No bridegroom mine of change and death:My orange-flowers shall never fade:Immortal dews shall gem the wreathWhen crowns of earth have all decayed.No bride am I that plights her trothWith touch of doubt, or trust too fond;And risks the present, wisely loathTo search too far the veiled beyond.To me ‘tis but the past is veiled:The world that mocks with joys that fleet;The “Egypt” that so long has failedTo make its “troubled waters”[124]sweet:The world with all its sins and cares,Its sorrows gained and graces lost;The garden of a thousand snares,The barren field of blight and frost.But shines the future clear as truth:A few swift years of prayer and peace,Where hearts may know perennial youth,And virtues evermore increase:And then my Lord, my only love,Shall come, and lift the veil, and say:“Arise, all fair, my spouse, my dove!The rain is over—haste, away![125]“The rain is o’er, the winter gone,That sun and summer seemed to thee.If sweet the toilsome journey done,How sweeter now thy rest shall be!”
No bridegroom mine of change and death:My orange-flowers shall never fade:Immortal dews shall gem the wreathWhen crowns of earth have all decayed.
No bride am I that plights her trothWith touch of doubt, or trust too fond;And risks the present, wisely loathTo search too far the veiled beyond.
To me ‘tis but the past is veiled:The world that mocks with joys that fleet;The “Egypt” that so long has failedTo make its “troubled waters”[124]sweet:
The world with all its sins and cares,Its sorrows gained and graces lost;The garden of a thousand snares,The barren field of blight and frost.
But shines the future clear as truth:A few swift years of prayer and peace,Where hearts may know perennial youth,And virtues evermore increase:
And then my Lord, my only love,Shall come, and lift the veil, and say:“Arise, all fair, my spouse, my dove!The rain is over—haste, away![125]
“The rain is o’er, the winter gone,That sun and summer seemed to thee.If sweet the toilsome journey done,How sweeter now thy rest shall be!”
[123]“My Beloved is mine, and I am his.”
[124]Jer. ii.18.
[125]Cant. ii.10, 11.
A sleepy and forlorn bachelor, about to set forth on this expeditionsolus, some special providence sent to our relief a party of gay young friends, whom we found already assembled in the Louisville depot of the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. Upon this pleasant rencontre we did not cease to congratulate ourself, having been previously warned that the cave is seen to greater advantage by a large party; the number of lights carried, extra guides, etc., all tending to enhance picturesque effects, and promote the comfort of the sight-seers.
Leaving Louisville at the early hour of sevenA.M., a very enjoyable ride lay before us; at first through the celebrated blue grass region of Kentucky, and afterward skirting the wilder, more picturesque country, famous, or infamous, as the scene of guerilla warfare during the war and after. Here these desperadoes, entrenched in some of nature’s impregnable fortresses, sallied forth at will, cutting the railroads, stopping trains at all hours of the day and night, and plundering farms for miles in every direction. But we have changed all that! The road boasts a tunnel of some extent. Here the young men of our party perpetrated the time-honored joke of kissing their hands with a resounding smack, bringing out the roses on the cheeks of our pretty girls; when we emerge from darkness, each one of them being fully conscious that she is suspected as the guilty recipient of that kiss.
At noon we reach a station bearingthe imposing name of Cave City; a close corporation, consisting of one establishment, for the refreshment of man and beast destined for the Mammoth Cave. A poor dinner, after the manner of such wayside inns, awaits us, and at twoP.M.we hear the welcome sound, “All aboard stage for the cave!” Two vehicles, filled inside with ladies, and outside with the adequate complement of gentlemen and baggage—a nice point, by the way, in these days of woman’s rights and Saratoga trunks! But, ladies, we warn you not to undertake the cave without at least one man whom you own or have a lien on—there are points in the explorations before you when one man, and perhaps several others, will be convenient to lean on.
With a mighty creaking, a few preliminary false starts, resulting in some new and jerky experiences to those unaccustomed to the old-fashioned stages, at last we are fairly off, beginning almost immediately a winding and gradual ascent. We are told by our sanguine driver that there had been an attempt to macadamize the road—then certainly it has been an attempt, and nothing more; on several occasions we rode over smooth stones so large that it was quite a relief from the deep ruts which seamed the road on every side.
High hills surround us, luxuriant in the foliage of June; at rare intervals a farm-house is seen in some distant valley, but there are few evidences of cultivating the soil, which is doubtless of too cavernous a nature to repay the farmer his toil.
After riding a distance of three or four miles, the wildness of the scene is increased by huge formations of rocks; many streams murmur in the distance, and near the only house we approach on the route, a little maid, hurrying barefoot from the spring, presents a pail of water for the benefit of the thirsty stagers. There have been sundry flasks ofeau de vieon top, and the gentlemen evince no desire for the milder fluid, quaffed by the ladies with such avidity.
The half-way point is a platform for shade built across the road, and here those who wish to explore Osceola, or Indian Cave, take a short walk down the hill. Not caring to receive any subterra impressions before the great cavern dawned upon us, we joined the ladies in picking wild flowers, which are of great beauty and variety in this region. The exploring party on their return reported Osceola to be mainly a dugout cave, having some interest, but, like its illustrious namesake, very dirty! Nearly an hour having been devoted to resting the horses, we resume the stages, and, the road improving, proceed with accelerated speed, when a sudden halt causes us to look back—the second stage has broken down! What is to be done? Nothing but to squeeze two more ladies in our coach, while we gentlemen resign our places on top to the rest of the feminines, who really make the alarming ascent with grace; but after a short walk our gallantry oozes out at the very tips of our boots, and, one by one, we jump on the steps to talk, thence clamber to the roof to find seats as best we may.
After a nine miles’ drive, we approach a long, low frame-building. An air of quiet and rustic simplicity pervades the spot! This is the “Cave House.” The apartments to whichwe are conducted have lost none of the rusticity of the exterior surroundings, but everything is scrupulously neat, and there are excellent negro servants in attendance—desirable features in a hotel. Not less so is savory broiled chicken, to which we were speedily introduced.
Being all impressed with the idea that about nine extra hours of sleep were requisite to fit us for the labors of the morrow, we denied ourselves the pleasures of the large ball-room, whence issued the strains, evoked by some black musicians, wooing to the giddy mazes of the dance! Loose flannel suits are kept at the hotel for those who come unprepared for the cool climate and rough climbing of the cave; but we found our baseball toggery to be the very thing we wanted, and, arrayed therein, immediately after an early breakfast assembled on the wide veranda, which surrounds the house and makes a pleasant promenade.
The ladies look charming in their picturesque costumes of bright colors. Being a modest man, we merely mention that our stalwart frame does credit to the uniform of the “Yellow Garters,” of which glorious nine we boast ourself a member.
All in high spirits, we descend a thickly wooded ravine to the right of the house: beautiful ferns and mosses carpet the sides of the funnel-shaped opening surrounding the mouth of the cave, to the bottom of which our winding path is gradually leading us, a descent of forty or fifty feet. Around and above, tall trees stand sentinel on the only approach to this secret underworld.
