Stories of the Universe: Animal Life

by B. Lindsay

The causes of degeneracy may seem obscure. But if we turn to our gardens, how easily is the process understood! Leave a cultivated plant to look after itself; neither watered, nor manured, nor weeded; and how long will it be before the plant resembles its wild ancestors? The flower will be less fine, the leaves more weedy; the whole aspect of the plant is changed. The causes: insufficient food and water, and the struggle for root space, standing-room, and light, with the weeds around it. Just in like manner the human being, when unfed, unwashed, and untaught, begins to degenerate. The want of fresh air and light associated with slum life, and even in the country, associated with the homes of the poor, are factors in the case that are not to be forgotten. Add to these drink, and the other sins of the fathers which are visited on the children. All these are among the causes of degeneracy.

Nay more, the very virtues of the parents, as we account them, may lead to the degeneracy of the offspring. Overwork, either physical or mental, causes the deterioration of the family, and in our days nearly every man successful in any career, either commercial or intellectual, is guilty of overwork. The "haste to be rich," equally with the haste to be famous, tells on the next generation. Those who are fond of moralising at the expense of their neighbours, enjoy pointing out the unsatisfactory careers of the sons of men who have become rich. Almost invariably such a one is idle, we are told, and fond of pleasure. Good cause has he to be so. He comes into the world with weakened constitution, owing to his father's strenuous career; and if he were to work as hard as his father, he would probably soon be dead; or at least his children, in their turn, would be miserable and diseased. Nature guides his inclinations, and whispers "Do not work too hard," "Do not deny yourself too much"; and thus, so long as his father's money maintains him, his life is preserved.

What is the kind of degeneracy that overtakes the family of the brain-worker? The modern world is full of it. We owe to the unamiable genius of Max Nordau a criticism of the intellectual world of the present day, which attributes well-nigh all the follies of intellectual cliques to degeneracy. Poetry, which is "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," rich in rhyme and alliteration, but wanting in sense; art which seeks effect by loud and inharmonious colours; music which rejects "mere melody": in these the critic sees the taste of the savage, fond of a jingle of words, fond of bright colours, and ignorant of middle tints; and fond of noise without a tune.

The so-called æsthetic movement which, a few years ago, wrought such marvels in decoration and in dress, comes in for a share of the critic's analysis. The dull senses of the degenerate cannot appreciate the soft colours which ordinary persons like to look at; to attract his attention and to please his fancy, he must have staring red, or staring blue. Or, if he possesses an object which is of special interest, he must bring this into contrast with a very sombre background, lest by chance it should miss being seen.

I met with an amusing instance the other day which is much to the point. In a remote part of the British Isles, two friends, immigrants from the world of "culture," had been criticising the landscape. It was a pity, they agreed, that everything was so grey and dull; otherwise the neighbourhood might have been pretty. If only the cottagers could be got to grow something in their gardens that would give a touch of colour to the scene! These poor creatures had before their purblind sight all Nature's rich harmony of colour, which affords such pleasure to persons of true taste. Green fields, brown rocks, blue sea, and blue sky, all were dull to them. Wild flowers of a score of kinds, and bright with every colour—these were too insignificant to be visible. They wanted some big patch of vivid colour, perfectly inappropriate to the climate and surroundings. Some exotic plant was needed, in their opinion, to give a touch of brightness. The harmony of colour and beauty of form in our native plants, and in the common flowers of cottage gardens, were imperceptible to their unobservant eyes. Their intelligence was on a level with that of the savage, who is impressed by new and striking objects, and delighted by gaudy colours, but finds no beauty in wild nature or in accustomed things. These people were typical specimens of the degenerate of the book-reading classes; dull of understanding and wanting in taste, as the result of mental overwork in several successive generations; immeasurably inferior in æsthetic capabilities to the untaught peasants and fishermen of the district they would fain enlighten—for these appreciate the beauty of their country, and love its flowers.

Much might be added regarding atavistic degeneracy, as an explanation of the mental and moral defects of human beings. Its most frequent form, perhaps, is that of mere laziness. The Ape does not work; nor does the savage, if he can possibly help it. Civilised man, if thoroughly sound in mind and body, likes activity, and activity with a purpose. The poor man takes a pride in his labour; the rich man takes a pride in his skill in games, his learning, or his efforts to benefit others. The idler, disinclined for either hearty work or hearty play, is a Degenerate. Of late there has been much discussion of a plan for treating the confirmed idler as a criminal. It will be seen from the remarks made above, that there are equally good reasons for treating him as an invalid. In criticising the plans of would-be reformers, this fact should not be forgotten. He was a wise man who said "You cannot, by passing an Act of Parliament, make a Vice into a Crime."

It must, however, be remarked that the doctrine of degeneracy has lost both in force and in usefulness, by the treatment it has received at the hands of those who have constituted themselves its popular exponents. Some of these writers have made it but too evident that their criticisms are often captious, and that their definition of degeneracy includes all human failings—except their own. The reader who devotes a little attention to the subject will, however, readily find an explanation of this: for he will easily recognise, in the popular writers on Degeneracy, the characteristics of the Degenerate, as described by themselves.

First, the choice of a disagreeable subject, when the whole field of science lay open to them: for the Degenerate prefers a disagreeable subject. Secondly, the almost universal discovery of causes of dissatisfaction, in every possible direction: for the Degenerate is always vexed with everybody—except himself. Again, the want of principle shown in appealing to the morbid tastes of the public, by laying before it information on disagreeable subjects: for the Degenerate is lacking in principle; what does it matter to him how much harm is done to weak minds by his writings, so long as he sees in such writings a safe means of securing eager readers and liberal pay? Again, the Degenerate seeks notoriety; and this is easily secured by writing books that discuss the morbid side of life.

Above all, the habit of carrying the war of criticism into regions of art and culture with which the writer is obviously unfamiliar: this also marks the tendency of the writer's mind. To criticise the doing of that which he can by no means do; to destroy that which he can by no means make; to leave no margin of leniency in his judgment, for the imperfections which disfigure all human work: these are the familiar failings of youth, of the unripe mind. They are also those of the type of mind that never attains ripeness—of the Degenerate: we are forbidden, on high authority, to apply to our brethren a shorter and less modern term.

But although the doctrine of Degeneracy has thus found its way to the general reader in a form which is often much to be regretted, it is nevertheless a doctrine which, if wisely used, may lead to the most beneficial results. Already it is widely recognised, by the thinkers of all nations, that the theory of degeneracy, when thoroughly understood, must revolutionise our treatment of the criminal classes. Instead of the attempt to punish, civilised legislation must eventually, in many cases, substitute a system of restraint.