mine I attribute them to motives, to ing entirely dependent on the organs needs and desires, like mine, leaving out has made. Not being able, then, to sever the question of consciousness altogether. their activity from ours, I find myself on I should look upon a fellow-creature as a the other hand forced by a current of