Our guide remarks that the present is not the original mouth of the cave, which is distant a quarter of a mile on the south bank of Green River. Many, many years ago, theupper crust must have given way, forming this opening into which we are now descending, and filling with earth and stones that first part of the cavern, now called “Dickson’s” and rarely visited. The present entrance was discovered, in 1809, by a hunter running a bear into it. So little was the extent or value of the cave known, that it was soon afterward sold, with two hundred acres of land, for forty dollars. A short, sharp turn in the path brings us facing an archway of rock, over which a silver thread of water is falling. A cold wind rushes from a dark opening, above which the condensed atmosphere floats like a veil. With a sort of awe we descend some rough stone steps, and enter the cave. Already darkness is becoming visible: our party, numbering twenty-five, are furnished with lamps, and all with our “pilgrim staves” set forth on the “short route.”
To give some general idea of the outlines of the cave, we cannot do better than quote the simile of a scientific gentleman who, in writing on this subject, asks the reader to “imagine the channel of a large and winndig river, with tributaries at intervals, some of them the size of the main stream, emptying into the chief river, as, for instance, the Missouri and Ohio joining the Mississippi; these tributaries also receiving their support from creeks and rivulets, some of them quite small and extending but a short distance, while others are much longer, larger, and more beautiful. Now, it is easy to imagine these rivers as being under ground, or having a surface covering of earth and rocks, and that their rugged channels and banks have long ceased from some cause to be bathed with the waters which in ages long past flowed so freely along them; in fact, that they are quite dry, except in a few of the avenues.”
From this illustration it will be seen that we cannot “cut across country” from one point to another, but must explore each avenue, and then retrace our steps to the point where we left the main cave. Necessarily there are many avenues well known to the guides rarely seen by visitors, because too much time would be consumed in visiting any but the most interesting. To see the cave at all satisfactorily, one day should be devoted to the “Short,” another to the “Long Route.” And from our own experience, we would suggest that these two tramps should not be made one immediately after the other, but let an intervening day be devoted to some other of the many minor expeditions of this region; then you are rested, and fresh for all the day in the cave of the “Long Route.”
While indulging in these practical and retrospective reflections, we have left our party in the narrow archway, about seven feet high, which is just within the mouth, and called the Narrows. Here there was a slight detention caused by the lamps blowing out: Mat, our black guide, explains this by saying, “The cave’s breathin’ out.” To explain which still further means that, the atmosphere of the cave being at 59°, when the exterior air at the mouth is of a higher temperature, a strong current sets outward; in winter, of course, the current sets inward: thus the cave breathes once a year. This action is felt a short distance. Soon we leave behind everything reminding us of the upper world.
Before the eye has become accustomed to the darkness, a great sense of disappointment is felt in groping through scenes of such interest with insufficient light. This feeling, however, gradually wears off, and the guides burn oiled paper, blue-lights, etc.,when we stop to inspect some special marvel.
After leaving the Narrows, we soon enter the Rotunda, the ceiling of which is one hundred feet high, and its greatest diameter seventy-five feet. This chamber is said to be immediately under the dining-room of the hotel. The floor is strewn with the remains of vats, water-pipes, etc., used by the saltpetre miners in 1812. From the entrance to this point, wheel-tracks and the impressions made by the feet of oxen used to cart the saltpetre more than fifty years ago may still be seen. At the time these indentations were made by the cleft foot of the ox and the cartwheels, the earth was moist from the recent process of lixiviation in the saltpetre manufacture, and upon drying had attained the stony solidity of petrifaction; and the indentations aforesaid are yet distinct, though they have been walked over by thousands of visitors for many years. Leaving the Rotunda, we pass huge overhanging rocks, called Kentucky River Cliffs, and enter the Methodist Church, where services have been frequently held. The pulpit is formed by a ledge of rock twenty-five feet high: the logs used as benches were placed in the church fifty years ago, and are still in a good state of preservation. In this part of the cave, and in all the avenues near the entrance, millions of bats make their winter quarters. We saw only a few flitting about, but were told they returned in the autumn by hundreds. What wonderful instinct wakens these creatures from a winter’s sleep, with tidings that the glorious summer is at hand? Various objects of minor interest are noted, and we pass on to Giant’s Coffin, an immense rock, forty feet long, twenty wide, eight in depth—fit sarcophagus for one of the giants of old; but Kentucky has herself of late years producedan individual who will nearly fill it. In many parts of the cave, and more particularly in this region, some striking effects are produced by the efflorescence of black gypsum upon a surface of white limestone. On the ceiling and walls these black figures thus produced stand out in bold relief. Quite startling is a gigantic family group—man, wife, and infant. Another is a very perfect representation of an ant-eater.
Soon we notice several enclosures, formerly occupied by invalids, who vainly imagined that this pure and unchanging atmosphere would restore them to health.
Up to this point walking has been an easy matter, the way quite level, a path winding among loose stones of some size, and in many places a smooth, broad avenue offering no obstruction; but when, one by one, we climb a steep ladder placed against the wall to the right of Giant’s Coffin, there is a realizing sense of “rocks ahead.”
The Gothic Arcade, which we have now entered, has a flat ceiling, smooth and white as if it had received a coat of plaster, and leads to Gothic Chapel—a very beautiful room, yet not purely Gothic in its style of architecture, the roof being quite flat, supported by gigantic stalactites, extending so nearly to the floor that they present the effect of fluted columns and graceful arches. Here was once performed a marriage ceremony under romantic circumstances. A young lady, having promised her mother that she would never marry Snooks “on the face of the earth,” evaded the letter of her contract by marrying the same in the bowels thereof. Two of the stalactites in this chapel, called the Pillars of Hercules, are said to be thirty feet in circumference. These stalactites being peculiar to caves, it may interest the generalreader to note their formation. If water, holding bicarbonate of lime in solution, drop slowly from the ceiling, exposure to the air allows one part of carbonic acid gas to escape, the lime is then deposited in the form of proto-carbonate of lime, and the stalactite, similar to an icicle, is slowly formed; if the deposit accumulate from below upward, it is termed a stalagmite; sometimes, meeting in the centre, they become cemented and form a solid column. An instance of this is given in the illustration of the Devil’s Arm-Chair. These forms are made more interesting from their variety of color: if the limestone is pure, the stalactite will be white, or semi-transparent; if it contain oxide of iron, the result will be a red or yellow color; black stalactites containing a large proportion of oxide of iron. Many other things of interest, but too numerous to mention, are pointed out before we reach Lake Purity, a pool of shallow water, so perfectly transparent that stalactites are seen at the bottom. Gothic Arcade terminating a short distance beyond the lake, we retraced our steps to the ladder by which we had reached this upper and older portion of the cave, and found ourselves again in the main cave near the Giant’s Coffin, passing behind which we enter a narrow crevice, where, half crawling and stooping, a descent is made to Deserted Chamber. At this point, the water, after it had ceased to flow out of the mouth into Green River, left the main cave to descend to the lower regions and Echo River. Here we again leave the regular route to visit Gorin’s Dome, to us far the most beautiful of the many so-called domes.
