LIFE PROGRESSIVE.
No one can doubt that the earth’s crust, so far as it has been deciphered by man, presents us with a record, imperfect though it be, of the past. Whether, however, the known and admitted imperfections of its records, geological and palæontological, are sufficiently trustworthy to account satisfactorily for the lack of direct evidence recognizable in some modern hypotheses, may be a matter of individual opinion, but there can be little doubt that they are sufficiently extensive to throw the balance of evidence decisively in favor of some theory of continuity, as opposed to any theory of intermittent and occasional action, which some writers have strenuously and intelligently advocated. No marks of mighty and general convulsions of nature exist, as the seeming breaks which divide the grand series of stratified rocks into numerous isolated formations would indicate. They are simply indications of the imperfection of our knowledge. Science will never, in all probability, point to a complete series of deposits, or to a complete succession of life, which shall link one geological period to another. But that such deposits and such an unbroken succession must have existed at one time we may well feel sure, and stand ready to believe that nowhere in the long series of fossiliferous rocks has there been a total break, but that there has inevitably been a complete continuity of life, as well as a more or less complete continuity of sedimentation from the Laurentian period to the present day. One generation, speaking figuratively, hands on the lamp of life to the next, and each system of rocks is the direct offspring of its predecessor in time. Though it is apparent that there has not been continuity in any given area, still the geological chain could not have been snapped at one point and taken up again at a totally different one. Hence we arrive at the conviction that in geology, as in other sciences, continuity is the fundamental law, and that the lines of demarcation between the great formations are but gaps in our own knowledge.
Through the study of fossils, as is well known, geologists have been led to the all-important generalization that the vast series of fossiliferous or sedimentary rocks may be separated into a number of definite groups or formations, each of which being characterized by its own organic remains, but not properly and strictly, it must be understood, by the occurrence therein of any one particular fossil. However, a formation may contain some particular fossil or fossils not occurring outside of that formation, thus enabling an observer to identify a given group with tolerable certainty; or, as very often happens, some particular stratum or subgroup of a series, may contain peculiar fossils, whereby its existence may be determined with considerable readiness in divers localities. Each great formation, let it be said, is properly characterized by the association of certain fossils, the predominance of certain families or orders, or by an assemblage of fossil remains that represent the life of the period during which the formation was deposited.
Fossils, then, not only enable us to determine the age of the deposits in which they are found, but they also further enable us to arrive at some very important conclusions respecting the manner in which the fossiliferous bed was deposited, and, consequently, to the condition of the particular region occupied by the bed at the period of its formation. Beds that contain the remains of animals, such as now inhabit rivers, we know to be fluviatile in their origin, and that at one time they must have either constituted actual river-beds, or been deposited by the overflowing of ancient streams. But if the beds contain the remains of mollusks, minute crustaceans or fish, such as are found to-day in lakes, then we conclude that they are lacustrine, and were deposited beneath the waters of former lakes. And, lastly, if the remains of animals such as now people the oceans are to be met with in the beds, then we know that they are marine in origin, and that they are fragments of an old sea-bottom. On the whole, the conditions under which a bed was deposited, whether in a shallow sea, in the immediate vicinity of a coast-line, or in deep water, can often be determined with considerable accuracy from the nature of the relics of the organisms which they contain. But we have thus far been dealing with the remains of aquatic animals. When, however, we consider the remains of aerial and terrestrial animals, or of plants, the determination of the conditions of deposition is not made out with such an absolute certainty. Remains of land-animals would, of course, occur in sub-aerial deposits, that is, in beds, like blown sand, accumulated upon the land, but the most of such remains of such animals are found in deposits which have been laid down in water, and hence their present position is due to the fact that their former owners were either drowned in rivers or lakes, or borne out to sea by water-channels. Animals possessed of the power of flight might also similarly find their way into aqueous deposits, but, when it is remembered that many birds and mammals habitually spent a great part of their time in the water, it is not to be wondered at that they should present themselves as fossils in sedimentary rocks. Even plants, such as have undoubtedly grown upon land, do not prove that the bed in which they are found was formed on land, for many of their remains are extraneous to the bed in which they now occur, having reached their present site by falling into lakes or rivers, or by being carried out to sea by floods or gales of winds. Still, there are many cases which obviously show that plants have grown on the very spot where we now find them. The great coal-fields of the Carboniferous Age, it is now generally conceded, are the result of the growth in situ of the plants which compose coal, as well as that they grew on vast marshy or partially submerged tracts of level alluvial land.
