Bygones Worth Remembering Volume I Part 1

Bygones Worth Remembering.

Vol. 1.

by George Jacob Holyoake.

PREFACE

If the preface of a book be a plea to the reader, its force must lie in the aims of the author. In the following pages his main aim has been to be of service to somebody. That is a principle, which, amid the ravelment, perplexity, and entanglements of the world, always finds a pathway open. Such a principle is as an All-Seeing Eye, to which he who acknowledges it, is amenable, since it makes plain to him the devious, time-serving byways he should avoid.

The writer has no interest, no taste, no trust, save in definite, verifiable ideas. His aim has been to keep clear of the Sin of Pretension, which consists in declaring, or a.s.suming to be true, that which the writer or speaker does not know to be true. What errors negligence of this rule has bred! What misdirection it has perpetuated!

Into how many labyrinths, where truth was not to be found, has it led men! What can be more useful, or holier, than inciting the reader to beware of pretension in speech, in morals, in politics, and in piety?

To keep as clear as possible of this universal sin may serve many and mislead none.

Professor Jowett has told us that "where Inquiry is denied at the door, Doubt gets in at the window." This is the way it came to the writer of this preface, and accounts for a certain liberty of expression the reader may meet with, if he ventures further into these pages.

A sentence of Mr. Allen Upward will sufficiently describe the spirit of this book: "Let us try to tolerate each other instead of trying to convert each other." The author disclaims belonging to that cla.s.s who have "great expectations," which are as vain in literature as in life.

The utmost the author looks forward to is that semi-friendly applause which is accorded to a platform speaker, not so much for any merit in his oration as for his unexpected consideration for the audience by concluding.

G. J. HOLYOAKE.

CHAPTER I. CONCERNING BYGONES PREFATORY

It was a saying of Dryden that "Anything, though ever so little, which a man speaks of himself, in my opinion, is still too much." This depends upon what a writer says. No man is required to give an opinion of himself. Others will do that much better, if he will wait But if a man may not speak of himself at all--reports of adventure, of personal endeavour, or of service, will be largely impossible. To relate is not to praise. The two things are quite distinct. Oth.e.l.lo's imperishable narrative of his love of Desdemona contained no eulogy of himself. A story of observation, of experience, or of effort, or estimate of men or of opinions, I may venture upon--is written for the reader alone. The writer will be an entirely negligible quant.i.ty.

Lord Rosebery, who can make proverbs as well as cite them, lately recalled one which has had great vogue in its day, namely, "Let bygones be bygones." Life would be impossible or very unpleasant if every one persisted in remembering what had better be forgotten. Proverbs are like plants: they have a soil and climate under which alone they flourish.

n.o.ble maxims have their limitations. Few have universal applicability.

If, for instance, the advice to "let bygones be bygones" be taken as universally true, strange questions arise. Are mistakes never more to teach us what to avoid? Are the errors of others no more to be a warning to us? Is the Book of Experience to be closed? Is no more history to be written? If so philosophy could no longer teach wisdom by examples, for there would no longer be any examples to go upon. If all the mistakes of mankind and all the miscalculations of circ.u.mstance be forgotten, the warnings of the sages will die with them.

He who has debts, or loans not repaid, or promises not kept, or contracts unfulfilled in his memory, had better keep them there until he has made what reparation he can. The Bygone proverb does not apply to him. There are other derelictions of greater gravity than fall under the head of intellectual petty larceny, such as the conscious abandonment of principle, or desertion of a just cause, which had better be kept in mind for rectification.

If an admiral wrecked his s.h.i.+ps, or a general lost his army, or a statesman ruined his country, by flagrant want of judgment--ever so conscientiously--it is well such things should be borne in mind by those who may renew, by fresh appointment, these opportunities of calamity.

It would be to encourage incapacity were such bygones consigned to oblivion. It may be useless to dwell upon "spilt milk," but further employment of the spiller may not be prudent.

Slaves of the saying, "Let bygones perish," would construct mere political man-traps, which never act when depredators are about. In human affairs bygones have occurred worth remembering as guides for the future.

It is said that "greatness is thrust upon a man"--what is meant is a position of greatness. Greatness lies in the quality of the individual, and cannot be "thrust" on any man. It is true that intrinsic greatness is often left unrecognised. It would be a crime against progress were these cases, when known, consigned to forgetfulness. n.o.ble thoughts as well as n.o.ble acts are worth bearing in mind, however long ago they may have occurred.

