saying this, he quotes Huxley. The agnostics will not admit any plan in nature; any teleology is to them as the proverbial red rag is to the bull. The conflict in the case of Prof. Brooks turns on the term "necessary." He expresses himself thus: "It is in my mind to ask a question. Will any amount of knowledge of matter and motion tell the evolutionist whether I shall ask it or pass it by and go on to another subject? If he answer, Yes, I ask my question: How does he know ? If he assure me that a being so reasonable as I am known to be will not ask anything that might not have been expected I thank him for the compliment, for I try to be a reasonable creature. But if he assert that his confidence in my thoughts and actions proves that they are necessary, I must ask him how he knows; for I fail to see how proof that an event is mechanical and neither less nor more than might have been expected shows that it is necessary; nor can I see any more reason why my confidence in my freedom proves that my acts are arbitrary. The man of science quarrels with no man's opinions, but he will not be held responsible for perplexities which are none of his making. I am unable to share the dread of the evolutionist that the basis of science may be destroyed if we do not admit that all nature must be determinate. All agree that the past is determinate, so far as the word means anything to us, and there seems to be valid ground for the belief that every part of the material universe contains a permanent record of every change which has ever occurred in any part. 'If on a cold polished metal, as a new razor, any object, such as a wafer, be laid, and the metal be breathed upon, and, when the moisture has had time to disappear, the wafer be thrown off, though now the most critical inspection of the polished surface can discern no trace of any form, if we breathe once more upon it, a spectral image of the wafer comes plainly into view, and this may be done again and again. Nay, more, if the polished metal be carefully put aside, where nothing can deteriorate its surface, and be kept so for many months, on breathing upon it again the shadowy form emerges. A shadow never falls upon a wall without leaving thereupon a permanent trace, a trace which might be made visible by resorting to proper processes. Upon the walls of our most private apartments, where we think the eye of intrusion is altogether shut out, and our retirement can never be profaned, there exist the vestiges of all our acts. Babbage has pointed out (Ninth Bridgewater Treatise,' pp. 113-115) 'that if we had power to follow and detect the minutest effects of any disturbance each particle of existing matter would furnish a register of all that has happened. The track of every canoe, of every vessel that has as yet disturbed the surface of the ocean, whether impelled by manual force or elemental power, remains forever registered in the future movement of all succeeding particles which may occupy its place. The furrow which it left is, indeed, instantly filled up by the closing waters, but they draw after them other and larger portions of the sur*Draper, "Conflict of Science and Religion." rounding element, and these again, once moved, communicate motion to others in endless succession. The air itself is one vast library, in whose pages are forever written all that man has said or even whispered. There, in their mutable but unerring characters, mixed with the earliest as well as the latest sighs of mortality, stand forever recorded vows unredeemed, promises unfulfilled, perpetuating in the united movements of each particle the testimony of man's changeful will.' So far as we know, nothing that has ever been can be as if it had not been; and we seem to have good ground for believing that every portion of the material universe contains a record of every change that has taken place in all its parts, and also for believing that there is no limit to the power of minds like ours to read and interpret this record. Every new experience also shows that our expectation that the future will, on the whole, be like the past is reasonable. In these facts science finds a basis broad enough and firm enough for all our needs; for to this extent the data of science are latent in the physical universe, even if the future is, in part, to be what man and other living things make it." The argument against the philosophy of Evolution continues with somewhat incoherent statements to prove that determinateness in nature makes mind unnecessary, and, then it runs into a direct attack upon Herbert Spencer's philosophy, which all along was the object aimed at. After having destroyed him and his philosophy he does as the victorious duelist does, he turns upon him, offers to shake hands and unite to fight in the common cause. This is what he says: “There are two reasons why biology and the Philosophy of Evolution' should be associated. In the first place, there is a wonderful analogy between the problems of the sensible universe and the unfolding of the latency of the germ into the potency of the fully developed living being. It is not impossible that the key to the more specific problem may fit the lock which seals the greater. In the second place, the two subjects are historically associated. So long as men believed that species are distinct creations, no philosophy of evolution could have gained general acceptance. By convincing all thoughtful persons that species have a history which may be studied by scientific methods, Darwin led many who would not otherwise have given it a hearing, to treat the new philosophy with respect, but natural science is not 'philosophy,' notwithstanding this intimate historical connection between the proof that species are mutable and the spread of belief in the Philosophy of Evolution.' I have selected the passage which I have put at the head of this chapter in order to show that the view of the matter which is here set forth is not new, even among advanced biologists. Huxley's attitude will, no doubt, be a surprise to many who think they have read his book with diligence. He continually calls himself an 'Evolutionist,' and he can hardly blame a reader who, failing to draw nice distinctions, holds him to be one of the chief pillars in the temple of the new philosophy. Some confu sion may be permitted to those who remember his public lectures on 'Evolution,' his essays with the same title, and his declaration that the work of his life has involved him in an endless series of battles and skirmishes over evolution.' It is easy for one who understands his true position to see that his essays lend no countenance to the opinion that he has ever been or sought to be either a pillar or a disciple of any system of philosophy, for he has never ceased from affirming his ignorance of many of the subjects which philosophy seeks to handle. His evolution is not a system of philosophy, but part of the system of science. It deals with history-with the phenomenal world-and not with the question what may or may not lie behind it. During the last half century natural science has become historical. We have opened and learned to read a new chapter in the records of the past. The attributes of living things, which seemed to the older naturalists to be complete and independent in themselves, have proved to have a history which can be studied by the methods of science. They have been found to be steps in a long sequence of events as orderly and discoverable as the events which are studied by the astronomer or the geologist. The cultivation of natural science in this historical field, and the discovery that the present order of living things, including conscious, thinking, ethical man, has followed after an older and simpler state of nature, is not 'philosophy,' but science. It involves no more belief in the teachings of any system of philosophy than does the knowledge that we are the children of our parents and the parents of our children; but it is what Huxley means by 'evolution.' His lectures on 'Evolution' deal with paleontology, and narrate facts which are found in every text-book on the subject; but natural science, as it is taught in the text-books on botany and zoology and embryology and paleontology, is, most assuredly, no Philosophy of Evolution.' It fell to Huxley to fight and win a battle for science; and while he himself calls it a battle for evolution, his use of the word need mislead none, although it has misled many. One word in its time plays many parts, and the word 'evolution' has had many meanings. To-day, in popular estimation, an evolutionist is not a follower of Bonnet; nor one who is occupied with the binomial theorem, or with the evolutions of fleets and armies. Neither is he a cultivator of natural science. Whatever the word may have meant in the past, it has, in common speech, come to mean a believer in that philosophy of evolution which, according to such evolutionists as Huxley, is 'premature.' Since this is so, and since the growth of language is beyond individual control, would it not be well for them to stand where Huxley stands, and have nothing to say to any philosophy of evolution,' to stop calling themselves Evolutionists,' and to be content with the good old name of Naturalist'?" I do not know how to conclude this review. The lecture reviewed is too limited and yet too deep. It involves the whole subject of Being and all that can be said on "the coming to be," the Beginning. Is it mechanics or is it mind? Dare we say with Jeffries *: *The Story of My Heart. By Richard Jeffries. Boston. Roberts Bros., 1893. "All nature, the universe as far as we see, is anti- or ultra-human, outside, and has no concern with man. These things are unnatural to him. By no course of reasoning, however tortuous, can nature and the universe be fitted to the mind. Nor can the mind be fitted to the cosmos. My mind cannot be twisted to it; I am separate altogether from these designless things. 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