Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe Page 55

by Bart Schultz


  shared his speculative interests and membership in such organizations

  as the Metaphysical Society and the Synthetic Society, and much of

  Sidgwick’s life outside of Cambridge was divided between the Balfour

  estate in Whittingehame, Scotland, the Rayleigh’s Terling Place, and the

  various London homes of the family members.

  Sidgwick’s first contact with them had come through Arthur Balfour,

  who became his student in the late sixties. In fact, Balfour was one of

  Sidgwick’s favorite pupils, and one of the very first students to be examined

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  under the newly remodeled Moral Sciences Tripos, in . He was thus

  one of Sidgwick’s first proper students in philosophy. Balfour’s admiration

  for Sidgwick was unstinting:

  I came up from Eton to Cambridge in  with no Academic ambitions, but with

  the highest expectations as to the gratifications which Academic life had to offer,

  both in the way of ideas and in the way of amusements. That these expectations,

  so far as the first head is concerned, were in no wise disappointed was largely due

  to Sidgwick. My philosophic equipment when I first became his pupil was but

  slender – being, indeed, little more than what I had acquired at Eton for my own

  entertainment. Nor did I find it easy to increase this modest stock of learning

  by attendance at ordinary lectures, which others besides myself have found a

  somewhat irksome and ineffectual means of increasing knowledge. Few teachers

  would, in these circumstances, have taken either much trouble or the right kind of

  trouble with so unsatisfactory a pupil, and certainly any teacher would have been

  justified in leaving me to my own devices. Fortunately for me Henry Sidgwick took

  a more tolerant view. In addition to his other lectures he had at that time a small

  class for those specially interested in the metaphysical side of the ‘moral sciences’

  Tripos, a class so small indeed that it consisted, if I remember right, only of one

  other student besides myself. We met in Sidgwick’s own rooms. The teaching was

  largely in the nature of conversational discussion; and though I cannot, at this

  distance of time, recall it in detail, I retain a vivid recollection of the zest with which these hours were enjoyed. (M –)

  As Balfour goes on to explain, this was in part owing to Sidgwick’s

  method, which allowed them “to forget that we were preparing for an

  examination, an oblivion which may or may not be desirable in other

  branches of study, but is almost essential if the pleasures of speculation

  are to be enjoyed without alloy.” Moreover, Sidgwick “did not unduly

  force upon us the historic method of studying philosophy,” and “never

  drove us into those arid regions of speculation where, to the modern

  mind, the arguments seem without cogency and the conclusions without

  interest.” (M ) But most important, Balfour allows, was his teacher’s

  disinterestedness:

  What most people want in order to do their best is recognition; and the kind of

  recognition from a distinguished man of eight-and-twenty which is most valued

  by a boy of eighteen is the admission that his difficulties are worth solving, his

  objections worth answering, his arguments worth weighing. This form of convey-

  ing encouragement came naturally to Sidgwick. Of all the men I have known he

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  was the readiest to consider every controversy and every controversialist on their

  merits. He never claimed authority. . . . (M )

  It is worth noting that this frequently cited assessment must have, at least in

  part, reflected Balfour’s experiences with Sidgwick in psychical research.

  Now, for all of his admiration for Sidgwick as a friend, teacher, and

  brother-in-law, Balfour was always at a far remove from him on theological

  matters. Such works as his A Defence of Philosophic Doubt () and The

  Foundations of Belief () were, as Janet Oppenheim has rightly stressed,

  largely devoted to demonstrating “the validity of doubting that scientific

  methodology provided the only legitimate way to make inquiries about

  man and the universe,” and he “consistently refused to acknowledge that

  science and religion could be at cross-purposes, that the former could

  fatally undermine the latter.” If such attitudes were not always entirely at

  odds with Sidgwick’s distaste for dogmatic materialism, his more expressly

  Christian views surely were. For throughout his life, Balfour never really

  doubted immortality or the existence of a personal God, “a God whom

  men can love, a God to whom men can pray, who takes sides, who has

  purposes and preferences, whose attributes, howsoever conceived, leave

  unimpaired the possibility of a personal relation between Himself and

  those whom He has created.” This was not Sidgwick’s thin, theistic

  faith.