Passing over a small bridge, and ascending a steep ladder, we are, one by one, assisted by the guide to a point where it is not easy to retain afoothold; but here is nothing to be seen—we seem to be against a black wall. “Why, Mat, what did you bring us here for?” But not so fast. Mat has been preparing blue-lights for an illumination, and now he directs us to grasp the rock, and, one at a time, peer through a small opening. What wondrous vision is this! A hundred feet above is the arched dome, from which depend stalactitic formations and shafts, of varying size and shape; facing us hangs a curtain-like mass, terminating abruptly in mid-air. In it you seem to trace the folds and involutions of drapery veiling this mysterious place from vision. Far below, more than two hundred feet, unfathomable depths are revealed by blue-lights thrown down, while shafts, curtain, and dome are frescoed in colors of pale blue, fawn, rose, and white. This dome is three hundred feet high, and sixty feet across its widest part; but, alas! the “lights departed, the vision fled,” and we are forced to descend from our eyrie. Leaving this sublime spectacle, we return to the main cave, and, following it around Great Bend, are soon in the famous Star Chamber. This is an apartment sixty feet in height, seventy in width, and about five hundred in length, the ceiling composed of black gypsum, studded with numberless white points, caused by the efflorescence of Glauber’s salts. This is what we learned of this remarkable spot after leaving the cave. We now will tell you what we saw. We were first seated on a narrow ledge of rock forming a bench on one side of the chamber, the guide taking away our lamps to a distant mass of rocks, behind which he leaves them, to shed a “dim, religious light” on the scene. As our eyes become accustomed to the change, we discover ourselves to be in a deep valley with gray, rugged sides, ofcourse outside of the cave, else why is the sky above so deeply, darkly blue? those countless stars shining?—shining, did we say? We vow they twinkled. The Milky Way is there; we will not vouch for the Dipper, but other constellations are visible, even a comet blazes across the heavens. The guide retires with his lamp to some mysterious lower region to produce shadows, and suddenly clouds sweep across the horizon, a storm is brewing, the stars are almost hidden, now they are out, utter darkness prevails, until we hear Mat stumbling about, a faint light is in the east, and a fine artificial sunrise, as he appears with his lamp. All this may read like child’s play, yet so complete is the optical delusion that, when the lamps were all returned to us, the mystery dispelled, we drew a long breath of relief that we were not really shut up in that lonely defile, looking up longingly to the stars, but actually several miles underground, and merely under the influence of Glauber’s salts! Beyond is Proctor’s Arcade, a natural tunnel, nearly a mile long, a hundred feet wide, forty in height; the ceilings and sides are smooth and shining, chiselled out of the solid rock. This tunnel leads past several points not specially interesting, to Wright’s Rotunda, which is four hundred feet in diameter. It is astonishing that the ceiling has strength to sustain itself, being only fifty feet below the surface of the earth; but no change need be anticipated, for at this point the cave is perfectly dry. A short distance beyond, several avenues branch off from the main cave, none worthy of note, except that which leads to Fairy Grotto, a marvellous collection of stalactites, resembling a grove of white coral. Here indeed might the fairies have held high revelry, with glow-worm lamps suspended fromeach pillar, and fire-flies flitting from branch to branch.
The Chief City or Temple, situated in the main cave beyond the Rocky Pass, is rarely visited by strangers now, yet, before the discovery of the rivers and the wilderness of beauty beyond, it was considered one of the great features. It is an immense chamber, excelling in size the cave of Staffa. The floor at different points is covered with piles of rocks, presenting the appearance of an ancient city in ruins.
Three miles beyond Chief City, the main cave is terminated abruptly by rocks fallen from above, which, if they could be removed, would no doubt open communication with a cavern similar to the one we have been exploring. So many wonders, viewed in a few hours, leave the mind in a chaotic state, and the weary explorer is now ready to return to the creature comforts of the hotel, there to ruminate, and, if he can, arrange in some sort of order, in his “memory’s mansion,” sights and sensations so new and strange. In returning to the upper world, the appearance of the mouth is very beautiful. To eyes so long accustomed to darkness, the light is a subdued radiance, a fairy land in the distance, until we emerge from the cave into the outer world, which seems, since we left it, to have been dyed in millions of rainbow hues; everything, the leaves, the trees, shone and sparkled in the blessed light! But—the air! the pure atmosphere we have been breathing all the morning, renders the senses painfully conscious of the decomposition of vegetable matter, causing such a feeling of oppression that fainting may be the consequence if issuing from the entrance is not made a matter of easy stages.
As a result of the wise maxim,“Early to bed and early to rise,” we find ourselves on the following morning breakfasting in our cave dress, and prepared before nine o’clock for the “Long Route.”
We now feel quite at home in the under-world, and, should any stranger join our party, he would doubtless be much impressed by our manner of going over the familiar ground; evidently we know all about this; nothing can impress us now but “fresh fields and pastures new.” On this day we are to realize something of the geography of the cave, therefore a word on the subject of its formation.
Green River, only a few hundred yards from the entrance of the cave, has evidently cut out the channel through which it runs. On either side, its rugged banks tower above the water three hundred feet, and this the only valley of the plain, proving conclusively that the river has excavated its bed to the present level by the chemical and mechanical agency of water. The avenues of the cave, no doubt, were cut through in the same manner, the lowest and last formed being Echo and Roaring rivers, which are now on a level with Green River, and with which they have subterraneous communication.[126]As Green River deepens the valley through which it passes, the rivers in the cave will also continue to descend, until the avenues through which they now flow shall become as dry as Marion Avenue, which, in ages past, must have been the most beautiful of subterranean rivers.
Limestone, or carbonate of lime, which constitutes the strata of rocksthrough which the cave runs, is soluble in water when it combines with an additional proportion of carbonic acid, and is changed into the bicarbonate of lime.
In this way the process of excavation continued until communication with running water was established, and the mechanical agency made to assist the chemical. Another disintegrating power is the crystallization of sulphate of lime, known also under the names of gypsum, plaster-of-Paris, alabaster, etc. The force of gypsum in the act of crystallizing is equal to that of water in freezing, and, when it occurs between ledges of rock, they are fractured in every direction. Many instances of this may be seen.
As to the mechanical agencies in the excavation of the cave, they are instanced in the transportation of gravel, clay, and sand from one part to another. By observing the points at which they are deposited, and the order in which they come, it is possible to tell the direction in which the water formerly ran in many of the avenues, and the rapidity of its motion. But enough of technicalities—the entrance to the “Long Route” is before us in the crevice before mentioned, situated behind Giant’s Coffin.
The first new name which strikes upon the ear is that of Wooden Bowl—an apartment deriving its name from the fact of a bowl being found here, such a one as was used by the Indians. Various traditions of this race meet the explorer in other parts of the cave; among others, that of a mummified female and child found in Gothic Avenue, in 1815, said to have been sent to the Antiquarian Society of Worcester, Massachusetts, and to be still there in a dilapidated condition; another still more remarkable mummy is said tohave been exhumed in one of the neighboring small caves, and sent to Cincinnati, where it was burnt in the museum many years ago.
If such discoveries were really made, it is a matter of profound regret that these relics of an unknown past should have been removed from their resting-places, where they were secure from the ravages of time, and would, at the present day, greatly enhance the interest of Mammoth Cave.
