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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

Page 19

by Bart Schultz


  especially the smaller “Sidgwick Group” that worked as an intimate co-

  hort within the larger organization. The characteristic tone was caught

  in a letter from Sidgwick to Myers in the late seventies: “My dear Fred,

  My brother William is not coming to me, so that I could probably pursue

  Truth before Christmas, rd or th.”

  For Sidgwick, the aim of the Ghost Society, and then the SPR, was not

  dramatically different from that of the Apostles or of other philosophical

  groups. If anything, it was even more directly addressed to the “deepest

  problems of human life.” Here was the rare opportunity to employ free,

  open scientific inquiry to reenchant the world, rather than to deprive

  it of significance. As Eleanor later recounted, in the “Autobiographical

  Fragment,” the “whole subject” of psychical research “connected itself

  with his philosophical and theological studies. . . . comparative thaumatol-

  ogy required its investigation; and, further, the possibility of direct proof

  of continued individual existence after death could not be neglected either

  from a theological or an ethical point of view.” (M ) Later retrospect

  also confirmed what he had feared all along, namely, that this was not a

  path likely to lead him back to his childhood faith:

  It is now a long time since I could even imagine myself believing in Christianity

  after the orthodox fashion; not that I have any abstract objection to miracles, but

  because I cannot see any rational ground for treating the marvellous stories of the

  Gospels differently from the many other marvellous narratives which we meet

  with in history and biography, ancient and modern. While, if I were to believe all

  these marvellous narratives, I should have to suppose a continual communication

  between an “unseen universe” and our planet; and this would prevent the Gospel

  story from having anything like the unique character that it has for Christians.

  I do not make this latter supposition merely for the sake of argument; I am not

  inclined to oppose to this series of marvellous narratives (outside the Gospels)

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  the sort of unhesitating { dis } belief that most of my orthodox friends do. In fact, I have spent a good deal of my leisure for some years in investigating ghost stories,

  spiritualistic phenomena, etc., etc., and I have not yet abandoned the hope of

  finding some residuum of truth in them. . . . Meanwhile the dilemma is clear and

  certain to me. Either one must believe in ghosts, modern miracles, etc., or there can be no ground for giving credence to the Gospel story: and as I have not yet

  decided to do the former, I am provisionally incredulous as to the latter – and in

  fact for many years I have not thought of Christianity except as the creed of my

  friends and fellow-countrymen, etc. (M )

  In other words, the progress of genuine science, free and open inquiry,

  might just usher in the religion of the future, even if it worked rather

  destructively on the religions of the past. At any rate, what was the al-

  ternative, if one insisted on giving an account of the built-in features

  of human credulity and human hope? Both theology and biblical crit-

  icism needed fresh facts. Indeed, the peculiarities of parapsychology –

  “psychical research” – with its focus on unseen worlds, unconscious voices,

  telepathic communication, the communications of mediums, and so forth,

  proved extremely conducive to the Apostolic mission of bearing witness

  to one’s inner life. Was it not a thoroughly Socratic question, to inquire to

  what extent this inner life was in fact more than inner? Or was it, possibly,

  something akin to that impulse that had led Plato to press beyond Socrates,

  seeking the final proof that the soul exists and is eternal, but doing so now

  with the methods furnished by Bacon, Mill, and Darwin?

  Sidgwick’s psychical research was, therefore, a continuation of his theo-

  logical and philosophical search and anything but a gullible diversion from

  his “real” work – though to be sure, reconciling his claims about the im-

  portance of the world unseen with the particulars of his arguments about

  ethics, politics, epistemology, and intuition will prove to be an intricate and

  demanding task. His search for a meaningful but not mystical, progressive

  but not presumptuous, perennial philosophy was more or less bound to

  touch all other parts of his life, even if different parts were differently

  affected. His search for sympathetic understanding and unity may have

  been common to his Millian and Apostolic tendencies, and in part symp-

  tomatic of the pervasive fear of social conflict and otherness at home and

  abroad in the empire. For the discussions of such psychological evolution

  could not help but be entangled, at one level or another, in discussions of

  race and rule, democracy and decadence. But to carry such matters into

  parapsychology (often inaugurating the discourse, as it were) was a risky

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  business, hinting at a form of scientific esotericism very different from

  philology or Comtism.