While fossils enable us in many cases to arrive at important conclusions as to the climate of the period in which they lived, yet it is only in the case of marine fossils, which constitute the majority of such remains, that we acquire such knowledge, but it is mostly the temperature of the sea which can thus be determined. However, let it be remembered that, owing to the existence of heated currents, the marine climate of a designated area does not necessarily imply a correspondingly warm climate in the adjoining land, for land-climates can only be determined by the relics of land-animals or land-plants, and these are comparatively rare as fossils. But all conclusions on this head are really based upon the existing distribution of vegetable and animal life upon the globe, and are therefore liable to be vitiated by the considerations that no certainty exists that the habits and requirements of an extinct animal were exactly similar to those of its nearest living relative; that far back in time groups of organisms, so unlike anything we know at the present day, are met with, which render all conjectures of climate based upon their supposed habits more or less uncertain and unsafe; that in the case of marine animals we are as yet very far from knowing the precise limits of distribution of many species within our present seas as to render conclusions drawn from living forms in relation to extinct species unsatisfactory and, probably, incorrect; and, finally, that the distribution of animals to-day, is certainly dependent on other conditions than climate alone, the causes limiting the range of given animals being assuredly such as belong to the existing order of things, and are different from what they were in former times, not necessarily because the climate has changed, but because of the alteration of other conditions that are essential to the life of the species or conducive to its extension. But notwithstanding the difficulties in the way, we are able in many cases to deduce completely trustworthy conclusions concerning the climate of a given geological period by an examination of its fossil remains. In Eocene times, or at the beginning of the Tertiary Period, the climate of what is now Western Europe was of a tropical or sub-tropical character, the Eocene beds being found to contain the remains of cowries and volutes, such shells as now inhabit tropical seas, together with the fruits of palms and remains of other tropical plants. And further, it has been shown that in Miocene times, or about the middle of the same epoch, the central parts of Europe were peopled with a luxuriant flora resembling that of the warmer parts of the United States, and that Greenland, now buried for the most part beneath a vast ice-shroud, was warm enough to support a large number of trees, shrubs and other plants that are at present denizens of the temperate regions of the globe.
And lastly, from the study of fossils, geologists first learned to comprehend a fact, that is, that the crust of the earth is liable to local elevations and subsidences, which may be regarded as of cardinal importance in all modern geological theories and speculations. Long after the remains of shells and those of other marine animals were first observed in the solid rocks constituting the dry land, and at great elevations above the sea-level, attempts were made to explain this unintelligible phenomenon upon the hypothesis that these remains or fossils were mere lusus naturæ, due to some “plastic virtue latent in the earth.” But the common-sense of science soon rejected this idea, and it was universally agreed that these bodies were really the relics of animals that once lived in the sea. When once this was admitted, further steps in the right way of thinking became comparatively easy, and at the present day no geological doctrine stands on a surer foundation than that which teaches that our existing continents and islands, fixed and immovable as they appear, have been repeatedly sunk beneath the ocean and just as repeatedly been lifted above its waters.
Not only have fossils an important bearing upon geology and physiography as has been seen, but they have relations, most complicated and weighty in character, with the science of biology, or the study of living beings. No adequate understanding of zoölogy and botany is possible without some acquaintance with the types of plants and animals that have passed away, for there are numerous speculative problems in the domain of vital science, which, if soluble at all, can only hope to find their key in researches carried out on extinct organisms.