We descend the Steps of Time, which is an unpleasant reminder to those of us who already feel stiff in the joints, and enter Martha’s Palace, not so palatial as its name implies, but near by is a spring of clear water, which all hail with pleasure. Side-Saddle Pit and Minerva’s Dome are soon passed, and we reach Bottomless Pit. Do not shudder! there is no necessity of descending, and there is bottom at the distance of one hundred and seventy-five feet. It was not until the year 1838 that it was supposed possible to bridge this fearful chasm; it was then crossed by Stephen, the celebrated black guide, who is identified with most of the discoveries. We now cross on a substantial wooden structure, known as the Bridge of Sighs. This leads to the Revellers’ Hall, and, judging from the number of empty and broken bottles on the floor of this wild-looking room, all visitors have done their part to perpetuate the name. A low archway, the Valley of Humility, leads to Scotchman’s Trap, a circular opening, through which you descend a flight of stone steps. Directly over the opening hangs a huge flat rock, which would, should it fall, completely close the avenue to the river. The number of slight, slippery ladders we have descended gives a very realizing sense that we are getting down, down, deep into the bowels of the earth.
We now enter a narrow avenue serpentining through the solid rock for fifty yards, varying in width from eighteen inches to three feet, in height from four to eight feet. This passage has evidently been cut through by the mechanical agency of water. Any lady or gentleman weighing three hundred pounds had better not attempt Fat Man’s Misery, for he may sigh in vain for “this too solid flesh to melt,” and this remarkably solid rock will not yield a hair’s-breadth to anything less than water charged with carbonic acid. Such squeezing and groaning, broken backs, etc.! but these are forgotten when we emerge in Great Relief. The avenue which leads thence to River Styx is River Hall, but we leave this for the present, and on our right enter Bacon Chamber, where may be seen a fine collection of limestonehamsdepending from the ceiling. After walking three-fourths of a mile in Sparks’ Avenue, we reach Mammoth Dome, the largest in the cave; it is two hundred and fifty feet in height. Climbing over immense shelving rocks, whose jagged sides and yawning crevices offer slight foothold and a very unpleasant prospect in case of a fall, we reach the top of a terrace forty feet from the base, where the view is taken. A grand, solemn spectacle it is! At the left extremity are five large pillars, called Corinthian Columns. A vast, solitary waste stretches out before the eye on every side; gloomy recesses and yawning abysses, illuminated by the weird blue-lights, form a sublime picture. One can only fancy it to be the primal state of chaos. The descent from the terrace of rocks is even more perilous than the ascent, but, once in the avenue, we return quickly to River Hall. Our attention is now drawn to a body of water forty feet below, calledDead Sea, a gloomy spot, deserving its name. Passing on, the distant roar of invisible waterfalls strikes the ear, and at the foot of the slope we are descending lies the River Styx:
“Where the dark rock o’erhangs the infernal lake,And mingling streams eternal murmurs make.”
This river is one hundred and fifty yards long, from fifteen to forty in width, and in depth varies from thirty to forty feet. It has a subterranean communication with other rivers of the cave, and, when they rise to a great height, an open communication with all of them. The Natural Bridge spans River Styx about thirty feet above it.
The next body of water we approach is quite peaceful, and, the ceiling being ninety feet above the surface, one loses the cavernous sensation of the gloomy overhanging rocks. Lake Lethe is one hundred and fifty yards long, and, being crossed in boats not large enough to convey all of the party at once, some of our number embark, with Charon himself at the helm. All are hushed by the solemnity of the scene, the lamps shed a dim light upon the rippling water and phantom boat, which silently glides outward and on around a projecting angle of rock, when it is lost to vision. For those who wait upon the shore the return of the boat, this is a solemn moment; we felt ourself a ghost, doomed to wander a hundred years ere Charon would ferry us over Avernus! After a brief interval of this musing, a faint light appears from behind the rock which before intercepted our view. Charon with his solitary lamp in the prow of the boat is returning; soon we also embark, but not before we had drunk of the waters of Lethe, that all experience of the upper world might be forgotten, for now we enter into dream life. Our friendswho had preceded us formed a picturesque group waiting as we neared the shore. The bright dresses, the lights throwing fitful gleam and shadow into the darkness beyond, and our own gliding motion, form a picture not soon forgotten. Upon disembarking we enter Great Walk, extending from the Lake to Echo River, the floor of which is covered with yellow sand. Reaching the river, we all embark in a large boat, and soon find ourselves in a very contracted space, the rocks overhead being only three feet above the surface of the water. Stooping under the narrow archway for fifteen or twenty feet, we finally emerge into the open river, with the ceiling about fifteen feet above. At some points the river is two hundred feet wide, in depth it varies from ten to thirty feet. The water is now transparently clear, rocks can be seen twenty feet below, and the boat seems passing through the air. The illusion is heightened by the fact of our guide using no oars here, propelling the boat by a staff applied at intervals to the ceiling or side walls. We avoided looking at him, that we might still fancy ourself wafted over these mysterious waters by some invisible agency. Here is no feeling of danger, only a dreamy, delicious content to float on thus for ever into the “Silent Land.”
An occasional song to wake the far-famed echoes is the only sound to disturb the stillness and the unutterable thoughts which fill the soul. Echo River is an idyl! Alas! that it should be so short—yet three-quarters of a mile of bliss should compensate poor human nature for many ills. Some of the gentlemen, in the adventurous spirit of youth, made their passage through a rugged avenue called Purgatory; from their description of which we prefer journeying to paradise by the river. Landingon the farther banks, we enter Silliman’s Avenue, extending a mile and a half to the Pass of El Ghor, the walls and ceilings of which, being of recent formation, are rugged and water-worn. Here is Cascade Hall, a circular chamber with vaulted ceiling, from which falls a stream of sparkling water, disappearing through a pit in the floor. The avenue leading to Roaring River takes its rise in this hall.
The Infernal Region is an irregular down-hill passage, the floor covered with wet clay. Such essentially and persistently sticky mud was probably never known above ground. The scrambling, slipping, miring, ejaculating crowd made an amusing scene. Our black guide, Mat, is a character, rarely relaxing into a smile, but displays a grim humor by saying “Sot her up,” when some heavier slush than usual reveals the fact that somebody is down. Now, sotting her up is not nearly as easy as sotting her down. In some places the water is ankle-deep. Here the gentlemen pick up the ladies, and carry the fair creatures to dry ground. Several laughable incidents were the consequence of this manœuvre. One gentleman, feeling the mud slipping under his feet, fancied himself in a quicksand, and hurriedly set his wife down in the water to rescue himself. Another, a bashful young swain, felt a delicacy about the manner of picking up his young lady, so carried her under one arm, her heels on a line with her head. What a funny picture those little dangling boots presented! Alas! for the uncertainty of human events. When we started out fresh in the morning, we had observed the secret pride with which that young woman contemplated her jaunty tasselled boots, the neatest fit in the party, and amply displayed by her short dress.