  Thus, as Oppenheim observes, Balfour “did not need the SPR to prop

  up a sagging faith, nor to afford the evidence without which he could enjoy

  no peace of mind.” His theology “was grounded, not on sublime certainty,

  but rather on the conviction of man’s spiritual needs. Again and again, his

  arguments reduced themselves to this: Human life was meaningless and

  valueless without religious faith. Religion was worth fighting for because

  it was an indubitable ‘benefit’ to mankind.” For Sidgwick, both of these

  points might well be true, but it was nonetheless important not to confuse

  hope with justified belief.

  Yet for all that, Balfour was obviously deeply persuaded that the work

  of the Sidgwick Group and the SPR was of profound importance, since

  at the least they would demonstrate “that there are things in heaven and

  earth not hitherto dreamed of in our scientific philosophy.” If his faith

  never sagged or demanded support, he was nonetheless delighted to add

  this form of buttressing, which clearly appealed to his speculative cast

  of mind.

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  The Balfour children came by their religion honestly. Their father had

  died prematurely in , of tuberculosis, and afterwards they were very

  much in the keep of their evangelical mother, Lady Blanche Gascoigne

  Cecil. In a remarkable article, “A Mother’s Role, a Daughter’s Duty:

  Lady Blanche Balfour, Eleanor Sidgwick, and
Feminist Perspectives,”

  Oppenheim has brought out the significance of this family context, in

  connection not only with Eleanor but also with the ways in which Eleanor

  became a kind of surrogate mother for her younger brother Arthur –

  “Prince Arthur,” as it was sometimes joked. Drawing on two unpub-

  lished memoirs that Eleanor – the eldest surviving child, born in  –

  wrote about her mother, Oppenheim gives a vivid description of the family

  backdrop:

  The dominant image of Lady Blanche that emerges from her eldest daughter’s

  memoirs is, somewhat paradoxically, that of a domestic angel with an iron will.

  Incidents illustrating her capacity for self-sacrifice abound, most of them asso-

  ciated with the zealous nursing of her family through repeated health crises.

  Although exhausted from a decade of childbearing, she devotedly, and almost

  single-handedly, ministered to her young husband, James Maitland Balfour, as he

  slowly died of tuberculosis between  and . In the years that followed,

  Sidgwick recorded, she successfully nursed her offspring through bouts with

  diptheria, typhoid fever, and whooping cough, at serious personal cost. The im-

  pression conveyed is of a mother literally killing herself for her children. Sidgwick was also deeply impressed that Lady Blanche, a ‘naturally sociable’ woman, relinquished the pleasures of society after her husband’s death, when she was only

  thirty-one, in order ‘to use the little strength she had’ for her eight children, all under the age of eleven.

  Lady Blanche’s seemingly endless capacity for self-denial was coupled in

  her daughter’s memory with masterful self-discipline. Both Eleanor Sidgwick

  and Evelyn Rayleigh recollected her vigorous attempts to crush all manifesta-

  tions of personal vanity, particularly in matters of fashion and adornment. . . .

  Lady Blanche was also quick to extirpate evidence of pride in Eleanor’s conduct,

  as Mrs. Sidgwick appeared to relish telling her brothers’ and sister’s children.

  Once when the family grocer in Edinburgh gave her a little box of sweets, Eleanor

  wanted to refuse the gift until her mother persuaded her to accept. ‘She convinced

  me afterwards,’ Sidgwick explained, ‘of the ungraciousness of such an action and

  how the impulse was in my case rooted in pride. She did that sort of thing without

  giving any impression of scolding or preaching.’ At an unspecified date, perhaps

  in the wake of this incident, Lady Blanche gave Eleanor a set of uncompromising

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  directions ‘for prayer and self-examination,’ which began: ‘Have I given way to

  pride, conceit, vanity, temper, waste of time or dawdling, exaggeration or inex-

  actness of speech, unkindness or selfishness?’ After queries about Eleanor’s Bible

  reading and relationship to God, the instructions ended with a final question no

  less relentless than the first: ‘Have I omitted any opportunity of doing good or of

  making others happy?’ Although Sidgwick claimed that the strong evangelicalism

  of Lady Blanche’s youth had mellowed into a much broader religious outlook as

  she matured, enough of it evidently remained to leave her children little room for

  moral lapses.

  It should be tolerably evident that this type of intense, delicate soul

  searching, so characteristic of the widespread evangelicalism of the

  Victorian era, was the type of thing that could very easily dispose one

  to more sophisticated philosophical or psychological pursuits, as with

  the Apostles. The habit of intense scrutiny of one’s own motives was, at

  any rate, something that Eleanor and Henry shared from the start (recall

  his instructions to the “Initial Society”). This was his form of prayer.