No attempt will be made by the writer to discuss fully the biological relations of fossils. Such an undertaking would afford matter for a separate volume. All that I purpose in this chapter is to indicate very cursorily the principal points of palæontological teaching, so that my readers can acquire some idea of the progression from lower to higher types that life has made throughout the geological ages. Preliminary to the purpose held in view, let it be understood that the vast majority of fossil animals and plants are extinct, or, differently and perhaps more intelligently expressed, belong to species that no longer exist. So far from there being any truth in the old idea that there have been periodic destructions of all the living beings in existence upon the earth, followed by a corresponding number of new creations of plants and animals, the actual facts indicate that the extinction of old and introduction of new forms have been processes that have been continually going on throughout the whole of geologic time. Every species seems to come into existence at a definite point of time, and to disappear finally at another definite period, though there are few, if any, instances, in which the times of entrance and exit could be fixed with any degree of certainty or precision. Marked differences in the actual time during which different species have remained in existence are noticeable, and therefore corresponding differences in their vertical range, or in the actual amount and thickness of strata through which they present themselves as fossils, some species being found to extend through two or three formations, and even a few have had a more prolonged existence. More commonly, however, the species which begin in the commencement of a great formation die out at or before its close, while those which are introduced for the first time near its middle or end may either become extinct or pass into the next succeeding formation, animals of the lowest and simplest organization as a rule having the longest range in time. Microscopic or minute dimensions seem to favor longevity, for some of the Foraminifera appear to have survived, with little or no perceptible alteration, from the Silurian Period to the present day, whereas largely and highly-organized animals, though long-lived as individuals, rarely seem to live long specifically, and consequently have a restricted vertical range. Exceptions to this rule are, however, occasionally found in some persistent types, the Lampshells of the genus Lingula being little changed from the Lingulæ that swarmed in the Lower Silurian seas, while the existing Pearly Nautilus is the last descendant of a clan nearly as old. Some forms, on the other hand, the Ammonites, which are closely related to the Nautilus, and mostly restricted to certain zones of strata, seem to have enjoyed a comparatively brief lease of life.
LIFE IN THE PRIMORDIAL SEA.
Representing Mollusks, Sponges, Crustaceans, Worms and Sea-Weeds.
But of the causes that have led to the extinction of plants and animals, little or nothing is known. All that can be affirmed, in our present knowledge, is that the attributes constituting a species do not seem to be intrinsically endowed with permanence, any more than those constituting an individual, though the former may endure whilst many successive generations of the latter have disappeared from the earth. Each species, it would seem, has its own life-period—its beginning, culmination and decay—the life-periods of different species being of very different duration. From all that has been said, it may be gathered that our existing plants and animals are for the most part of modern origin, using the term modern in its geological acceptation. Measured by human standards, many of our existing animals, those which are capable of being preserved as fossils, are known to have a high antiquity. Not a few of our shell-fish commenced their existence at some time in the Tertiary, while one species of Lampshell—Terebratulina caput-serpentis—is believed to have survived since the Chalk, and a number of the Foraminifera date from the Carboniferous Period. Thus, we learn the additional fact that our existing flora and fauna do not constitute an aggregation of organic forms which were introduced into the world collectively and simultaneously, but that they commenced their existence at very different times, some being extremely ancient, whilst others are of comparatively recent origin. And this introduction of existing plants and animals, as admirably shown by the study of the fossil shells of the Tertiary Period, was a slow and gradual process. Ninety-five per cent. of the known fossil shells in the earliest Tertiary are found to be species no longer in existence, the remaining 5 per cent. being forms that are known to live in our present seas. In the Middle Tertiary, the extinct types are much fewer in number, while at the close of the Period the proportion with which we started may be reversed, not more than 5 per cent. being extinct types.
CARBONIFEROUS TIMES.
Animals and Plants That Prevailed.
All existing animals belong to some five or six primary divisions, which are technically known as sub-kingdoms, each sub-kingdom to be regarded as representing a certain plan of structure, each and every animal embraced therein being merely a modified form of this common type. Not only are all known living animals reducible to these five or six fundamental plans, but also the vast series of fossil forms which have come to light in investigations of the earth’s strata. While many fossil groups have no closely-related group now in existence, but in no case do we meet with a fossil animal whose peculiarities do not entitle it to be placed in one or other of the grand structural types already indicated. The old types differ in many respects from those now upon the earth, and the further we go back in time the more pronounced does the divergence become. A comparison of the animals that lived in the old Silurian seas with those now occupying our oceans, would indicate differences so great in many instances as almost to place us in another world, this divergence being most marked in the Palæozoic forms of life, less so in those of the Mesozoic, and still less so in the Tertiary. Each successive formation has therefore presented us with animals becoming gradually more and more like those now in existence. Though there is, however, an immense and striking difference between the Silurian animals and those of the present day, yet this difference is considerably lessened when a comparison is instituted between the Silurian and the Devonian, and this with the Carboniferous, and so on down to the present period.