We are now quite willing to climb the Hill of Fatigue, leading to dry ground. Among many names and objects of interest we shall only mention Ole Bull’s Concert-Room, where the great violinist performed, on his first tour through the United States. The Pass of El Ghor, two miles in length, is one of the most picturesque avenues in the cave, its narrow and lofty sides changing into every variety of uncouth, fantastic shapes; again, the hanging rocks overhead suggest the idea of imminent danger, but we are assured by the guide that no rocks have fallen during his time, a period of thirty years.[127]
This pass finally communicates with a large body of water, the “Mystic River,” which has not been explored by visitors. Ascending a very high, steep ladder, we enter Martha’s Vineyard, twenty feet above the Pass of El Ghor. Here a stalagmite, extending from the floor to the ceiling, forms the stem of agrapevine, from which all over the walls and ceiling depend bunches of blackgrapes—nodules of carbonate of lime, colored with the black oxide of iron—and here the vintage never fails, for is there not sulphur at hand?
An avenue directly over Martha’s Vineyard, which we did not explore, is said to contain a miniature chapel of stalactites, in a dark room adjoining which, without ornament of any kind, is a grave hewn out of the rock. This was considered so suggestive by a Catholic priest that he named it the Holy Sepulchre.
The next place of great and general interest is Washington Hall, where were unpacked the hampers carried by the extra guide, detailed for thatpurpose. Keen appetites were brought to bear upon the liberal luncheon supplied by the proprietor of the hotel. Some of the party had added champagne, so we filled generous bumpers to the genii of the cave. After an hour spent in rest and refreshment, we leave Washington Hall, and, passing through Snow-Ball Room, covered with nodules of white gypsum, enter Cleveland Cabinet, an avenue two miles in length, and so beautiful that the sight of it alone would fully repay for the fatigue and time devoted to the cave.
It is a perfect arch of fifty feet span, averaging the height of ten feet in the centre. Thus every part may be viewed with ease. From summit to base is a dazzling expanse of alabaster bloom—a grand conservatory where the Snow Flora moulds herflowersere she transports them to the upper world and endows them with a soul. Here are clusters of pale white roses sprinkled with diamond dew, waiting only the enchantress’ wand to convert them into a coronal for some fair bride; again, a perfect cross of flowers, which may yet be the only companion of a rare soul entombed. Stately lilies, nodding tulips, graceful fern shapes, are showered in endless profusion on these fairy walls. Here and there are little niches lined with flowers, a feathery veil of rock bloom hanging over the entrance. We peep in curiously, but no Peri is there. This seems truly the “Enchanted Palace of Sleep,” but the princess is too deeply hidden for mortal eyes to discover.
Lingeringly we leave this wondrous scene. At the very end is pointed out the last rose of summer, resting against the ceiling; it is of snowy whiteness, about eight inches in diameter, and is really the last to be seen in the avenue. A short distance beyond is Rocky Mountain, one hundred feethigh, composed of large rocks which have evidently fallen from above. On top of the mountain is a stalagmite called Cleopatra’s Needle—why a needle, and wherefore Cleopatra’s, I am unable to explain. We are now nearing the end of the cave, and to the weary of our band the mountain seems an insurmountable obstacle, therefore only the more adventurous scale the heights, and, passing Dismal Hollow, a gorge seventy feet deep and one hundred wide, enter Crogan Hall, which constitutes the end of the “Long Route.” It is covered with stalactites, very hard and white, fragments of which are worked into ornaments.
This part of the cave is evidently near the surface of the earth, and from the comparative abundance of animal life it is probable there is an open communication at some point not far distant. The rat found here differs from its Norway brother in that it is a size larger; the head and eyes, which are black and lustrous, resemble those of a rabbit, while its soft fur is of a bluish gray and white. Crickets and lizards are numerous; they are sluggish in their movements, and the cricket never chirps. Why should he, indeed, having neither hearth nor tea-kettle to inspire him? All these animals, although provided with large eyes, seem quite blind when first caught. The fish found in the various rivers are of the class known as viviparous; they have rudiments of eyes, but no optic nerve. There are also eyeless crawfish; both these and the eyeless fish are nearly white.
At certain seasons ordinary fish, crawfish, and frogs are washed into the rivers of the cave from Green River, the inference being that they also in due course of time lose the power of vision.
At the end of Crogan Hall we are said to be nine miles from the mouthof the cave, and somewhere under ground near Cave City. Here is the Maelstrom, a frightful pit, one hundred and seventy-five feet deep, and twenty wide. It has been explored by two or three adventurous spirits, the first of whom was a son of the late George D. Prentice.
It is needless to describe our return, which was over the ground already explored; devoting less time, of course, to the examination of wonders, and not at all tired, for exercise in this exhilarating atmosphere is unlike that of the upper world. We finally reach the entrance, and emerge—into darkness again—for it is nineP.M., and only a few twinkling stars remind us that we are not still underground.
I shall not do more than mention Proctor and Diamond Caves, which we explored on the following day, but they excel in stalactitic formation and well repay a visit. They are on the direct route to Glasgow, a station three miles nearer than that of Cave City, and where there has been recently built a comfortable hotel on the site of the ancient “Bell’s Tavern,” well known to Kentuckians in former days. Those who have never visited Mammoth Cave will scarcely credit the assertion of the guides that two hundred and fifty miles of travel are necessary to see all of the known avenues of the cave. When we add to this the statement that new discoveries are constantly being made which reveal the fact that there is still a wilderness of cave untrodden by the foot of man, speculation passes all bounds.
None but a soul absolutely impervious to the impressions of the sublime and beautiful handiwork of the world’s great Architect, can fail to realize the highest expectations in an exploration of this greatest of caves now known.
[126]The cave should be visited in summer and early fall months; at other seasons, the waters of the cave being influenced by all the movements of Green River, a sudden rise in the latter will, in a few hours, cut off communication with the largest and by far the most interesting portion of the cave.
[127]“Old Mat” is now off duty, but may still be seen about the hotel. He thinks he knows more about the cave than any man living, and still better qualified than the younger guides to exhibit its wonders!
What though we cannot, with the star-led kings,Adore the swaddled Babe of Bethlehem!Behold, as sweet a Benediction[128]bringsA new Epiphany denied to them.The Mary Mystical ‘tis ours to seeStill from his crib the little Jesus take,And show him to us on her altar-knee,And sing to him to bless us for her sake.Shall we the while be kneeling giftless there?In loving faith a richer gold shall please,A costlier incense in the humblest prayer,Nor less the myrrh of penitence than these:And there between us holy Priesthood stands,Our own Saint Joseph, with the chosen hands.
[128]Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.
Herbert Spencer has often been alluded to in our pages, and one of his works, that onBiology, has been specially noticed by us. He is usually classed with the positivists, and we have ourselves so classed him; but he protests against this classification, and, after studying carefully, or as carefully as our patience would permit, the volume before us, we confess the classification appears to be inexact, and even unjust to the positivists. There are considerable differences between his philosophy and thePhilosophie Positiveas we find it set forth by M. E. Littré, its greatest living chief; for, as set forth by its founder, M. Auguste Comte, in his own works, we would rather not speak, for, to confess the truth, we have never had the patience to read them so as to master their doctrines. Yet, as far as we do know the system, it differs on several points, and much to its advantage, from the cosmic philosophy set forth in Mr. Spencer’sFirst Principles, especially as to the relativity of knowledge and the theory of evolution. It is the product of a higher order of mind than Mr. Spencer can boast, and of a mind originally trained in a better school.