  As Oppenheim notes, in later life the other Balfour children would

  also deny that, in Arthur’s words, their mother was a “goody” and fondly

  recall her amusing and brilliant talk. In her last years, before her death

  in , Lady Balfour spent more time traveling, and sought comfort in

  spas to help restore her strength. Thus, “as she grew older, Eleanor filled

  her mother’s role with greater success. During Lady Blanche’s absences

  from Whittingehame, she seems to have functioned as the stable center of

  the household, the person to whom the brothers at school or university

  turned for family news.” But this assumption of “maternal services for

  her brothers,” was not, as Oppenheim stresses, mere matriarchy. Lady

  Blanche had been the very able administrator of a very large estate –

  Whittingehame covered over , acres, and the family resided in an

  eighty-room mansion – which she carefully trained Eleanor to manage,

  ensuring that she knew not only how to keep the books, but also how to

  do the housework, cook, and perform other tasks that would help her to

  “run a household from positions of knowledgeable authority, never at the

  mercy of the servants.” Moreover,

  Eleanor was pressed into service as her mother’s philanthropic agent as soon as

  she reached sufficient age. On Lady Blanche’s behalf, she helped a needy, but

  deserving, family in Edinburgh and did ‘some visiting of poor families in London

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  too at one time.’ With other siblings, she made up the Christmas parcels of old

  clothes and delivered them, while Lady Blanche ‘strongly encouraged’ all her

  children to allocate a fixed portion of their allowance ‘for giving.’

  Also notable, given Eleanor’s later career, is the fact that Lady Blanche

  helped to establish an elementary school at Strathconan, where the family

  had another estate, and that at Whittingehame she began a parish lending

  library.

  To be sure, much of this was a schooling in noblesse oblige, meant to

  ensure – as in fact it did – that Eleanor would “associate the special posi-

  tion and comforts she enjoyed with an abiding sense of duty not privilege.”

  Eleanor certainly regarded her mother’s ends as “unfailingly beneficent,”

  and as something that “far more than wealth or rank, betokened mem-

  bership in the ruling class.” Still, as Oppenheim goes on to argue, if

  Eleanor’s lessons “about the responsibilities of class were straightforward

  and unambiguous . . . her lessons on the responsibilities and rewards of

  womanhood were anything but.” Although the daughters were not sent

  away to school, Lady Blanche herself apparently provided them with a

  stimulating education, imparting to Eleanor considerable love of and skill

  in mathematics – something for which she would be noted in later life,

  especially when she collaborated on scientific pa
pers with her brother-in-

  law Rayleigh. If, after the death of her husband, she ended up placing a

  lesser value on the education of her daughters than on that of her sons,

  she nonetheless “carefully arranged that the girls would be financially

  independent of their brothers, free to lead their own lives, without any

  pressure to marry if they chose to remain single.” Eleanor’s position and

  family would in some significant ways allow her to escape the “subjection

  of women” that Mill and Taylor so accurately depicted.

  Thus it was that, shortly after the death of her mother, Eleanor Mildred

  Balfour – “Nora” to her friends – felt sufficiently independent to collab-

  orate with Lord Rayleigh, during a trip up the Nile, and, in the autumn

  of , to move to Cambridge to live in the newly completed Newnham

  Hall while studying mathematics with Norman Macleod Ferrers, later the

  master of Caius College. Henry Sidgwick had, as noted, been busy at work

  in building Newnham, the “positive” work that served as counterpoint to

  the “negative” work of relinquishing his Fellowship. Inspired by Mill’s

  writings and Maurice’s actual collegial collaboration, he had rented and

  furnished the original house, at  Regent Street, when Anne Clough

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  and the first five students began residence there in , and he was a

  moving force in all the developments that led to the building of Newnham

  Hall, which in October of  had Eleanor Balfour and twenty-nine other

  students in residence. Women’s higher education and the investigation of

  spiritualism had brought them together, and the Sidgwick Group was

  born.

  III. Love and Ghosts

  I would have written to you before, but I have unfortunately nothing to communi-

  cate on the interesting subject of Spiritualism – in fact, I find that I must give up the subject for the present, as I am behindhand with my work. I hope, however,

  to take it up again at some future time. It is certainly a most perplexing subject.

  There is so much crass imposture and foolish credulity mixed up with it, that I am

 

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