  Myers, an early student of Sidgwick’s, who would become one of the

  stalwarts of the Sidgwick Group and one of Sidgwick’s closest friends,

  would often recall how in , when they had taken “a star-light walk,”

  he asked Sidgwick

  almost with trembling, whether he thought that when Tradition, Intuition, Meta-

  physic, had failed to solve the riddle of the Universe, there was still a chance that from any actual observable phenomena – ghosts, spirits, whatsoever there might

  be – some valid knowledge might be drawn as to a World Unseen. Already, it

  seemed, he had thought that this was possible; steadily, though in no sanguine

  fashion, he indicated some last grounds of hope; and from that night onwards I

  resolved to pursue this quest, if it might be, at his side.

  Myers did, of course, along with such luminaries as Edmund Gurney,

  Walter Leaf, Lord Rayleigh, William James, Arthur and Gerald Balfour,

  and Sidgwick’s future wife, Eleanor Mildred Balfour.

  It should be observed that in some ways, Sidgwick’s commitment to

  psychical research represented a continuation of his Apostolic efforts that

  would also put him at odds with the later Apostles. And his friendship with

  Myers had a good deal to do with this. As Richard Deacon has explained,

  when the SPR was formally founded, Sidgwick

  was by then an ‘Angel’ and no longer the dominant figure in the Apostles. His inter-

  est in psychic phenomena only attracted a very few of the younger Apostles. When

  one of them proposed the question ‘Can we commun
icate with the departed?’ as

  a subject for debate, he was almost unanimously rejected. Alfred Whitehead . . . is said to have caustically commented on this proposal that ‘such matters are best

  left to Myers, or his paramour, Eusapia Palladino.’

  Antagonism to Myers rather than disloyalty to Sidgwick would seem to be one

  reason why discussions on psychic matters were avoided by the Society. Myers was

  not very popular in some circles at Cambridge, and the Apostolic grapevine did

  not miss much gossip about outsiders. Members of the Society had learned that

  Myers was reputed to have stolen the work of another Cambridge man and claimed

  the product as his own. But, apart from such tittle-tattle, Myers was suspected

  of all manner of sexual quirks and it was alleged that he looked upon psychical

  research as giving him opportunities for voyeurism. However, this was probably

  an unjust accusation for a man who, until he became absorbed by his studies of

  spiritualism and mesmerism, was best known as a poet and essayist. Whether he

  actually knew Eusapia Palladino is irrelevant; she had acquired a reputation as a

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  medium, but was also notorious for introducing eroticism into séances. Myers was

  sufficiently odd in his behaviour, nonetheless, to insist on accompanying young

  Edmund Gurney and his bride on their honeymoon to Switzerland, even against

  the most vehement protests from the bride.

  What Virginia Woolf would later say of the Apostles – that they were a

  “society of equals enjoying each other’s foibles” – would no doubt strike

  many as more aptly said of the Sidgwick Group. But for Sidgwick, at least,

  it represented the most serious side of his quest, the continuation of his

  earlier Apostolic interests and religious struggles, albeit one that he did

  not wish to impose on his more unreceptive friends.

  Chapter  will explore these matters more fully, including Sidgwick’s

  controversial friendship with Myers. The point to stress here, as a prelude

  to the following chapter on The Methods of Ethics, is simply that Sidgwick

  and Myers were in deep accord on the most fundamental issues. For

  Myers, the deepest question of human life was the theistic one: “Is the

  Universe friendly?” Sidgwick’s intellect and philosophical analyses were

  infinitely subtler than Myers’s, but in the end he devoted himself to much

  the same question. Throughout his adult life, he would always keep a bit

  of scripture before his mind, as a sort of working motto. Of all the lines

  that served in this capacity, none was more revealing than that for the years

  –: “After the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God of my

  fathers.”

  V. Fire and Light

  Perhaps you would like to hear the present phase of the “Apostolic” Succes-

  sion. We are: Brandreth, Sidgwick, Tawney, Browning, Cowell, Trevelyn, Jebb . . .

  Trevelyan you may know by report, a Harrow man and the nephew of Macaulay.

  He will be my chief friend when this last wave shall have burst, sweeping off

  Tawney, Browning, Cowell. The vicissitudes of human things affect even The

  Society slightly: at least I think our discussions are less vigorous now than usual;

  but the great Idea, which sits invisible among us, has I trust, as potent a magic as

  ever to elevate and unite. . . .