Thus it follows that the animals of any given formation, and the plants as well, where the records are preserved, are more like those of the next formation below and of the next formation above, than they are like any others. This fact of itself is an inexplicable one. But if we believe that the animals and plants of any given formation are, in part at any rate, the lineal descendants of those of the preceding, and the progenitors, also in part at least, of those of the succeeding formation, then the fact is readily comprehensible. So frequently confronted is the palæontologist with the phenomenon of closely-related forms, especially of animals, succeeding one another in point of time, that he is compelled to believe that such forms have been developed from some common ancestral type by some process of evolution. Upon no other theory can we comprehend why the Post-Tertiary mammals of South America should consist of edentates, llamas, tapirs, peccaries, platyrhine monkeys and other forms now characterizing this continent, while those of Australia should be exclusively referable to the order of marsupials; and on no other view can we explain the common occurrence of transitional forms of life, filling in the gaps between groups now widely distinct. But, on the other hand, there are facts which point clearly to the presence of some other law than that of evolution, and probably of a deeper and more far-reaching character. No theory of evolution can offer a satisfactory explanation for the constant introduction throughout geological time of new forms of life, which do not appear to be preceded by pre-existent allied types. The graptolites and trilobites have no known predecessors, and leave no known successors. Insects appear suddenly in the Devonian, and spiders and myriopods in the Carboniferous, but all under well-differentiated and highly-specialized forms. With equal apparent suddenness the Dibranchiate Cephalopods show themselves in the older Mesozoic deposits, and no known type of the Palæozoic period can be pointed to as a possible ancestor. And so does the wonderful dicotyledonous flora of the Upper Cretaceous similarly surprise us without any prophetic annunciation from the older Jurassic. Many other instances might be cited, but enough has been said to show that the problem is one environed with profound difficulties.
MESOZOIC FLORA AND FAUNA.
Cycads, Pandanus, Deinosaurs, Birds and Pterodactyl.
As we pass from the older rocks into the newer, we not only find that the animals of each successive formation become gradually more and more like existing species upon the globe, but we also find that there has been a gradual progression and development in the types of animal life which characterize the geological ages. Taking the earliest-known and oldest examples of any given group, it can sometimes be shown that these primitive forms, even though they are highly organized themselves, possessed certain characters such as are now only to be met with in the young of their existing representatives. Such characters, which are technically called embryonic characters, do not prevent the frequent attainment by their possessors of sizes much more gigantic than those of their nearest living relatives. Moreover, these ancient forms of life represent what are called comprehensive types, or types that possess characters in combination such as are nowadays found separately developed in different groups of animals. Such permanent retention of embryonic characters and comprehensiveness of structural type are signs of what zoölogists consider to be comparatively low grades of organization, and their prevalence in the earlier forms of animals is a very astonishing phenomenon, though they are none the less perfectly organized so far as their peculiar type is concerned. As we ascend the geological scale, these features will be found to gradually disappear, higher and even higher forms will be introduced, and specialization of type take the place of the former comprehensiveness. That there has been in the past a general progression of organic types, and that the appearance of the lower forms of life has in the main preceded that of the higher forms in point of time, is a widely-accepted generalization of palæontology.