Mr. Herbert Spencer is a man of considerable native ability, of respectable attainments in what is called modern science, and a fair representative of contemporary English thought and mental tendencies; but he has made a sad mistake in attemptingto be a philosopher, for he lacks entirely theingegno filosofico, and we have not discovered a single trace of a philosophic principle, thought, or conception in any or all of his several works. He is or might be a physicist, or what old Ralph Cudworth terms aphysiologer, perhaps not much inferior to old Leucippus or Democritus, but he has not in him the makings of a philosopher, and his cosmic theories are not even plausible to a philosophic mind.
“In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed is king.” The not inconsiderable reputation Mr. Herbert Spencer seems to have acquired is probably due not to his merits so much as to the low state into which philosophical studies have fallen in the Anglo-Saxon world, and the tendency to anti-Christian and anti-religious theories and speculations which Protestantism, when it begins to examine its own foundation and to account for itself, everywhere encourages. The party we meet here and in England, with “advanced views” as they are called, and which every day grows in numbers and strength, welcomes with enthusiasm any and every writer who helps or promises to help them to explain the problem of the universe on physical principles, without recurring to the supernatural or the fact of creation. The party, profoundly ignorant of Christian theology and philosophy, and devoted to the study of physical facts and phenomena alone, have persuaded themselves that Christianity is unscientific, and that it tends to degrade men, to enfeeble reason, and to preventthe free expansion of thought; and they regard as their benefactor whoever is able to strengthen their cosmic or atheistic tendency. Such a man they esteem Mr. Herbert Spencer. He is apparently just the man to be accepted as the chief of the sect, or the philosopher of negation. Its adherents wish not for their leader an avowed atheist or pantheist, for the world is not just yet advanced enough for that, but they do wish one who is skilful in disguising his atheism or pantheism in the forms and terms of science; and who can do this more successfully than Herbert Spencer?
Mr. Spencer divides his book into two parts. In PartI.he treats of what he calls “The Unknowable”; in PartII.he treats of what he calls “The Knowable.” Under the head of “The Unknowable” he seeks the relation of science and religion, to ascertain the ultimate verity or ideas of each, and to show the ground on which they meet and are reconciled. He asserts that all knowledge is relative, is knowledge of phenomena alone, which are nothing outside of their relation to consciousness, itself phenomenal, and to a Something underlying them, and of which they are the appearances or which they manifest. We are compelled to admit, he says, this Something, because the phenomena cannot be thought without it; and as we can assign no limit to these manifestations, we are compelled to assert this Something, Power, Being, or Reality is infinite. But this Infinite Something which is the reality of the cosmos is absolutely unknowable and even unthinkable. How, then, can it be asserted?
Every religion seeks the solution of the problem of the universe, the explanation of the great cosmic mystery that surrounds us on all sides, and all religions agree that the solutionis in this infinite Reality or Something, which is absolutely unknowable, absolutely inscrutable. The ultimate religious ideas or highest and most comprehensive generalizations of religious conceptions are, first, the assertion of this incognizable and incogitable Something; and, second, that the solution of the problem exceeds all human powers.
Science deals with the same cosmic problem, and, rising by generalization to generalization of the cosmic phenomena up to the higher and broadest possible, is compelled to admit the same Infinite Something, and to admit that it is not cognizable nor cogitable. Consequently, the ultimate scientific ideas are identical with the ultimate religious ideas. Both religion and science are fused together, and reconciled without any compromise, and the old feud between them extinguished, in the bosom of the Infinite Unknowable.
“He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.”
As we have no predisposition to accept the new system of philosophy, we cannot find this conclusion perfectly satisfactory. The cosmists object to the Comteans or positivists that they absorb the cosmos in man and society; the cosmists, on the other hand, seem to us to absorb man and society in the cosmos, and subject them to the same physical law Mr. Emerson does when he asserts the identity of gratitude and gravitation. By asserting that only phenomena are cognizable, and subjecting man to the common cosmic law, they include him in the cosmic phenomena, and make him simply an appearance or manifestation of the unknowable, without any real or substantive existence of his own. We thus lose in the infinite variety of the cosmic phenomena both the thinking subjectand the object thought. The soul is a cosmic appearance.
Furthermore, by declaring the phenomenal cannot be thought in and by itself without the Infinite Something that underlies it as its ground or reality, and then declaring that something to be unknowable, unthinkable even, the new system declares that there is no knowable, and consequently no science or knowledge at all. The new system of philosophy, then, reconciles science and religion only in a universal negation, that is, by really denying both. This can hardly satisfy either a scientist or a Christian.
In the second part, Mr. Spencer defines philosophy to us, as near as we can come at his sense, to be the unification of the several religions and several sciences in their respective or special generalizations in a generalization that comprehends them all. Generalization with him means the elimination of thedifferentia, or abstraction. He therefore, in making philosophy a generalization, makes it an abstraction, and, so to speak, the abstraction of all particular abstractions. But abstractions in themselves are nullities, and consequently philosophy is a nullity, and science and religion are nullities. Mr. Spencer maintains that we have “symbolic conceptions,” in which nothing is conceived—symbols which symbolize nothing. Is his “new system of philosophy” anything but a generalization and unification of these “symbolic conceptions”?
Mr. Spencer starts with the assumption that all religions, including atheism, have a verity in common as well as an error. The verity must be that in which they all agree; the error, in their differences, or in the matters in which they do not agree. Eliminate the differences and take what is common to them all,and you will have the universal verity which they all assert. But what verity is common to truth and falsehood, to theism and atheism? The verity common to religion and science, that the solution of the cosmic mystery is unknowable? But that is not a verity; it is a mere negation, and all truth is affirmative.
Atheism is not a religion, but the negation of all religion. Exclude that, take all religions from fetichism to Christianity inclusive; eliminate thedifferentia, and take what they all agree in asserting. Be it so. All religions, without a single exception, however rude or however polished, agree in asserting the supernatural, and that, if the cosmic mystery is inexplicable by human means, it is explicable by supernatural means. A true application of Mr. Spencer’s rule, theconsensus hominum, would assert as the common verity the supernatural, that is, the supercosmic, which is precisely what the cosmic philosophy denies and is invented to deny. Mr. Spencer does not appear to be master of his own tools.
All religions concede that the cosmic mystery is inexplicable by our unassisted powers, by secondary causes, or by physical laws; but none of them admits that it is absolutely inexplicable, for each religion professes to be its explanation. Mr. Spencer is wrong in asserting that all are seeking to solve the cosmic mystery; for each proposes itself as its solution, and it is only as such that it claims to be or can be called a religion. The question for the philosopher is, Do any of these religions give us a solution which reason, in the freest and fullest exercise of its powers, can accept, and, if so, which one is it?
