But it is inconceivable that the generality of men should pass all their mental life with Greek accents or with formal logic.  My friend Professor Sylvester,[127] who is one of the first mathematicians in the world, holds transcendental doctrines as to the virtue of mathematics, but those doctrines are not for common men.  In the very Senate House and heart of our English Cambridge I once ventured, though not without an apology for my profaneness, to hazard the opinion that for the majority of mankind a little of mathematics, even, goes a long way.  Of course this is quite consistent with their being of immense importance as an instrument to something else; but it is the few who have the aptitude for thus using them, not the bulk of mankind.

The natural sciences do not, however, stand on the same footing with these instrument-knowledges.  Experience shows us that the generality of men will find more interest in learning that, when a taper burns, the wax is converted into carbonic acid and water, or in learning the explanation of the phenomenon of dew, or in learning how the circulation of the blood is carried on, than they find in learning that the genitive plural of pais and pas does not take the circumflex on the termination.  And one piece of natural knowledge is added to another, and others are added to that, and at last we come to propositions so interesting as Mr. Darwin’s famous proposition[128] that “our ancestor was a hairy quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, probably arboreal in his habits.”  Or we come to propositions of such reach and magnitude as those which Professor Huxley delivers, when he says that the notions of our forefathers about the beginning and the end of the world were all wrong, and that nature is the expression of a definite order with which nothing interferes.

Interesting, indeed, these results of science are, important they are, and we should all of us be acquainted with them.  But what I now wish you to mark is, that we are still, when they are propounded to us and we receive them, we are still in the sphere of intellect and knowledge.  And for the generality of men there will be found, I say, to arise, when they have duly taken in the proposition that their ancestor was “a hairy quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, probably arboreal in his habits,” there will be found to arise an invincible desire to relate this proposition to the sense in us for conduct, and to the sense in us for beauty.  But this the men of science will not do for us, and will hardly even profess to do.  They will give us other pieces of knowledge, other facts, about other animals and their ancestors, or about plants, or about stones, or about stars; and they may finally bring us to those great “general conceptions of the universe, which are forced upon us all,” says Professor Huxley, “by the progress of physical science.”  But still it will be knowledge, only which they give us; knowledge not put for us into relation with our sense for conduct, our sense for beauty, and touched with emotion by being so put; not thus put for us, and therefore, to the majority of mankind, after a certain while, unsatisfying, wearying.