Town Geology

Charles Kingsley

Town Geology

PREFACE

This little book, including the greater part of this Preface, has shaped itself out of lectures given to the young men of the city of Chester.  But it does not deal, in its present form, with the geology of the neighbourhood of Chester only.  I have tried so to recast it, that any townsman, at least in the manufacturing districts of England and Scotland, may learn from it to judge, roughly perhaps, but on the whole accurately, of the rocks and soils of his own neighbourhood.  He will find, it is true, in these pages, little or nothing about those “Old Red Sandstones,” so interesting to a Scotchman; and he will have to bear in mind, if he belong to the coal districts of Scotland, that the “stones in the wall” there belong to much older rocks than those “New Red Sandstones” of which this book treats; and that the coal measures of Scotland, with the volcanic rocks which have disturbed them, are often very different in appearance to the English coal measures.  But he will soon learn to distinguish the relative age of rocks by the fossils found in them, which he can now, happily, study in many local museums; and he may be certain, for the rest, that all rocks and soils whatsoever which he may meet have been laid down by the agents, and according to the laws, which I have tried to set forth in this book; and these only require, for the learning of them, the exercise of his own observation and common sense.  I have not tried to make this a handbook of geological facts.  Such a guide (and none better) the young man will find in Sir Charles Lyell’s “Student’s Elements of Geology.”  I have tried rather to teach the method of geology, than its facts; to furnish the student with a key to all geology, rough indeed and rudimentary, but sure and sound enough, I trust, to help him to unlock most geological problems which he may meet, in any quarter of the globe.  But young men must remember always, that neither this book, nor all the books in the world, will make them geologists.  No amount of book learning will make a man a scientific man; nothing but patient observation, and quiet and fair thought over what he has observed.  He must go out for himself, see for himself, compare and judge for himself, in the field, the quarry, the cutting.  He must study rocks, ores, fossils, in the nearest museum; and thus store his head, not with words, but with facts.  He must verify—as far as he can—what he reads in books, by his own observation; and be slow to believe anything, even on the highest scientific authority, till he has either seen it, or something like enough to it to make it seem to him probable, or at least possible.  So, and so only, will he become a scientific man, and a good geologist; and acquire that habit of mind by which alone he can judge fairly and wisely of facts of any kind whatsoever.

I say—facts of any kind whatsoever.  If any of my readers should be inclined to say to themselves: Geology may be a very pleasant study, but I have no special fancy for it.  I had rather learn something of botany, astronomy, chemistry, or what not—I shall answer: By all means.  Learn any branch of Natural Science you will.  It matters little to me which you learn, provided you learn one at least.  But bear in mind, and settle it in your hearts, that you will learn no branch of science soundly, so as to master it, and be able to make use of it, unless you acquire that habit and method of mind which I am trying to teach you in this book.  I have tried to teach it you by geology, because geology is, perhaps, the simplest and the easiest of all physical sciences.  It appeals more than any to mere common sense.  It requires fewer difficult experiments, and expensive apparatus.  It requires less previous knowledge of other sciences, whether pure or mixed; at least in its rudimentary stages.  It is more free from long and puzzling Greek and Latin words.  It is specially, the poor man’s science.  But if you do not like it, study something else.  Only study that as you must study geology; proceeding from the known to the unknown by observation and experiment.

But here some of my readers may ask, as they have a perfect right to ask, why I wish young men to learn Natural Science at all?  What good will the right understanding of geology, or of astronomy, or of chemistry, or of the plants or animals which they meet—what good, I say, will that do them?

