Thomas Henry Huxley; A Sketch Of His Life And Work

by Sir P. Chalmers Mitchell

I asserted, and I repeat, that a man has no reason to be ashamed of having an ape for his grandfather. If there were an ancestor whom I should feel shame in recalling, it would be a man, a man of restless and versatile intellect, who, not content with an equivocal success in his own sphere of activity, plunges into scientific questions with which he has no real acquaintance, only to obscure them by an aimless rhetoric, and distract the attention of his hearers from the real point at issue by eloquent digressions, and skilled appeals to religious prejudice.

An eye-witness has told the present writer that Huxley's speech produced little effect at the time. In the minds of those of the audience best qualified to weigh biological arguments, there was little doubt but that he had refuted Owen, and simply dispelled the vaporous effusions of the Bishop; but the majority of the audience retained the old convictions. The combat was removed to a wider tribunal. From that time forwards Huxley, by a series of essays, addresses, and investigations, continued almost to the end of his life, tried to convince, and succeeded in convincing, the intellectual world. At the risk of wearying by repetition we shall again insist upon the side of Darwinism that Huxley fought for and triumphed for.

Long before the time of Darwin and Huxley, almost at the beginning of recorded thought, philosophers busied themselves with the wonderful diversity of the living world and with speculations as to how it had assumed its present form. From the earliest times to this century, theories as to the living world fell into one or other of two main groups. The key-note of one group was the fixity of species: the belief that from their first appearance species were separate, independent entities, one never springing from another, new species never arising by the modification in different directions of descendants of already existing species. The key-note of the other group of theories was the idea of progressive change: that animals and plants as they passed along the stream of time were continually being moulded by the forces surrounding them, and that the farther back the mind could go in imagination the fewer and simpler species would be; until, in the first beginning, all the existing diverse kinds of living creatures would converge to a single point. It may be that, on the whole, the idea of fixity prevailed more among thinkers with a religious bias; but for the most part the theories were debated independently of the tenets of any faith, Christian or other. There were sceptical defenders of fixity and religious upholders of evolution. However, in Christian countries, from the time of the Reformation onwards, a change in this neutrality of religion to theories of the living world took place. As Pascal prophesied, Protestantism rejected the idea of an infallible Church in favour of the idea of an infallible book, and, because it happened that this book included an early legend of the origin of the world in a form apparently incompatible with evolution, Protestantism and, to a lesser and secondary extent, Catholicism, assumed the position that there was no place for evolution in a Christian philosophy. At the end of last century, and up to the middle of this century, the problem was not raised in any acute form. The chief anatomists and botanists were occupied with the investigation and discovery of facts, and, in an ordinary way, without taking any particular trouble about it, accepted more or less loosely the idea that species were fixed. Now and then an evolutionist propounded his views; but, as a rule, he supported them with a knowledge of facts very much inferior to that possessed by the more orthodox school. Then came Herbert Spencer, reasserting evolution in the old broad spirit, not merely in its application to species, but as the guiding principle of the whole universe from the integrations of nebulæ into systems of suns and planets to the transformations of chemical bodies. Before his marvellous generalisations had time to grip biologists, there came Darwin; and Darwin brought two things: first, a re-statement of the fact of evolution as applied to the living world, supported by an enormous body of evidence, new and old, presented with incomparably greater force, clearness, patience, and knowledge than had ever been seen before; and, second, the exposition of the principle of natural selection as a mechanism which might have caused, and probably did cause, evolution.

Huxley, as has been shewn, like many other anatomists, was ready for the general principle of evolution. In fact, so far as it concerned the great independent types which he believed to exist among animals, he was more than prepared for it. Let us take a single definite example of his position. In his work on the Medusæ, he had shewn how a large number of creatures, at first sight diverse, were really modifications of a single great type, and he used language which, now that all zoölogists accept evolution in the fullest way, requires no change to be understood:

"What has now been advanced will, perhaps, be deemed evidence sufficient to demonstrate,—first, that the organs of these various families are traceable back to the same point in the way of development; or, secondly, when this cannot be done, that they are connected by natural gradations with organs which are so traceable; in which case, according to the principles advanced in 57, the various organs are homologous, and the families have a real affinity to one another and should form one group.... It appears, then, that these five families are by no means so distinct as has hitherto been supposed, but that they are members of one great group, organised upon one simple and uniform plan, and, even in their most complex and aberrant forms, reducible to the same type. And I may add, finally, that on this theory it is by no means difficult to account for the remarkable forms presented by the Medusæ in their young state. The Medusæ are the most perfect, the most individualised animals of the series, and it is only in accordance with what very generally obtains in the animal kingdom, if, in their early condition, they approximate towards the simplest forms of the group to which they belong."

Such words, written before 1849, only differ from those that would have been written by a convinced evolutionist by a hair's breadth. But Huxley was not an evolutionist then: it was Darwin's work, containing a new exposition of evolution and the new principle of natural selection, that convinced him, not of natural selection but of evolution. At Oxford, in 1860, it was for evolution, and not for natural selection, that he spoke; and throughout his life afterwards, as he expressed it, it was this "ancient doctrine of evolution, rehabilitated and placed upon a sound scientific foundation, since, and in consequence of, the publication of The Origin of Species," that furnished him with the chief inspiration of his work. The clear accuracy of his original judgment upon Darwin's work has been abundantly justified by subsequent history. Since 1859 the case for evolution has become stronger and stronger until it can no longer be regarded as one of two possible hypotheses in the field, but as the only view credible to those who have even a moderate acquaintance with the facts. In 1894, thirty years after the famous meeting at Oxford, the British Association again met in that historic town. The President, Lord Salisbury, a devout Churchman and with a notably critical intellect, declared of Darwin:

"He has, as a matter of fact, disposed of the doctrine of the immutability of species.... Few now are found to doubt that animals separated by differences far exceeding those that distinguish what we know as species have yet descended from common ancestors."

Huxley, in replying to the address, used the following words:

"As he noted in the Presidential Address to which they had just listened with such well deserved interest, he found it stated, on what was then and at this time the highest authority for them, that as a matter of fact the doctrine of the immutability of species was disposed of and gone. He found that few were now found to doubt that animals separated by differences far exceeding those which they knew as species were yet descended from a common ancestry. Those were their propositions; those were the fundamental principles of the doctrine of evolution."