Now that it has been seen that there has been a gradual progression and development of animal types all through the ages up to the era of man, the question naturally occurs whether or not the changes are still going on which will result in a higher development. Man coexisted in Western Europe with several remarkable mammals in the later portion of the Post-Pliocene Period. While we do not know the causes which led to the extinction of the mammoth, woolly rhinoceros, cave-lion and others, yet we do know that scarcely any mammalian species have become extinct during the historical period. The species with which man coexisted are such that presumably required a very different climate to that now prevailing in Western Europe. Some of the deposits in which man’s remains have been found in association with the bones of extinct mammals incontestably show that great changes in the physiography and surface-configuration of the country had taken place since the period of their accumulation, the human implements themselves bearing evidence of an exceedingly barbarous condition of the human species. Post-Pliocene, or Palæolithic man, was clearly unacquainted with the use of the metals. Not only was this the case, but the workmanship of these ancient races was much inferior to that of the later tribes, who were also ignorant of the metals, and who also used nothing but weapons and tools of stone, bone, etc., in war, chase and domestic affairs. When first man spread over the earth, he had no domestic animals, perhaps not even the dog, and had no knowledge of agriculture. His weapons were of the rudest character, and his houses scarcely worthy of the name. No doubt can exist that his food, habits and entire manner of living have varied as he has passed from country to country, for he must then have been far more subject to the influence of external circumstances, and in all probability more susceptible of change. Moreover, his form, which is now stereotyped by long ages of repetition, may reasonably be presumed to have been more plastic than is now the case. As long as man led a mere animal existence, he would be subject to the same laws, and would vary in the same manner as the rest of his fellow-creatures. But when at last he had acquired the capacity of clothing himself, and of making weapons or tools, he has taken away from nature, in a great measure, that power of changing the external form and structure which she exercises over all other animals. From the time, then, when his social and sympathetic feelings came into active operation, and his intellectual and moral faculties became fairly developed, man’s physical form and structure would not be so much influenced by natural laws, and, therefore, as an animal, he would become almost stationary, his environment ceasing to have upon him that powerful modifying effect which it exercises over other parts of the organic world. But from the moment that his body became less subject to the changes of the surrounding universe, his mind would become acted upon by the influences which the body had escaped. Every slight variation in his mental and moral nature, which would consequently be brought about, and which would enable him better to guard against adverse circumstances, and league together for mutual comfort and protection, would be preserved and accumulated. The better and higher specimens of our race would therefore increase and diffuse themselves, while the lower and more brutal would succumb and successively die out, and that rapid advancement of mental organization would occur, which has raised the very lowest races of men, whose mentality was scarcely superior to the animal, to that high position which it has attained in the Germanic races. It would be too bold an assertion to say that man’s body has become stationary. Slow and gradual changes still take place, although his mere bodily structure long ago became of less importance to him than that subtle energy, which is termed mind. No one can doubt that this gave his naked and unprotected body clothing against the varying inclemencies of the seasons and enabled him to compete with the deer in swiftness and the wild bull in strength by giving him weapons wherewith to capture or subdue them both. Though less capable than most other animals of subsisting on the herbs and the fruits of unaided nature, it was this wonderful faculty that taught him to govern and direct nature to his own benefit, and compel her to produce food for him when and where he pleased. From the moment, then, when the first skin was used as a covering, the first rude spear fashioned to aid in the chase, and the first seed sown or shoot planted, a grand revolution was effected in nature, a revolution which had had no parallel in all the previous cycles of the world’s history, for a being had arisen who was no longer necessarily subject to a changing universe, a being who was in some degree superior to nature, inasmuch as he knew how to control and regulate her action, and could maintain himself in unison with her, not by a change brought about in the body, but by a growth and advance in mind. Therein are shadowed forth the true grandeur and dignity of man. Not only has he achieved for himself a great victory in this rising by the power of mind superior to nature in a sense, but he has also gained a directing influence over other existences, in that he has been able to grasp from nature some of that power which, before his appearance, she universally exercised. From all that man has accomplished in the past, it is easy to anticipate the time when only cultivated plants and domestic animals will be produced by the earth, and when the ocean, which, for countless cycles of ages ruled supreme over the globe, will be the only domain in which that power can be exercised.