In the first place, they need, I presume, occupation after their hours of work.  If any of them answer: “We do not want occupation, we want amusement.  Work is very dull, and we want something which will excite our fancy, imagination, sense of humour.  We want poetry, fiction, even a good laugh or a game of play”—I shall most fully agree with them.  There is often no better medicine for a hard-worked body and mind than a good laugh; and the man who can play most heartily when he has a chance of playing is generally the man who can work most heartily when he must work.  But there is certainly nothing in the study of physical science to interfere with genial hilarity; though, indeed, some solemn persons have been wont to reprove the members of the British Association, and specially that Red Lion Club, where all the philosophers are expected to lash their tails and roar, of being somewhat too fond of mere and sheer fun, after the abstruse papers of the day are read and discussed.  And as for harmless amusement, and still more for the free exercise of the fancy and the imagination, I know few studies to compare with Natural History; with the search for the most beautiful and curious productions of Nature amid her loveliest scenery, and in her freshest atmosphere.  I have known again and again working men who in the midst of smoky cities have kept their bodies, their minds, and their hearts healthy and pure by going out into the country at odd hours, and making collections of fossils, plants, insects, birds, or some other objects of natural history; and I doubt not that such will be the case with some of my readers.

Another argument, and a very strong one, in favour of studying some branch of Natural Science just now is this—that without it you can hardly keep pace with the thought of the world around you.

Over and above the solid gain of a scientific habit of mind, of which I shall speak presently, the gain of mere facts, the increased knowledge of this planet on which we live, is very valuable just now; valuable certainly to all who do not wish their children and their younger brothers to know more about the universe than they do.

Natural Science is now occupying a more and more important place in education.  Oxford, Cambridge, the London University, the public schools, one after another, are taking up the subject in earnest; so are the middle-class schools; so I trust will all primary schools throughout the country; and I hope that my children, at least, if not I myself, will see the day, when ignorance of the primary laws and facts of science will be looked on as a defect, only second to ignorance of the primary laws of religion and morality.

I speak strongly, but deliberately.  It does seem to me strange, to use the mildest word, that people whose destiny it is to live, even for a few short years, on this planet which we call the earth, and who do not at all intend to live on it as hermits, shutting themselves up in cells, and looking on death as an escape and a deliverance, but intend to live as comfortably and wholesomely as they can, they and their children after them—it seems strange, I say, that such people should in general be so careless about the constitution of this same planet, and of the laws and facts on which depend, not merely their comfort and their wealth, but their health and their very lives, and the health and the lives of their children and descendants.

I know some will say, at least to themselves: “What need for us to study science?  There are plenty to do that already; and we shall be sure sooner or later to profit by their discoveries; and meanwhile it is not science which is needed to make mankind thrive, but simple common sense.”

I should reply, that to expect to profit by other men’s discoveries when you do not pay for them—to let others labour in the hope of entering into their labours, is not a very noble or generous state of mind—comparable somewhat, I should say, to that of the fatting ox, who willingly allows the farmer to house him, till for him, feed him, provided only he himself may lounge in his stall, and eat, and not be thankful.  There is one difference in the two cases, but only one—that while the farmer can repay himself by eating the ox, the scientific man cannot repay himself by eating you; and so never gets paid, in most cases, at all.

But as for mankind thriving by common sense: they have not thriven by common sense, because they have not used their common sense according to that regulated method which is called science.  In no age, in no country, as yet, have the majority of mankind been guided, I will not say by the love of God, and by the fear of God, but even by sense and reason.  Not sense and reason, but nonsense and unreason, prejudice and fancy, greed and haste, have led them to such results as were to be expected—to superstitions, persecutions, wars, famines, pestilence, hereditary diseases, poverty, waste—waste incalculable, and now too often irremediable—waste of life, of labour, of capital, of raw material, of soil, of manure, of every bounty which God has bestowed on man, till, as in the eastern Mediterranean, whole countries, some of the finest in the world, seem ruined for ever: and all because men will not learn nor obey those physical laws of the universe, which (whether we be conscious of them or not) are all around us, like walls of iron and of adamant—say rather, like some vast machine, ruthless though beneficent, among the wheels of which if we entangle ourselves in our rash ignorance, they will not stop to set us free, but crush us, as they have crushed whole nations and whole races ere now, to powder.  Very terrible, though very calm, is outraged Nature.

Though the mills of God grind slowly,Yet they grind exceeding small;Though He sit, and wait with patience,With exactness grinds He all.