  Sidgwick to Noel, February ,  (M –)

  Cowell maintained “The end justifies the means” I assent assuming the words used

  in a popular sense – Brandreth judging acts morally by their consequences alone

  denied that bad means could lead to a good end. This is practically useless – All our rules are imperfect, we express our perception of this by principles like the

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  above – As to “Great Happ” theory I am softened to it: it is perhaps only a

  philosophico-logico-practical representation of “Love is the fulfilling of the law” –

  But () we must take care to consider the soul’s happiness and () we must not

  discard the props which we have in our conceptions, imperfect tho’ they be of

  Truth, Justice &c. (Purity, Rectitude &c are parts of the ideal which Love will teach us to mold others to) –

  Jebb rigid & moral, Tawney? but earnest. What is the duty of Religious Faith?

  Am I to Let the clouds come and pass trusting to be ultimately brighter for the

  tempest & only praying for Truth – Alas! I do not love her enough.

  Sidgwick’s diary from 

  Sidgwick’s diary from the spring of  gives a vivid impression of his

  interaction with his fellow Apostles, and of the nascent utilitarianism that

  would eventually blossom into The Methods of Ethics. The compelling

  thought that all our moral rules are imperfect, coupled with the question

  concerning the duty of religious faith and the fear of not loving truth quite

  enough, were natural companions to the progressive, rationalistic theism

  that he would fight so hard to vindicate. It was no simple matter to keep

  apart the two aspects of his Apostolic conversion – the social, on the one

  side, and the philosophical or theological, on the other. The prospects

  for the “complete revision of human relations” in the “light of science

  directed by comprehensive and impartial sympathy” would depend on,

  among other things, the outcome of the “psychological experiments in

  ethics and intuitive Theism” carried out in conjunction with psychical

  research. Perhaps parapsychology would be able to unify the Apostolic

  mystics and the utilitarian skeptics, the idealists and the naturalists, labor

  and capital, England and the rest of the world. The conquest of the “Other

  World” carried the hope of the conquest of otherness generally, the flip

  side of the quest for sympathetic unity. It would be a brilliant synthesis,

  and a rather literally Platonic one at that, the coronation of capital “P”

  Philosophy.

  What Sidgwick increasingly came to realize, however, over the course

  of the sixties, was that cracking the “secret of the Universe” was going

  to be a rather time-consuming business, and that he had better cultivate

  the patience of a Darwin when it came to accumulating evidence. Thus,

  in , he confessed to Dakyns: “I think a hundred times of what the

  British public are ripe for, for once that I think of what I believe. Perhaps

  the conviction is growing on me that the Truth about the studies I’ve

  set my heart on (Theology & Moral Philosophy) will not be found out

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  for a generation or two.” (M ) The exact nature of his experiments in

  automatic writing and telepathy will be considered in a later chapter; for

  the present, it is sufficient to note that he was quite early on convinced that

  at least some of the evidence for paranormal phenomena must be sound.

  But the world of parapsychology loomed before him with all the vastness

  of an unexplored continent, even universe, and he was no more inclined

  to make hasty speculations about this than about any other department of

  thought.

  But of course, the world did go on, and his practical commitments pre-

  vented any complete retreat into the deepest problems. As always, he was

  reading political economy “as a ballast to my necessarily busy selfishness

  which would otherwise be intolerable to my real self ” (M ). He hated the

  thought of growing too introspective and self-absorbed, and had a “golden

  rule” never to think about himself for more than half an hour a day. He

  would not allow any such thing, being firmly opposed to the tendency, en-

  couraged by speculative thinking, to grow “antipractical.” Interestingly, at

  the end of his life he would be urging that people – particularly the younger

  generation of Apostles – needed to be more introspective, even prayerful.

  But that was not his concern during the sixties, when painful introspective

  meditation came all too easily. Admittedly, however, he would have had

  some difficulty going all the way with any such tendency, at his particular

  time and place, for he was swept up in currents of history both great and

  small, always, it seemed, moving rapidly.

  Cambridge proved a congenial headquarters, at least in the midst of his

  storm and stress. In , he was invited to examine for the Moral Sciences

  Tripos, which was also to be agreeably revamped in , at which time

  the College also arranged for him to exchange his classical lectureship for

  a more suitable one in moral sciences. Sidgwick did not hesitate, and the

  change allowed him a greater concentration of his energies: “I took the

  post offered me, determined to throw myself into the work of making, if

 

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