nothing else; as if any one who referred to their having, each and all, contributed his share to the results of theological science, was merely showing his ignorance; and as if a charge of inconsistency could be based on the fact that he himself often disagrees with what they say.  I have never lent a shadow of foundation to the assumption that I am a follower of either Strauss, or Baur, or Reuss, or Volkmar, or Renan; my debt to these eminent men—­so far my superiors in theological knowledge—­is, indeed, great; yet it is not for their opinions, but for those I have been able to form for myself, by their help.

In Agnosticism:  a Rejoinder, I have referred to the difficulties under which those professors of the science of theology, whose tenure of their posts depends on the results of their investigations, must labour; and, in a note, I add—­

Imagine that all our chairs of Astronomy had been founded in the fourteenth century, and that their incumbents were bound to sign Ptolemaic articles.  In that case, with every respect for the efforts of persons thus hampered to attain and expound the truth, I think men of common sense would go elsewhere to learn astronomy.

I did not write this paragraph without a knowledge that its sense would be open to the kind of perversion which it has suffered; but, if that was clear, the necessity for the statement was still clearer.  It is my deliberate opinion:  I reiterate it; and I say that, in my judgment, it is extremely inexpedient that any subject which calls itself a science should be entrusted to teachers who are debarred from freely following out scientific methods to their legitimate conclusions, whatever those conclusions may be.  If I may borrow a phrase paraded at the Church Congress, I think it “ought to be unpleasant” for any man of science to find himself in the position of such a teacher.

Human nature is not altered by seating it in a professorial chair, even of theology.  I have very little doubt that if, in the year 1859, the tenure of my office had depended upon my adherence to the doctrines of Cuvier, the objections to them set forth in the “Origin of Species” would have had a halo of gravity about them that, being free to teach what I pleased, I failed to discover.  And, in making that statement, it does not appear to me that I am confessing that I should have been debarred by “selfish interests” from making candid inquiry, or that I should have been biassed by “sordid motives.”  I hope that even such a fragment of moral sense as may remain in an ecclesiastical “infidel” might have got me through the difficulty; but it would be unworthy to deny, or disguise, the fact that a very serious difficulty must have been created for me by the nature of my tenure.  And let it be observed that the temptation, in my case, would have been far slighter than in that of a professor of theology; whatever biological doctrine I had repudiated, nobody I cared for would have thought the worse of me for so doing.  No scientific journals would have howled me down, as the religious newspapers howled down my too honest friend, the late Bishop of Natal; nor would my colleagues of the Royal Society have turned their backs upon me, as his episcopal colleagues boycotted him.