My friend Joseph Cowen, who from his youth had regarded me as a chartered disturber of the unreasoning torpidity of the public conscience, described me as an agitator. All the while I never was a Pedlar of Opinions. I never asked people to adopt mine, but to reason out their own. I merely explained the nature of what I took to be erroneous in theological and public affairs. Neither did I find fault with prevailing ideas, save where I could, or thought I could, suggest other principles of action more conducive to the welfare of all who dwell in cottages or lodgings--for whom I mainly care. I was for equal opportunities for all men, guaranteed by law, and for equitable partic.i.p.ation in profit among all who, by toil of hand or brain, contributed to the wealth of the State.

Yet, though I never obtruded my convictions, neither did I conceal them.

No public questioner ever went empty away,--if his inquiry was relevant and I had the knowledge he sought Sometimes, as at Cheltenham (in 1842), when an inquiry was malicious and the reply penal, the questioner got his answer. My maxim was that of Professor Blackie:--

"Wear thy heart not on thy sleeve, But on just occasion Let men know what you believe, With breezy ventilation."

Thus, without intending it, I came to be counted an "agitator."

As to the matter of the following pages, they relate, as all autobiographical reminiscences do, to events that are past. But whether they relate to acts, or events, or opinions, to tragedy or gaiety, they are all meant to fulfil one condition--that of having instruction or guidance of some kind in them--which bring them within the cla.s.s of "bygones worth remembering."

One day as I was walking briskly along Fleet Street, a person in greater haste than myself running down Johnson's Court collided with me, and both of us fell to the ground. On rising, I said, "If you knocked me down, never mind; if I knocked you down, I beg your pardon." He did not reciprocate my forgiveness, thinking I had run against him intentionally. Nevertheless, I say to any resenting reader who does me mischief, "never mind." If I have done him any harm it has been unwittingly, and I tender him real apologies.

CHAPTER II. PERSONAL INCIDENTS

These pages being autobiographic in their nature, something must be said under this head. I was born April 13, 1817, which readers complained I omitted to state in a former work* of a similar kind to this, probably thinking it a "Bygone" of no importance.

* "Sixty Years 01 an Agitator's Life," afterwards referred to as "Sixty Years."

It was in 1817 that Robert Owen informed mankind that "all the religions in the world were in error," which was taken to mean that they were wrong throughout; whereas all the "Prophet of the City of London Tavern"

sought to prove was that all faiths were in error so far as they rested on the dogma that men can believe if they will--irrespective of evidence whatever may be the force of it before them. Mr. Owen's now truistical statement set the dry sticks of every church aflame for seventy years.

In many places the ashes smoulder still. By blending Theology with Sociology, the Churches mixed two things better kept apart Confusion raged for years on a thousand platforms and pulpits. I mention this matter because it was destined to colour and occupy a large portion of my life.

The habit of my thoughts is to run into speeches, as the thoughts of a poet run into verse; but if there be a more intrinsic characteristic of my mind it is accurately described in the words of Coleridge:--

"I am by the law of my nature a Reasoner. A person who should suppose I meant by that word, an arguer, would not only not understand me, but would understand the contrary of my meaning. I can take no interest whatever in hearing or saying anything merely as a fact--merely as having happened. I must refer to something within me before I can regard it with any curiosity or care. I require in everything a reason why the thing _is_ at all, and why it is _there_ or _then_ rather than elsewhere or at another time."

This may be why I ent.i.tled the first periodical edited in my name, _The Reasoner_.

My firstborn child, Madeline, perished while I was in Gloucester Prison.* There is no other word which described what happened in 1842.

* See "Last Trial for Atheism."

In 1895 (as I had always intended), I had a bra.s.s tablet cast bearing the simple inscription--

"Near this spot was buried

MADELINE,

Daughter of George Jacob and Eleanor Holyoake,

WHO PERISHED

October! 1842."

This tablet I had placed on the wall over the grave where the poor child lay. The grave is close to the wall. The cemetery authorities had objections to the word "Perished." When I explained to them the circ.u.mstances of Madeline's death, they permitted its erection, on my paying a cemetery fee of two guineas. The tablet will endure as long as the cemetery wall lasts. The tablet is on the left side of the main entrance to the cemetery, somewhat obscured by trees now.