It is, I believe, one of the most hopeful among the many hopeful signs of the times, that the civilised nations of Europe and America are awakening slowly but surely to this truth.  The civilised world is learning, thank God, more and more of the importance of physical science; year by year, thank God, it is learning to live more and more according to those laws of physical science, which are, as the great Lord Bacon said of old, none other than “Vox Dei in rebus revelata”—the Word of God revealed in facts; and it is gaining by so doing, year by year, more and more of health and wealth; of peaceful and comfortable, even of graceful and elevating, means of life for fresh millions.

If you want to know what the study of physical science has done for man, look, as a single instance, at the science of Sanatory Reform; the science which does not merely try to cure disease, and shut the stable-door after the horse is stolen, but tries to prevent disease; and, thank God! is succeeding beyond our highest expectations.  Or look at the actual fresh amount of employment, of subsistence, which science has, during the last century, given to men; and judge for yourselves whether the study of it be not one worthy of those who wish to help themselves, and, in so doing, to help their fellow-men.  Let me quote to you a passage from an essay urging the institution of schools of physical science for artisans, which says all I wish to say and more:

“The discoveries of Voltaic electricity, electromagnetism, and magnetic electricity, by Volta, Œrsted, and Faraday, led to the invention of electric telegraphy by Wheatstone and others, and to the great manufactures of telegraph cables and telegraph wire, and of the materials required for them.  The value of the cargo of the Great Eastern alone in the recent Bombay telegraph expedition was calculated at three millions of pounds sterling.  It also led to the employment of thousands of operators to transmit the telegraphic messages, and to a great increase of our commerce in nearly all its branches by the more rapid means of communication.  The discovery of Voltaic electricity further led to the invention of electro-plating, and to the employment of a large number of persons in that business.  The numerous experimental researches on specific heat, latent heat, the tension of vapours, the properties of water, the mechanical effect of heat, etc., resulted in the development of steam-engines, and railways, and the almost endless employments depending upon their construction and use.  About a quarter of a million of persons are employed on railways alone in Great Britain.  The various original investigations on the chemical effects of light led to the invention of photography, and have given employment to thousands of persons who practise that process, or manufacture and prepare the various material and articles required in it.  The discovery of chlorine by Scheele led to the invention of the modern processes of bleaching, and to various improvements in the dyeing of the textile fabrics, and has given employment to a very large number of our Lancashire operatives.  The discovery of chlorine has also contributed to the employment of thousands of printers, by enabling Esparto grass to be bleached and formed into paper for the use of our daily press.  The numerous experimental investigations in relation to coal-gas have been the means of extending the use of that substance, and of increasing the employment of workmen and others connected with its manufacture.  The discovery of the alkaline metals by Davy, of cyanide of potassium, of nickel, phosphorus, the common acids, and a multitude of other substances, has led to the employment of a whole army of workmen in the conversion of those substances into articles of utility.  The foregoing examples might be greatly enlarged upon, and a great many others might be selected from the sciences of physics and chemistry: but those mentioned will suffice.  There is not a force of Nature, nor scarcely a material substance that we employ, which has not been the subject of several, and in some cases of numerous, original experimental researches, many of which have resulted, in a greater or less degree, in increasing the employment for workmen and others.”1

“All this may be very true.  But of what practical use will physical science be to me?”

Let me ask in return: Are none of you going to emigrate?  If you have courage and wisdom, emigrate you will, some of you, instead of stopping here to scramble over each other’s backs for the scraps, like black-beetles in a kitchen.  And if you emigrate, you will soon find out, if you have eyes and common sense, that the vegetable wealth of the world is no more exhausted than its mineral wealth.  Exhausted?  Not half of it—I believe not a tenth of it—is yet known.  Could I show you the wealth which I have seen in a single Tropic island, not sixty miles square—precious timbers, gums, fruits, what not, enough to give employment and wealth to thousands and tens of thousands, wasting for want of being known and worked—then you would see what a man who emigrates may do, by a little sound knowledge of botany alone.

