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.