That man has improved under civilization there can be no question. Statistics show that, since the introduction of civilization, the population of the earth in general has increased. No one can fail to observe that under its influence the means of subsistence have increased even more rapidly than the population. Far from suffering for lack of food, the most densely peopled countries are those in which it is, not only absolutely but even relatively most abundant. A thousand men live to-day in plenty upon an area of ground that would scarcely afford a scanty and precarious subsistence to a single savage. There is no denying the fact that happiness is increased by civilization. To talk of the free and noble savage is folly. The true savage is neither free nor noble. He is a slave to his own wants, his own passions. Imperfectly protected as he is from the weather, he suffers at night from the cold and by day from the heat of the sun. Ignorant of agriculture, living by the chase, and improvident in success, hunger ever stares him in the face, and often drives him to the dreadful alternative of cannibalism or death. The life of all beasts in their wild state is certainly an exceedingly anxious one. So it is with the savage. He is always suspicious, always in danger, always on the watch. He can depend on no one, and no one can depend upon him, for he expects nothing from his neighbor, and does unto others as he believes that they would do unto him. His life is one prolonged scene of selfishness and fear. Even in his religion, if he has any, he creates for himself a new source of terror, and peoples the world with invisible enemies. More wretched is the position of the female savage than that of her master, for she not only shares his sufferings, but has also to bear his ill-humor and ill-usage, being little better than his dog, little dearer than his horse. Few of them, it is believed, are so fortunate as to die a natural death, being despatched ere they become old and emaciated, that so much good food shall not be lost. Indeed, so little importance is attached to women, either before or after death, that it may be doubted whether the man does not esteem his dog, when alive, quite as much as he does his woman, and think of both quite as often and as lovingly after he has made a meal of them. Not content, moreover, with the pleasures incident to their mode of life, savages appear to take a melancholy delight in self-inflicted sufferings. They not only tattoo their bodies, but practise the most extraordinary methods of disfigurement and self-torture, some amputating the little finger, while others drill immense holes in the under-lip, or pierce the cartilage of the nose. These and many other curious practices, none the less painful because they are voluntary, are in vogue among savage people. Turning now to the bright side of the question, we cannot but conclude that the pleasures of civilized man are greater than those of the savage. While man will never be able to improve the organization of the eye or the ear, yet, on the other hand, the invention of the telescope and the microscope is equivalent in its results to an immense improvement of the eyes, thus opening up to us new worlds, fresh sources of interest and happiness, while the training of the ear will enable us to invent new musical instruments and compose new melodies. The savage, like a child, sees and hears only that which is brought directly before him, but the civilized man questions nature, and by the various processes of chemistry, electricity and magnetism, and a thousand ingenious contrivances, forces nature to reveal herself, thereby discovering hidden uses and unsuspected beauties, quite as marvellously as though he were endowed with some entirely new organ of sense. Through the discovery of printing, we are brought into communion with the greatest minds, and thus the thoughts of a Shakespeare or a Tennyson, or the discoveries of a Newton or a Darwin, become the common property of mankind. Already the results of this all-important, though simple, process have vastly improved our mental faculties, and day by day, as books become cheaper, schools are established and education more general, a greater and greater effect will be produced.
Nor are all these new sources of happiness accompanied by any new liability to suffering. On the contrary, while our pleasures are increased, our pains are lessened. In a thousand ways we can avoid or diminish evils which to our ancestors were great and unavoidable. No one can estimate the misery which, for instance, the simple discovery of chloroform has spared the human race. The capacity for pain, so far as it can serve as a warning, remains all the same, but the necessity for endurance has been greatly diminished. With increased knowledge of the laws of health, and attention thereto, disease will become less and less frequent, and those tendencies to disease which we have inherited from our ancestors will gradually die out, and, if fresh seeds are not sown, the race will one day enjoy the inestimable advantages of a more vigorous and healthy existence. Thus, then, with the increasing influence of science we may confidently look forward to a great improvement in the condition of man. But it may be alleged that our present sufferings and sorrows arise chiefly from sin, and that any moral improvement must come from religion and not from science. This separation of the two mighty agents of improvement, the great misfortune of humanity, has done more than anything else to retard the progress of civilization. But even if we admit for the nonce that science will not render us more virtuous, it must certainly make us more innocent, for in fact the most of our criminal population are mere savages, persons who can rarely read and write, and whose crimes are but injudicious and desperate attempts to live a savage life in the midst, and at the expense, of a civilized community. Men do wrong either from ignorance or in the hope, unexpressed perhaps even to themselves, that they may enjoy the pleasure and yet avoid the penalty of sin. All that they have to do they think, when they have committed sin, is to repent. The religious teaching of the day has much to do with this misapprehension. Repentance is too frequently regarded as a substitute for punishment. Sin it is thought is followed either by the one or the other. So far, therefore, as this world is concerned, this is not the case; repentance may enable a man to avoid sin in future, but has no effect on the consequences of the past. The laws of nature are not only just and salutary, but they are also inexorable. While all men admit that “the wages of sin is death,” yet they seem to think that this is a general rule to which there may be many exceptions, that some sins may possibly tend to happiness. That suffering is the inevitable consequence of sin, as surely as an effect follows a cause, is the stern yet salutary teaching of science. And certainly if this lesson were thoroughly impressed upon our minds, that punishment and not happiness is the consequence of sin, then temptation, which is the very root of crime, would be cut away, and mankind must therefore necessarily become more innocent. May we not go still further and say that science will also render us more virtuous? He who studies philosophy can only obtain a just idea of the great things for which Providence has fitted his understanding. Such a study not only makes our lives more agreeable, but it also makes them better, and every motive of interest and duty should constrain a rational being to direct his mind towards pursuits which all experience has shown to be the sure path of virtue and happiness.