And if not.  Suppose that any one of you, learning a little sound Natural History, should abide here in Britain to your life’s end, and observe nothing but the hedgerow plants, he would find that there is much more to be seen in those mere hedgerow plants than he fancies now.  The microscope will reveal to him in the tissues of any wood, of any seed, wonders which will first amuse him, then puzzle him, and at last (I hope) awe him, as he perceives that smallness of size interferes in no way with perfection of development, and that “Nature,” as has been well said, “is greatest in that which is least.”  And more.  Suppose that he went further still.  Suppose that he extended his researches somewhat to those minuter vegetable forms, the mosses, fungi, lichens; suppose that he went a little further still, and tried what the microscope would show him in any stagnant pool, whether fresh water or salt, of Desmidiæ, Diatoms, and all those wondrous atomies which seem as yet to defy our classification into plants or animals.  Suppose he learnt something of this, but nothing of aught else.  Would he have gained no solid wisdom?  He would be a stupider man than I have a right to believe any of my readers to be, if he had not gained thereby somewhat of the most valuable of treasures—namely, that inductive habit of mind, that power of judging fairly of facts, without which no good or lasting work will be done, whether in physical science, in social science, in politics, in philosophy, in philology, or in history.

But more: let me urge you to study Natural Science, on grounds which may be to you new and unexpected—on social, I had almost said on political, grounds.

We all know, and I trust we all love, the names of Liberty, Equality, and Brotherhood.  We feel, I trust, that these words are too beautiful not to represent true and just ideas; and that therefore they will come true, and be fulfilled, somewhen, somewhere, somehow.  It may be in a shape very different from that which you, or I, or any man expects; but still they will be fulfilled.

But if they are to come true, it is we, the individual men, who must help them to come true for the whole world, by practising them ourselves, when and where we can.  And I tell you—that in becoming scientific men, in studying science and acquiring the scientific habit of mind, you will find yourselves enjoying a freedom, an equality, a brotherhood, such as you will not find elsewhere just now.

Freedom: what do we want freedom for?  For this, at least; that we may be each and all able to think what we choose; and to say what we choose also, provided we do not say it rudely or violently, so as to provoke a breach of the peace.  That last was Mr. Buckle’s definition of freedom of speech.  That was the only limit to it which he would allow; and I think that that is Mr. John Stuart Mill’s limit also.  It is mine.  And I think we have that kind of freedom in these islands as perfectly as any men are likely to have it on this earth.

But what I complain of is, that when men have got the freedom, three out of four of them will not use it.  What?—someone will answer—Do you suppose that I will not say what I choose, and that I dare not speak my own mind to any man?  Doubtless.  But are you sure first, that you think what you choose, or only what someone else chooses for you?  Are you sure that you make up your own mind before you speak, or let someone else make it up for you?  Your speech may be free enough, my good friend; and Heaven forbid that it should be anything else: but are your thoughts free likewise?  Are you sure that, though you may hate bigotry in others, you are not somewhat of a bigot yourself?  That you do not look at only one side of a question, and that the one which pleases you?  That you do not take up your opinions at second hand, from some book or some newspaper, which after all only reflects your own feelings, your own opinions?  You should ask yourselves that question, seriously and often: “Are my thoughts really free?”  No one values more highly than I do the advantage of a free press.  But you must remember always that a newspaper editor, however honest or able, is no more infallible than the Pope; that he may, just as you may, only see one side of a question, while any question is sure to have two sides, or perhaps three or four; and if you only see the side which suits you, day after day, month after month, you must needs become bigoted to it.  Your thoughts must needs run in one groove.  They cannot (as Mr. Matthew Arnold would say) “play freely round” a question; and look it all over, boldly, patiently, rationally, charitably.