Mr. Spencer tells us,p.32: “Respecting the origin of the universe, three verbally intelligible suppositions may be made. We may assert thatit is self-existent, or that it is self-created, or that it is created by an external agency.” The second supposition he rejects as the pantheistic hypothesis, which is a mistake, for no pantheist or anybody else asserts that the universe creates itself. The pantheist denies that it is created at all; and the philosopher denies that it creates itself; for, since to create is to act, self-creation would require the universe to act before it existed. The third supposition, which the author calls “the theistical hypothesis,” he denies, because it explains nothing, and is useless. He explains it to mean that the universe is produced by an artificer, after the manner of a human artificer in producing a piece of furniture from materials furnished to his hand. “But whence come the materials?” The question might be pertinent if asked of Plato or Aristotle, neither of whom was a theist; but not when asked of a Christian theologian, who holds that God creates or created all things from nothing, that is, without pre-existing materials, by “the sole word of his power.”
The first supposition, the self-existence of the universe, the author denies, not because the universe is manifestly contingent and must have had a beginning, and therefore a cause or creator; but because self-existence is absolutely inconceivable, an impossible idea. He says,p.35: “The hypothesis of the creation of the universe by an external agency is quite useless; it commits us to an infinite series of such agencies, and then leaves us where it found us.” “Those who cannot conceive of the self-existence of the universe, and therefore assume a creator as the source of the universe, take it for granted that they can conceive a self-existent creator. The mystery of the great fact surrounding themon every side they transfer to an alleged source of this great fact, and then suppose they have solved the mystery. But they delude themselves, as was proved in the outset of the argument.Self-existenceisrigorously inconceivable, and this holds true whatever be the nature of the object [subject] of which it is predicated. Whoever argues that the atheistical hypothesis is untenable because it involves the impossible idea of self-existence, must perforce admit that the theistical hypothesis is untenable if it contains the same impossible idea.” But who ever argued that the atheistical hypothesis is untenable because it involves the idea of self-existence? Atheism is denied because it asserts the self-existence of that which cannot be, and is known not to be, self-existent.
But it is evident that the author rejects alike self-existence and creation; that the cosmos is self-existent, or that it is created by an independent, self-existent, and supercosmic creator. How, then, can he assert the existence of the cosmos, real or phenomenal, at all? The cosmos either exists or it does not. If it does not, that ends the matter. If it does, it must be either created or self-existent; for the author rejects an infinite series as absurd, and self-creation as only an absurd form of expressing self-existence. But as the author denies self-existence, whatever the subject of which it is predicated, and also the fact of creation, it follows rigorously, if he is right, that the cosmos does not exist. The author cannot take refuge in his favoritenescio, or say we do not know the origin of the cosmos, for he has positively denied it every possible origin, and therefore has by implication denied it all existence. A moment ago, we showed that he denied by implication all science or knowledge,and now we see that, if held rigorously to his system as he explains it, he denies all existence, and, by implication at least, asserts absolute nihilism. Surely there is no occasion to apply to his new system of philosophy thereductio ad absurdum.
The author is necessarily led to the assertion that at least nothing is knowable by his doctrine, that all knowledge is relative. The Comtists restrict, in theory, all knowledge to sensible things, their mutual relations, dependencies, and the conditions and laws of their development and progress; but they at least admit that these may be objects of science and positively known. But our cosmic philosopher denies this, and asserts the relativity of all knowledge. We know and can know only the relative that is, only what is relative to the absolute, and relative to our own consciousness. In this he follows Sir William Hamilton, J. Stuart Mill, and the late Dr. Mansel, Anglican Dean ofSt.Paul’s. But relative knowledge is simply no knowledge, because in it nothing is known. The relative is not cognizable nor cogitable in and by itself, because it in and by itself, or prescinded from that to which it is relative, does not exist, and is simply nothing. What neither is nor exists is not cognizable nor cogitable. The relativity of all knowledge, then, is simply the denial of all knowledge. It is idle, then, for Mr. Spencer to talk of science. His science is only a laborious ignorance.
Mr. Spencer labors hard to prove the relativity of all knowledge. He either proves it or he does not. If he does not, he has no right to assert it; if he does, he disproves it at the same time. If the proof is not absolute, it does not prove it; if it is absolute, then it is not true that all knowledge is relative; for the proofmust be absolutely known, or it cannot be alleged. We either know that all knowledge is relative, or we do not. If we do not, no more need be said; if we do know it, then it is false, because the knowledge of the relativity of knowledge is itself not relative. The assertion of the relativity of all knowledge, therefore, contradicts and refutes itself. No man can doubt that he doubts, or that doubt is doubt, and therefore universal doubt or universal scepticism is impossible, and not even assertable. The same argument applies to the pretence that all knowledge is relative.
The relativists are misled by their dealing with the abstract and not the concrete. They regard all that is or exists either as relative or absolute. But both absolute and relative are abstract conceptions, and formed by abstraction from the concrete intuitively presented or apprehended. They exist, asSt.Thomas tells us, onlyin mente, cum fundamento in re. There are no abstractions in nature or the cosmos, and there is and can be neither abstract science nor science of abstractions, for abstractions, prescinded from their concretes, are simply nullities. The absolute is, we grant, unknowable, and so also is the relative, for neither has any existence in nature, ora parte rei. They are both generalizations, and nature never generalizes. Whatever exists, existsin concreto, notin genere. Hence, theens in genereof Rosmini is noens reale, but simplyens possibile, like thereine Seynof Hegel, which is the equivalent ofdas Nichtseyn; for the possible is only the ability of the real.
Now, because the abstract absolute is unknowable, unthinkable even, it by no means follows that the concrete, real and necessary being, cannot be both thought and known, or thatthings cannot be both thought and known in their relations to it, without reducing it to the category of the relative. Sir William Hamilton says the absolute is the unconditioned, and is incogitable, because our thought necessarily conditions it. This would be true if the absolute is an abstraction or mental conception, but is false and absurd if applied to real, necessary, infinite, and self-existent being, which, as independent of us and all relation, is and must be the same whether we think it or not. The thought does not impose its own conditions and limitations on the object; certainly not when the object is real and necessary being, and in every respect independent of it. We cannot, of course, think infinite being infinitely or adequately, but it does not follow that we cannot think it, though finitely and inadequately. The human mind, being finite, cannot comprehend infinite being; but, nevertheless, it may and does apprehend it, or else Mr. Spencer could not assert the Infinite Something, which he says we are compelled to admit underlies the cosmic phenomena and is manifested in them. The human mind can apprehend more than it can comprehend, and nothing that is apprehensible, though incomprehensible, is unthinkable or unknowable, except in Mr. Spencer’sNew System of Philosophy.
Sir William Hamilton says, in defending the relativity of all knowledge: “Only relations are cogitable. Relation is cogitable only in correlation, and the relation between correlatives is reciprocal, each is relative to the other. Thought is dual, and embraces at once subject and object in their mutual opposition and limitation.” This merely begs the question. Besides, it is not true. Relations are themselves cogitable only in the related; correlatives connoteeach other, so that the one cannot be thought without thinking the other; but not therefore are all relations reciprocal, as the relation between phenomenon and noumenon, cause and effect, creator and creation. Here are two terms and a relation between them, but no reciprocity. When we think cause and effect, we do not think them as mutually opposing and limiting each other. The effect cannot oppose or limit the cause, or the creature the creator, for the creature depends on the creator and is nothing without his creative act, and the effect is nothing without the cause which produces and sustains it. The creature depends on the creator, but not the creator on the creature; the effect depends on the cause, but not the cause on the effect. There may, then, be relation without reciprocity.