Man is in reality but on the threshold of civilization. Far from showing any indication of having reached the end, the tendency to improvement seems laterally to have proceeded with augmented impetus and accelerated rapidity. There is no reason to suppose that it must now cease. Man has not attained the limits of intellectual development, nor exhausted the infinite capabilities of nature. There are many things not yet dreamt of in our philosophy which science must reveal, many discoveries yet to be made which will confer upon the human race advantages which as yet, perhaps, we are not in a condition to grasp and appreciate. We seem, when we compare our present knowledge with the great ocean of truth that lies all undiscovered before us, like little children playing on the sea-shore, and picking up a smoother pebble and prettier shell than any they had met with before. Thus, it is obvious, that our most sanguine hopes for the future are justified by the entire experience of the past. It is surely unreasonable to presume that a process which has been going on for so many thousand years should have now suddenly ceased; and he must indeed be blind who thinks that our civilization is unsusceptible of improvement, or that we ourselves are in the highest state possible for man to attain. Theory, as well as experience, forces the same conclusion upon us. That principle of Natural Selection, which in animals affects the body and seems to have little influence on the mind, in man affects the mind and has little influence on the body. In the former it leads mainly to the preservation of life, and in the latter to the improvement of the mind, and consequently to the increase of happiness. It ensures, in the words of Spencer, “a constant progress towards a higher skill, intelligence, and self-regulation—a better coördination of actions—a more complete life.” Nearly all the evils under which we suffer, it will be conceded, may be attributed either to ignorance or sin. That ignorance will be diminished by the progress of science is, of course, self-evident; and that the same will be the case with sin, seems little less so. Thus, then, do both science and theory point to the same conclusion. That which poets hardly dared to hope for, the future happiness of our race, science boldly predicts. Even in our own time we trust to see some wonderful improvement. But the unselfish mind, however, will find its highest gratification in the belief that, whatever may be the case with ourselves, our descendants will understand many things which are mysterious to us now, will better appreciate the beautiful world in which we live, avoid much of the suffering to which we are subject, enjoy many blessings of which we are not yet worthy, and escape many of those temptations which we deplore but cannot wholly resist.
We have thus seen that all life has been progressive. There has been through the ages a steadily growing upward tendency to higher life. But the changes have mainly been in the line of physical form and structure. And such, too, had been the case with man, until his social, intellectual and moral faculties had begun to assert themselves, when his body ceased in a great measure to be acted upon by physical laws, and development began to manifest itself in a higher type of mental organization. From the low, simple, childlike mind of palæolithic man has come that wonderful intellect which now characterizes the Germanic races, and which is destined to make itself felt in its contact with all the earth. Those peoples that are able to embrace the new civilization brought to their doors, so to speak, will survive, while the others, unable to adapt themselves thereto, like the Tasmanian, will succumb in the struggle with a superior being and go to the wall. Animals and plants will be brought into new relations and new conditions, and such as can meet the new requirements will, as certain species have done before, endure. They will, in other words, have partaken of an enlightened civilization. Thus things will go on until all life, vegetal and animal, will be brought under the controlling and elevating influence of man, and then will be inaugurated on earth that condition when the lion and the kid shall lie down together, and a little child shall be found in their midst. Nothing harmful will anywhere exist. Heaven will then have been brought down to earth, and peace and harmony will universally prevail. Then will have come the complete triumph of mind over body. All growth and development of the reformed and regenerated earth-man will be in the direction of mind, and his accomplishments will he share with the inferior subjects of his peaceful and happy domain. Progression, however, will not cease, but will go on steadily advancing as the years increase. And if there is a life beyond the earth-life, then the intellect or mind, or soul if you please, shall, in some form or other, exist therein, and reach up into higher and yet higher growth and development.