And I tell you that if you, or I, or any man, want to let our thoughts play freely round questions, and so escape from the tendency to become bigoted and narrow-minded which there is in every human being, then we must acquire something of that inductive habit of mind which the study of Natural Science gives.  It is, after all, as Professor Huxley says, only common sense well regulated.  But then it is well regulated; and how precious it is, if you can but get it.  The art of seeing, the art of knowing what you see; the art of comparing, of perceiving true likenesses and true differences, and so of classifying and arranging what you see: the art of connecting facts together in your own mind in chains of cause and effect, and that accurately, patiently, calmly, without prejudice, vanity, or temper—this is what is wanted for true freedom of mind.  But accuracy, patience, freedom from prejudice, carelessness for all except the truth, whatever the truth may be—are not these the virtues of a truly free spirit?  Then, as I said just now, I know no study so able to give that free habit of mind as the Study of Natural Science.

Equality, too: whatever equality may or may not be just, or possible; this at least, is just, and I hope possible; that every man, every child, of every rank, should have an equal chance of education; an equal chance of developing all that is in him by nature; an equal chance of acquiring a fair knowledge of those facts of the universe which specially concern him; and of having his reason trained to judge of them.  I say, whatever equal rights men may or may not have, they have this right.  Let every boy, every girl, have an equal and sound education.  If I had my way, I would give the same education to the child of the collier and to the child of a peer.  I would see that they were taught the same things, and by the same method.  Let them all begin alike, say I.  They will be handicapped heavily enough as they go on in life, without our handicapping them in their first race.  Whatever stable they come out of, whatever promise they show, let them all train alike, and start fair, and let the best colt win.

Well: but there is a branch of education in which, even now, the poor man can compete fairly against the rich; and that is, Natural Science.  In the first place, the rich, blind to their own interest, have neglected it hitherto in their schools; so that they have not the start of the poor man on that subject which they have on many.  In the next place, Natural Science is a subject which a man cannot learn by paying for teachers.  He must teach it himself, by patient observation, by patient common sense.  And if the poor man is not the rich man’s equal in those qualities, it must be his own fault, not his purse’s.  Many shops have I seen about the world, in which fools could buy articles more or less helpful to them; but never saw I yet an observation-shop, nor a common-sense shop either.  And if any man says, “We must buy books:” I answer, a poor man now can obtain better scientific books than a duke or a prince could sixty years ago, simply because then the books did not exist.  When I was a boy I would have given much, or rather my father would have given much, if I could have got hold of such scientific books as are to be found now in any first-class elementary school.  And if more expensive books are needed; if a microscope or apparatus is needed; can you not get them by the co-operative method, which has worked so well in other matters?  Can you not form yourselves into a Natural Science club, for buying such things and lending them round among your members; and for discussion also, the reading of scientific papers of your own writing, the comparing of your observations, general mutual help and mutual instructions?  Such societies are becoming numerous now, and gladly should I see one in every town.  For in science, as in most matters, “As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.”

And Brotherhood: well, if you want that; if you want to mix with men, and men, too, eminently worth mixing with, on the simple ground that “a man’s a man for a’ that;” if you want to become the acquaintances, and—if you prove worthy—the friends, of men who will be glad to teach you all they know, and equally glad to learn from you anything you can teach them, asking no questions about you, save, first—Is he an honest student of Nature for her own sake?  And next—Is he a man who will not quarrel, or otherwise behave in an unbrotherly fashion to his fellow-students?—If you want a ground of brotherhood with men, not merely in these islands, but in America, on the Continent—in a word, all over the world—such as rank, wealth, fashion, or other artificial arrangements of the world cannot give and cannot take away; if you want to feel yourself as good as any man in theory, because you are as good as any man in practice, except those who are better than you in the same line, which is open to any and every man; if you wish to have the inspiring and ennobling feeling of being a brother in a great freemasonry which owns no difference of rank, of creed, or of nationality—the only freemasonry, the only International League which is likely to make mankind (as we all hope they will be some day) one—then become men of science.  Join the freemasonry in which Hugh Miller, the poor Cromarty stonemason, in which Michael Faraday, the poor bookbinder’s boy, became the companions and friends of the noblest and most learned on earth, looked up to by them not as equals merely but as teachers and guides, because philosophers and discoverers.