It is true, Mr. Spencer denies creation, and relegates all causative power to the dark region of the unknowable, and calls the origin of the universe in the creative act of being or God “an hypothesis,” and rejects it with ill-concealed scorn; yet creation is not “an hypothesis,” but a scientific fact, and a necessary principle of all science. Without it the cosmos would not be cognizable, for it would have no dialectic constitution. It could not even be thought, for every thought is a judgment, and no judgment is possible where there is no copula that joins the predicate to the subject. Rejecting creation, the author cannot assert the relation of cause and effect; rejecting cause and effect, he cannot assert even the cosmic phenomena. They are not able to stand on their own bottom, and therefore not at all, unless the Something of which they are, as he says, manifestations, is a cause producing and sustaining them. We submit, then, that Mr. Spencer’s doctrineof the unknowable, and the relativity of all knowledge, estops him from asserting anything as knowable, for it really denies all the knowable and all the real—omne scibile et omne reale.
The second part of Mr. Spencer’s work on “The Knowable” we might well omit, but as it is that in which he claims to be original, and in which he supposes he has made most valuable contributions to the philosophy of the cosmos, an omission to examine it might seem ungracious. Besides, the inventors of new systems of philosophy must not be held too rigidly to the logical consequences of their own doctrines,non omnia possumus. It is impossible for the founder to foresee all that his doctrine involves, and it is but fair, if he really has said anything new that is true, that it should be recognized, and he receive due credit for it, even if it is an anomaly in his general system of philosophy. We proceed, therefore, to consider PartII.
In this second part, the author professes to treat the knowable, not indeed in its several details, but in its first principles, or ultimate generalizations. The generalization of a group of phenomena is science; the generalization of the several groups of phenomena observable in the cosmos constitutes the several special sciences; and the combination of these special sciences into one higher and more comprehensive generalization, which embraces them all, is philosophy. In constructing philosophy, the author, be it observed, like the coral insect, begins below and works upward, and bases the universal on the particular.
The great point, or novelty, in this second part, however, is unquestionably, as the author claims, the doctrine of Evolution. By evolution, the author does not understand evolvingor unfolding, as do ordinary mortals; but the aggregation or contraction and diffusion, according to certain laws which he has determined, of matter, motion, and force. Evolution consists, therefore, of two processes, contraction and diffusion, and is either simple or compound. Simple evolution is where concentration and diffusion follow each other alternately; compound evolution is where the two processes go on simultaneously in the same subject, which may be said to be growing and decaying, or living and dying, at one and the same time.
Minerals, plants, and animals, including man, are all formed by the evolution of matter, motion, and force. The elimination or loss of motion, mechanical, chemical, or electrical, is followed by the concentration of matter and force, which may assume the form of a pebble, a diamond, a nettle, a rose, an oak, a jelly-fish, a tadpole, a monkey, a man. Life is simply the product of “the mechanical, chemical, and electrical arrangement of particles of matter.” The concentration of motion is followed by a diffusion or dispersion of matter and force, and the disappearance of the several groups of phenomena we have just named; but as matter is indestructible, and as there is always the same quantity of motion and force, they disappear only to reappear in new groups or transformations. The diffusion of the mineral may be the birth of the plant; of the plant, the birth of the animal; of the ape, may be a new concentration which gives birth to man. Nothing is lost. The cosmos is a ceaseless evolution; is, so to speak, in a state of perpetual flux and reflux, in which diffusion of one group of phenomena is followed by the birth of another, in endless rotation, or life from death, and deathfrom life. Dissolution follows concentration “in eternal alternation,” or both go on together. This is not a new doctrine, but substantially the doctrine of a school of Greek philosophers, warred against both by Plato and Aristotle, that all things are in a state of ceaseless motion, of growth and decay, in which corruption proceeds from generation, and generation from corruption, in which death is born of life, and life is born of death. Our cosmic philosophers only repeat the long since exploded errors of the old cosmists. But pass over this.
The author is treating of the knowable. We ask him, then, how he contrives to know that there is any such evolution as he asserts? He assumes that matter, motion, and force are the constituent elements of the cosmos; but he can neither know it nor prove it, since he maintains that what matter is, or what motion is, or what force is, is unknown and unknowable. He denies the relation of cause and effect, or at least that it is cognizable; how, then, can he assert the cosmic phenomena are only concentrations and diffusions of matter, motion, and force? A certain elimination of motion and a corresponding concentration of matter and force produces the rose, another produces an ape, another produces a man, says the author of this new system of philosophy. Does he know that he is only a certain concentration of matter and force, resulting from a certain diffusion or loss of motion? Can he not only think, but prove it? But all proof, all demonstration, as all reasoning, nay, sensible intuition itself, depends on the principle of cause and effect; for, unless we can assert that the sensation within iscausedby some object without that affects the sensible organism, we can assertnothing outside of us, not even a phenomenon or external appearance. How does the author know, or can he know, that he differs from the ape only in the different combination of matter, motion, and force?
Mr. Spencer, in his work onBiology, asserts that life results from the mechanical, chemical, and electrical arrangement of the particles of matter. If this were so, it would, on the author’s own principles, explain nothing. It would be only saying that a certain group of phenomena is accompanied by another group, which we call life, but not that there is any causal relation between them. That the supposed arrangement of the particles of matter originates the life Mr. Spencer cannot assert without the intuition of cause and causes he either denies or banishes to the unknowable. Analytical chemistry resolves, we are told, the diamond into certain gases; but is synthetic chemistry able to recombine the gases so as to produce a diamond? Professor Huxley finds, he thinks, the physical basis of life in protoplasm. Protoplasm is not itself life, according to him, but its basis. How does he know, since he denies causality, that life is or can be developed from protoplasm? Protoplasm, chemically analyzed, is resolved into certain well-known gases; but it is admitted that synthetic chemistry is unable to recombine them and reproduce protoplasm. Evidently, as in the case of the diamond, there is in the production of protoplasm some element which even analytic chemistry fails to detect. No synthetic chemistry can obtain the protoplasm from protein, and there is no instance in which life, feeling, thought and reason, are known, or can be proved, to result from dead matter, or from any possible combinations of matter, motion, and force. If it could so result, the fact could not beproved, and would remain for ever in the unknowable.
The new philosophy resolves all the cosmic phenomena into the concentration and diffusion of the unknowable elements called matter, motion, and force. The quantities of these elements remain always the same, but they are in a state of constant evolution, and all the cosmic phenomena result from this evolution, and are simply changes or transformations of the same force. Now, the evolution either has had a beginning or it has not. If it has not, we must assume an infinite series of evolutions, or concentrations and diffusions; but an infinite series is absurd, and the author himself denies it. Then it must have had a beginning; but no phenomenon can begin to exist without a cause independent of the phenomenon, or thecausatum. But the author denies the cause in denying the origin of the cosmos in creation, or its production by a supercosmic creator. We are sadly at loss, then, to conceive how he contrives, consistently with his new system, to assert either the law of evolution, or even evolution itself. Will he tell us how he does it?